Lisa eased the throttle forward, the Revenge quickly falling behind them, “Pushing up to super-cruise, we should intercept in less than an hour.”
“Copy that,” acknowledged Draza Mac, watching the long-range scans. “And once we make contact, the Revenge can just jump to us.”
“That’s the plan. The AllStar charts show regular traffic through here, though there’s nothing habitable in this system. From what I remember, there’s a large moon around the third or fourth planet back in Zender’s Trek that has inhabitants…”
“And there’s a station in Balyenne isn’t there?” added Mac.
“Yeah, Raefer Station, if I remember correctly. And it’s not considered the best of neighborhoods - if you get my drift.”
“So it’s a shithole.”
“Yeah,” snorted Lisa with a chuckle.
“But we’re so close to Velora Prime…”
“I know,” sighed Lisa, “Cariloon is sort of a buffer, a neutral area…”
“Contact!”
Lisa raised an eyebrow, “Already? We shouldn’t even be close.”
“Two ships…” Draza Mac shifted to his navigation and plotting screen, pairing it with his identification screen. “Yep, two ships; a mid-sized transport and an escort… Plotting puts them direct to the gate for Kessler’s Drift.”
“Probably going to Tipton Mining. Wonder if they’re dropping off or picking up. What’s their ping?”
“Clear neutral ping. The escort is an impressive looking gunboat - the computer tags it as a Marauder Class hull by Antwerp Shipworks.”
“Never heard of it…” Or have I? It was a strange feeling she couldn’t quantify or describe, but there was, intuitively, something familiar about it.
■ ■ ■
Raulya rotated her seat, “Commander, the Reaper is reporting contact with the target, approaching visual range. ID is tagged as the Kalóóz”
“Lieutenant, tell her to hold back and wait to initiate contact until we get there. Helm, prepare for GOD jump to their coordinates.”
“Aye, GOD sequence initiated, drive spooling up.”
Brian palmed the yellow alert button on his console, the klaxon sounding, the lights shifting to flashing yellow throughout the ship. “Gunnery teams report in…”
“Open comm from the Reaper!” shouted Raulya, “Audio only…”
“This is the Reaper; we are under attack!”
■ ■ ■
Lisa snatched the flight stick to the right, kicking the right pedal sending the Reaper into a violent barrel roll, the second shot from the ship bouncing off her shields and passing her canopy on the left. “Son of a bitch,” she snarled. “Buddy, your day is about to turn into a complete clusterfuck…” Alternating stick and pedal fired maneuvering thrusters along the hull, the Reaper bobbing and weaving like a boxer in a fight. “Guns hot, ordnance live…” She reached to her left, clacking the toggle for the ARC system, the little screen swinging out as it booted up. Initiating ARC - Automatic Reflective Camouflage system. A schematic of the Reaper appeared, covered in markers. STAND BY - Checking System… Emitters 100%... System recently calibrated... System active... The whole process took less than fifteen-seconds. “ARC system up.”
“Wait for the Revenge, Skipper.”
“Screw that, we don’t have time.” She swung the Reaper away, constantly alternating course, running nearly parallel while moving past the target. Switching the comms to all-hail she keyed her mic, “This is UFW-controlled neutral territory - Kalóóz, cease aggression, or I will return fire.”
“Skipper, there’s some kind of distortion off their bow…”
“What is it Mac?”
“Can’t tell… never seen anything like it before.”
“Keep an eye on…” She saw the flash as she lifted and rolled the Reaper, the hot red streak passing underneath the hull. “I am so going to fuck your shit up,” she snapped through clenched teeth. She angrily mashed her mic button, “Kalóóz, final warning, cease fire…”
“Skipper, that distortion…”
“Hold on Mac,” interrupted Lisa, reacting to another flash, a fiery-red streak glancing off the Reaper’s left flank, taking her quadrant shields down nearly fifty-percent. “Dammit! Your funeral,” she growled. “You were warned - now it’s trigger-pulling time…”
“Skipper…”
“He’s guessing - he can only see our engines and maneuvering jets…” Lisa rolled the interceptor, pulling hard, punching the throttle, turning into the target, presenting the smallest silhouette the Reaper had to offer. “Hold on…” The gun pipper danced its little jig, hovering on the starboard engine when she squeezed the trigger, the chain feed of the Cryo Gauss Guns in her nose turret, clacking - feeding nine-inch hardened steel spikes into the Gauss Coil magnet-fired chambers.
Flickers of light flashed across the starboard engine of the Kalóóz, brief licks of fire trailing each impact as the hardened steel spikes from the Reaper’s Gauss guns ignored the shields and punched through its light armor. A fireball belched out of the engine’s forcing cone as armor plating tore loose, separated from frame, fluttering outward in an angry flash, Lisa spiraling the Reaper through the spread of debris as they streaked under the target in a blur. “Decoy out, Mac!”
“Aye, decoy out!” Flicking the decoy release on his right control stick with his little finger, the pre-configured free-flight drone fired from a dispensing rack through a launch tube in the Reaper's belly, momentarily disturbing the reflective camouflage. Clearing the hull, it automatically armed, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. Rocket-propelled with oscillating jets, it flew erratically, flashing visible and IR strobes with low grade lasers, an assortment of jamming electronics cycling on and off, confusing and disrupting targeting systems of all types.
As the crippled Kalóóz shrunk behind them, still under power on her remaining engine, Lisa rolled gently and swung left toward the arrival coordinates for the Revenge, reducing her engine signature by reducing thrust. A solid diamond icon on the edge of her HUD showed the location of the target, a steady growl produced by the system to let her know her LongStrike missile had a positive lock - and was ready to launch even facing and moving away from the target. Her thumb hovered over the launch button.
Draza Mac watched the machinations of the Kalóóz, striking out like a blind boxer, “They’re still firing at us but they’re not even close…”
Lisa chewed the inside of her cheek, “Trying to decide if I should let this LongStrike go or not…” she looked back over her shoulder as the Reaper increased the distance from her target.
“Remember that distortion I mentioned?”
“Yeah…”
“I think it’s following us.”
“What?!” Lisa looked back over one shoulder then the other, rolling the Reaper in each direction to get a better look. “I don’t see anything - where is it?”
“Tab a screen to my turret camera…”
Pulling up the tab, Lisa squinted at the moving image, “What the hell is that? It… it glitters…”
“Ever since you throttled back to cut our engine signature it’s been closing on us.”
“We’re being chased by a cloud of glitter…” she mused, staring at the undulating cloud.
“It’s closing…” Using the turret camera, Mac zoomed in to see if he could pick up any visual details that weren’t evident previously, “Oh shit…”
■ ■ ■
A kaleidoscope of swirling color peeled back, sliding off the hull of the Revenge as she emerged from her jump bubble. “Shields up,” commanded Brian, “open an all-hail.”
“Ready, Commander.”
“Kalóóz, this is the missile frigate, UFW Revenge; cease fire immediately or be destroyed…”
“Target is turning to engage.”
With a look of astonishment, Brian raised his eyebrows, “He can’t be serious.”
“Target is firing…” The shields flared red as the Revenge shuddered,
“Port-forward shield quadrant at ninety percent…”
“Commander - drones! The Reaper is being attacked by drones!”
Brian shuddered. Drones. The very word brought a shot of adrenalin and a race of chills that shot up his back - remembering an encounter in the Longreach System that seemed a lifetime ago, Steele’s entire convoy beset upon by swarms of fighter drones… He mashed his comm button, “Main guns, fire on the Kalóóz! Point defense, kill those damn bugs!” He swiped to the Revenge’s ordnance screen, selecting a Valkyrie ship-to-ship missile…
■ ■ ■
Her eyes and perception told her one thing, the instruments told her something completely different; and while her brain tried to sort out the discrepancy, her distance, time, space and reactionary gap, turned to shit. One second it was a pretty cloud of sparkles and glitter, like being chased by fairy dust - the next second it was being swarmed by a squadron of angry drones swirling around, fearlessly stabbing at her with sharp little lasers and plasma guns. To add to the terror and mayhem, their somewhat spidery appearance added to the evil feeling that raced through the Reaper’s crew, Lisa fighting all-out panic that threatened to drown her, paralyzing her reactions as their shields flared red from all sides.
Draza Mac swung the rear turret back and forth, shooting at anything that crossed in front of the gunsight, the laser repeaters approaching overheat levels. “Get us out of here, Skipper…!” He rotated the turret, firing as he traversed, flicking the decoy release on his right control stick with his little finger, another pre-configured free-flight drone fired from the Reaper’s dispensing rack. “Decoy out… Skipper…! Skipper?!” Mac reached forward and slapped the back of the helmet in front of him, “LISA!” he barked, “punch it, lady! Get us the hellion out of here!”
There was no turning with them, there was only firing at what passed in front of her sights as they swirled around in a mad cloud. “Like trying to shoot mosquitos with a rifle,” snarled Lisa through clenched teeth. Proximity alarm screaming, weaving the Reaper through the storm, a spread of parts and flutter of a debris passed in a blur as a Gauss round destroyed an unlucky drone.
“Screw shooting them! Punch that damn throttle!”
“I’m really trying not to smash into them, Mac! This isn’t like a bug on a windshield, it’ll be sitting in our fucking laps!”
“They’re trying to latch on, Skipper, and shields are down to twenty-five percent. That’s exactly what they’ll do when we hit zero! It’s now or never - we die here!”
“Fine… Fine,” she snapped, her head bobbing and weaving, trying to keep track of the bodies in the roiling mass, looking for an opening. She sucked in and ducked involuntarily as she squeezed the trigger on her gun turret, the chain feed clacking rounds into the guns as they chugged out a steady stream of frozen Gauss rounds, simultaneously ducking the nose of the fighter into an opening and punching the throttle.
“Revenge launching a Valkyrieeeeeee…” wheezed Mac, G-force crushing against him, his pressure suit and the cockpit gyro unable to keep up with the instant demand.
■ ■ ■
Draza Mac’s eyes opened lazily, slowly, lucidity slow in coming, his head rolling against his headrest, his eyes unfocused. Involuntarily sucking a deep breath, the pure oxygen raced into his brain, color returning to his vision, sound returning from a hollow tunnel - to clarity. Deep breathing helped.
Alarms, flashing lights, the engines running at nearly full throttle, and an empty sky full of stars all came racing into his awareness. As well as the fact that his visor was down and locked, his breathing and pounding heartbeat audible… How long was I out? It was then that he realized half of the cockpit canopy was missing, the frame mangled. Drones! A quick scan of his screens and turret camera reassured him they were alone; the Revenge well behind them, the Kalóóz a mere hulk surrounded by a debris field, visible only on the nav screen. “Skipper…?” He reached forward to tap the back of her helmet but couldn’t reach her, her head tilted to one side, leaning slightly forward, “Skipper?!” He slapped the back of the headrest on her seat, “LISA!” There was no movement and a spike of adrenaline shot up his spine, the fine hair on the back of his neck bristling. “No, no, no…” he breathed, systematically cancelling the myriad of alarms and warnings.
Paging to his command screen, Mac selected emergency procedures, “Reaper One, back seat officer, Draza Mac. Transfer all ship controls to me, emergency access code: Bravo-Foxtrot-Tango-Zero-Zero-One-Romeo-One…”
“Com-mand co-o-de rec-c-c-ognized,” replied the stuttering synthetic female voice, the audio hissing and popping in Mac’s helmet comm. “Processing… processing… Request co-onn-grr-b-zzz… ” With a crackle that sounded like a motherboard committing suicide, the comm went dead. A quick check on another screen confirmed all comms were down, he couldn’t contact the Revenge either. He was on his own and Lisa’s life hung in the balance.
“Oooh, you bitch,” hissed Mac, pulling down the holo-keyboard from his command screen. It took him nearly five minutes to hack his way into the emergency procedures control, but in the end it was successful. And not once in all that time, did Lisa move.
■ ■ ■
“Commander, I believe we have the vessel the Kalóóz was pursuing, on the edge of the grid, it is approaching the gate to Velora Prime.”
Brian eyed the aftermath of the short clash with what was either a FreeRanger or Pirate vessel. In either case it had refused to respond or identify itself. The sphere of debris grew slowly, its hull split in half, the remaining drones drifting along on their last directed path before losing command communication from their control ship. “Ping and name?”
“Ping is neutral. Name; the Drake. She’s a transport courier… smaller payload.”
“Hm. We’ll catch up with her in Velora Prime. Let’s turn back and pick up our Reaper. And let’s maintain our standard UFW ping and ID from here, going forward…” Brian was trying to maintain calm and mask his concern, but it was obvious to everyone on the bridge he was worried about the crew of his interceptor. “Any comms with the Reaper?”
“Negative, Commander, all comms attempts have gone unanswered, but, she has recently turned back towards us…”
■ ■ ■
Whether the Revenge was simply anticipating his needs or could actually see the damage, they had come about, positioning for a straight-in approach, slowing to nearly a full stop. Knowing the Reaper may never properly dock or get an atmospheric seal with the mangled canopy interfering, he’d ejected it before reaching the Revenge, flying with an open cockpit.
Using the nose turret’s gun camera to navigate and fly with, a duplicate of the pilot’s HUD filled Draza Mac’s camera screen. His nerves on edge, anxiety flooding him with doubts, he lined up on the holo-markers floating in the HUD to align the Reaper to the Revenge. Glancing to his right at the tab he had separated from the other screens - letting it float alone, the medical holo-screen kept a second-by-second track of his heartbeat and blood pressure, as well as a stress and physical matrix map. The heartrate on Position Two of 142 bpm, wasn’t what was distressing him, it was the blank screen for Position One on the other half of the screen that displayed all zeros.
Mac let the Reaper drift out of the lane for the docking clamps and cursed his inattention to the HUD, wrestling awkwardly with the controls to bring the interceptor into alignment again. He swore to the Gods that he would practice this more if they would just help him dock up and get his pilot safely home.
It felt strange looking up without a canopy as the docking arms extended, but he had never been so relieved to hear the clamps locking down around the fuselage.
It seemed like eons before the seal was secured and the hatch plating separated above him, the sliver of light growing wider to illuminate the cockpit. He had already thrown off his straps, rising on weak knees, “I’m fine! I’m fine!” he shouted, waving them off with tears in his eyes, as the recovery crew reached down to help him. “Help the Lieuten
ant! Help her! Careful! Careful! We need to get her to the infirmary!”
He stood on his seat, watching from behind her as they gently lifted her motionless form out of the cockpit as gingerly as possible, gathering her up and laying her out on a gurney, a gouge across the left side of her helmet, her facemask spidered from an impact - on the same side, her space suit heavily stained with blood from her shoulder all the way down her arm. Filled with frustration, Mac tore his umbilicals free and tossed them into the cockpit, tears streaming down his face, his heart breaking…
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
THE DRAKE, VELORA PRIME : HOME AT LAST - SORT OF…
His eyes closed in a semi-meditative state, Jack Steele raised his head at the sound of someone knocking on the bulkhead of the open infirmary door, “Captain, have you got a minute?” Steele slid his hand out from under the oxygen tent, breaking contact with the Master Chief’s hand. Glancing over at Andrea who was standing near the medical monitors, she smiled politely and nodded her approval.
“Sure Arturro,” Jack stood, wearily, and walked out into the corridor, accompanying his electronics officer to a place where they could speak in confidence - even though he kept nothing from Andrea. “What’s up?”
“OK, look…” Arturro shifted nervously, “so even though most of our stern sensors were shot to hellion, that anomaly we managed to pick up just before we entered the gate…” he glanced down at his e-Pad, “well…”
“Spit it out,” urged Steele.
He offered the e-Pad, “It’s not perfect data by any means, it’s not even complete, but…”
Steele glanced down at the screen, “What did you find?”
“It’s not conclusive, but… Run the time-lapse here,” he pointed, “you tell me what you see. See if it’s the same as what I think.”
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