Trespassers: Book 1 of the Chaos Shift Cycle

by Cameron, TR

  As the timer reached zero, several things happened all at once. The Washington accelerated to her top speed and began an evasive course that still allowed her cannons to track the Gagarin. When those fired, bursts of energy crossed the void to slam into the Gagarin’s forward shields. The noisemakers were launched from the ship’s defensive tubes—four rockets each arcing out from openings on all six surfaces of the ship. These devices were designed to momentarily distract an enemy. They did their job well, coming together to create an explosion of light, sound, and radiation that blinded the Gagarin. Behind the screen of noise, the Washington cut her engines and pivoted, launching her first broadside at the enemy ship.

  She continued to turn around her center point, thrusters redlined for maximum spin. Claire Martin worked hard to keep the shields aligned against possible fire from the Gagarin. While the noisemakers blinded the opposing ship, it left the crew of the Washington blind as well, prohibiting them from seeing the actions of the Alliance ship. The weapons officer launched each tube as soon as it was possible to make the shot, given the close distance between the two ships and the desire for a direct path.

  “Evasive pattern beta” Okoye commanded as the final tube emptied. The ship strained as her main engines were re-engaged and driven to full output, creating enough pressure to push him back despite the ship’s ability to control for inertial changes. As the noisemakers cleared, the display revealed that the enemy commander had again reacted unpredictably. In the thirty seconds they were obscured from one another, the Gagarin had also rotated, blasting hard for the gravitational disturbance to evade the Washington’s weapons.

  “He must be more damaged than we thought if he’s running,” Cross said just loud enough for Okoye to hear. The captain answered with a grunt, never shifting his eyes from the display.

  Cross, Okoye, and the bridge crew watched the Gagarin curve strangely, his path taking him around the far side of the disturbance and reemerging beyond it at a full hundred-degree change of direction. Pieces of the ship scattered, torn from the superstructure by the force of the gravitational pull exerted by the anomaly.

  They all watched as their torpedoes reacquired the Gagarin.

  Cross, Olivas, and Okoye all yelled, “Abort,” as the weapons drove into the mysterious phenomenon and exploded, reducing it to debris and dust.

  Chapter Seven

  Moments later, the arrival of an unknown ship set off a chorus of warnings on the bridge of the Washington. Several crew members pointed at the display while others called out the results of their sensor readings and computer analyses. Cross knew they were in trouble when not one report gave anything useful. The new vessel was like nothing they’d ever seen.

  “Multiple launches from the unknown ship. Projectiles tracking for both us and the Gagarin.” Claire Martin adjusted their defenses even as she reported the situation.

  One thing that Cross had always admired about the captain was his unflappable discipline in the face of danger, and Okoye showed that now. “Helm, evasive pattern Delta, modified to take us away from the new arrival as quickly as possible. Weapons, do not escalate, hold fire. Tactical, strongest defenses toward the incoming missiles.”

  Commander Olivas issued commands to the communication officer, who sent out hails translated into every language the computer possessed.

  “Its tonnage appears slightly greater than ours, Captain," Kate said into the quiet after Okoye finished. “Our computers cannot identify the composition of its hull, nor any of the weapons it carries.”

  “Although, clearly, he has rockets to play with,” Cross said.

  The moment of inappropriate levity brought exhalations from the bridge crew and even put a tiny smile on the captain’s face. “Rockets indeed, Lieutenant Commander Cross,” Okoye said.

  Tension mounted as the projectiles closed in on them. One half of the main display screen was devoted to a schematic showing the position of all three ships and the track of all things moving within the space. The computer had assigned the unknown ship a new color, outlining it in green. It joined the red of the Alliance ship and the blue of the Washington. Seconds before emerald tracks trailing the missiles connected the enemy ship and the Gagarin, a small dot representing his tunnel beacon separated and rocketed from the display.

  The Gagarin flew apart as the enemy missiles struck. His weakened shields were no match for the apparent power of the weapons, seeming to provide defense against only the first of the eight that reached him. The others stabbed deeply inside the structure before exploding. On the camera, it looked as if the ship simply lost cohesion, jettisoning pieces to float freely in every direction. Noises of shock rebounded across the bridge, and Cross saw the captain exchange looks with his executive officer.

  Cross spoke up, playing the assigned-doubter role of subordinate command officers. “We need more information about this enemy before we tunnel out of here, Captain. This may be our only chance to get it.”

  Both Okoye and Olivas glared at him, and he realized he’d overstepped. That didn’t make him wrong. Fortunately, they were smart enough to realize that.

  The captain drew a curving path that would keep them at a distance from the enemy while providing a greater opportunity to analyze him. “Time to impact?”

  A countdown timer appeared on the main display, starting at forty-one seconds and descending. The alien ship wasn’t moving, most likely awaiting the results of its initial launches before committing to any additional actions.

  “Lieutenant Commander Flynn, are you getting anything else from this thing?”

  Kate frowned. “His energy signature suggests that he’s got defenses up, but they don’t read the same way that ours do. It’s as if they’re hovering right at the edge of our instruments’ ability to identify them. The computer has completed its analysis of the enemy and has identified twenty-four ports that could be missile tubes and eight projections that could house weapons. On one of our ships I would call them plasma cannons or lasers. On that ship,” she shrugged, “who knows?”

  Cross again felt the thrum of projectiles leaving his ship, and Lieutenant Martin reported that DC’s countermeasures had taken out the incoming missiles. Everyone was riveted to the display. They all saw the enemy move toward them. Okoye spoke, “Tactical, based on what we know, what’s the likelihood we can defeat that thing?”

  Martin was silent for a moment, hands flying as she interacted with her display. “Battle computer suggests a 27% chance of outright victory, and a 14% chance of mutual destruction. The remaining 59% of the time, they survive and we don’t.”

  “Huh. Those are some pretty bad odds. Flynn, assuming loss of our tunnel drive, how long would it take to get home from here?”

  Kate had generated the answer to this question while attempting to identify their location. “This is uncharted space, Captain, so there’s no way to be sure. The computer projects we would need at least two years and seven months to travel to our explored territory, and another eleven months to reach our point of departure. That’s best case. The other cases are much worse.”

  The captain was nodding before she finished, his features tightening. Cross shared his frustration. Okoye’s knuckles were white on the arm of his chair as he gazed upon the ship that had attempted to destroy them. Cross took in the two countdown clocks, one showed time to impact of incoming weaponry, the other showed time left until their tunnel drive was ready. Both read zero, although every member of the Washington’s bridge crew knew another attack was imminent, and the impact countdown would soon begin again.

  Cross thought, for a moment, that they would fight the other ship, and his pulse jumped at the foolhardy glory of it.

  Then ever-dependable Lieutenant Claire Martin delivered bad news again. “Launches, Captain. Twice as many as before. All of them aimed at us.” The countdown on the left side of the screen marked time until impact, beginning at seventy-six seconds.

  Okoye depressed a small stud on his chair and spoke calmly. “Ch
ief Jannik?”

  The chief engineer’s voice played out of the chair’s speakers. “Yes, Captain?”

  “An unknown enemy has appeared and we need to get out of here. I want everything extra that your engines can give me.”

  “Affirmative. Ramping up in fifteen seconds. Jannik out.”

  Captain Okoye turned and took a breath before implementing his escape plan. “Helm, all available speed to the nearest point we can transition the hell out of here. Tactical, if we can’t outrun those missiles, I expect you to keep them off of us however you can.”

  Martin nodded, then cut her eyes quickly to Cross. He read the request in her look and joined her at the tactical station. “Communication, thirty seconds before impact, launch our beacon back to fleet. Flynn, download as much data on the newcomer and this area of space to it as possible.” Olivas rose from his seat to take a handhold next to Lieutenant Casco, in case assistance was needed with the beacon.

  There was nothing more to do. Torpedo tracks closed in on them as both ships increased speed. Crew members inserted new information into the display, showing the point at which the Washington would create its escape tunnel and the threshold where the other ship would enter cannon range even if they outran the missiles. After several seconds, it became clear they would escape just seconds before impact.

  The captain tapped a finger on his chin. “We are cutting it too close. Tactical, deploy every countermeasure we’ve got, right now. Let’s see if we can buy ourselves some time.”

  The Washington launched her full array of defensive tricks, attempting to distract the incoming projectiles with electromagnetic jammers and decoys that would appeal to sensors focused on sound, light, or heat. Antimissile rockets also shot forth, claiming several of the torpedoes in impressive blooms of fire. The countermeasures forced the remaining missiles to evade before reorienting on the ship, buying them an additional ten seconds until impact. A low whine trilled at their perception’s edge as the point defense cannons spun up to do their protective duty.

  Ricardo Casco shattered the silence. “Incoming communication, Captain. Sound and image.”

  Okoye’s eyebrows rose as he swiveled toward the comm station. “Really? Now he wants to talk?” The captain swiveled back, released his restraints, and stood to face the main display, hands clasped behind his back. “On screen.”

  The bridge crew got their first image of an alien being a moment later. His skin shifted colors while they watched—different gem shades over a base gray that looked rougher than human skin. His impressive ivory wings were unfurled, making him resemble some strange mix of demon and angel, in Cross’s opinion. The alien spoke, shaking his fist at them. The feathers at the crown of his skull stood up straight, giving him a menacing look. His tones were at times guttural, at times sibilant, and completely unintelligible to the humans. His face was a pleasant mixture of human and avian, the latter more than a hint but not dominant. Two gesturing arms and the tops of what Cross assumed were two legs completed the humanoid form. His uniform seemed to include selected pieces of armor at strategic locations, glinting in emerald green. Cross automatically categorized the being as male, even though there was no way to know for sure.

  Cross caught Kate’s eye, raising his eyebrows. Kate shook her head, her linguistic proficiencies inadequate to an understanding of the creature. The tirade wound down, and the being stopped speaking. He seemed to wait expectantly.

  “I am Captain James Okoye, in command of the United Atlantic League starship, Washington, DC. We did not intend to enter your territory, but were brought here by equipment malfunction on the ship you destroyed. We seek only to leave in peace. Perhaps, at another time, when there are not torpedoes streaking toward us, we can find some common ground between our two people.”

  He paused, awaiting a response from the other side. The alien closed the connection, and the display returned to a view of its ship. Okoye sat again, and said to Olivas, who also returned to his chair, “I don’t think he likes us very much.”

  He generated a couple of stifled laughs with his joke, which was all he could hope for at the moment, Cross thought. On screen, the Washington reached that point in the system that was in balance, the attractive forces of the planets, asteroids, and unknowns countering each other enough to provide stability for a tunnel.

  Okoye wasted no time at all. “Helm, get us out of here.”

  Their countdown clocks were based upon technology that they understood. This was logical, but unfortunate as the enemy missiles didn’t follow their rules. As the tunnel opened, the projectiles deployed a gravitic beam to latch on to the ship. With fifteen seconds to spare, the tunnel the Washington transitioned into closed, but not before the ship dragged several torpedoes into it with her.

  Chapter Eight

  With no other clear path to follow, Dima and the Beijing stayed in the sector to see if the ships that had been sucked into the errant tunnel would reappear. After nineteen hours, the beacon from the Gagarin tumbled into normal space from a tiny rip in reality and downloaded its data. Dima’s executive officer woke him from a sound sleep to brief him. They met in the ship’s galley, where the exec prepared a pot of bitter tea and doled out cold sesame noodles as a midnight snack. Dima raised an eyebrow at her, but accepted the food gratefully and ate while she brought him up to date.

  When Senior Lieutenant Svetlana Ivanova finished her tale, and Dima finished his noodles, he leaned back in his chair and said, “I knew Mikhail for more than seven years. He was my executive officer several ships ago. He was a gentle man, for being so giant, but he was very easily provoked. It appears our Union friends found a pressure point and pushed on it until he felt the need to respond.” Dima shook his head. “It is all so stupid, Svetlana. We fight each other over things that don’t matter because that’s all we know. We’ve lost sight of the reasons… if there ever were any to start with. Now it’s just routine. If we could learn to work together, fewer young people would end up dead or damaged.”

  He levered himself up out of the chair with a sigh. “The situation seems to be moving from bad to worse, based upon what the Gagarin sent in his beacon. We should return to fleet and inform them about this new discovery. They will want to make sure they get impressive words on fancy paper claiming the aliens’ space in the name of the AAN right away, no doubt.” He straightened to his full height, and shifted his shoulders backward, mentally donning the mantle of command. He raised the communicator on his wrist and hit the button to open communication to the bridge.

  “Lieutenant Zian, sound general quarters. Prepare the ship for action. Have the helm chart our fastest course back to the fleet.” He turned to his executive officer and said, “What if the thing that killed the Gagarin knows where he came from?”

  Ivanova froze, considering the implications.

  “I think we had better get to the bridge.”

  “Indeed. I think we better.”

  Both officers had settled into their customary stations when the sensors officer spoke. “Radiation increase consistent with an imminent tunnel.”

  “Wide view on the screen, please, tactical.” Dima looked at his executive officer. “Another beacon?”

  “We can hope.”

  “It’s not particularly likely, though.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Well, then.”

  “What if it’s the ship that destroyed the Gagarin, Captain?”

  “We run, Exec. We run really, really fast.”

  Chapter Nine

  The Washington transitioned from tunnel space unaware of the trailing missiles. They announced their presence by striking the unreinforced aft portion of the ship’s starboard side. The shields held out against the first torpedo, but the second and third drilled deeply inside and exploded. A fourth followed them in but failed to detonate, preserving the Washington from destruction.

  The torpedoes created a chain reaction of explosions that marched through the ship. The Washington bucked with each
detonation. Cross was flung into the air, a victim of a weakened strap at the engineering station and his own reluctance to engage the manual restraints. Felix Olivas also suffered a failure in his safety equipment as the XO chair partially broke free from its mooring, severing both the manual and automatic restraining belts. Cross was lucky and snagged a support column to wrap himself around at the cost of only a cracked rib and heavy bruising. The executive officer did not share his luck and tumbled about, smashing his skull sharply into a bulkhead.

  “Medical team to the bridge,” Captain Okoye’s clipped accent announced, cutting through the noise and confusion. “Damage report.”

  Martin coordinated the flow of information from throughout the ship. “Sections one through five on decks alpha, bravo, and indigo are vented to space. The crews who survived the initial blast were suited and have minimal additional injuries. Medical teams are responding.”

  “What hit us?”

  The tactical officer responded, “Unknown. But the only contact on our screens is the Beijing.”

  At a nod from the Captain, the communication officer left his station to administer first aid to the XO. Cross climbed up from the floor, using the column as a support. Once he had stabilized himself, he said in a low tone, “The Beijing doesn’t know how badly we’re hurt, sir. A surprise attack would take him unaware. It may be our only chance, given the damage.” The battle display told the tale, showing a schematic of the ship with shields missing and sections that were venting atmosphere outlined in orange. There was a lot of orange.

  The captain looked thoughtful. By the time that Okoye finally answered, Cross would have already fired off his first salvos. “You spoke to the captain of the Beijing before, did you not?