by Mark Tufo
“Keep firing, Fields, I don’t want them to get anything. She says they’re going for bodies, but I think they’re looking for something. Lane, we have about three seconds before Beth’s mug comes back on that screen telling us to stop. You find a way to prevent that and I’ll promote you.”
She started working furiously. “What happens if I don’t make it, sir?” she asked as she kept moving about.
“I’ll fund and run a fiber convention in New Orleans, in July. Call it Wood-Eating Stock and you’ll be the Blue Chem toilet cleaner.”
Beth’s scrubbed out features were just appearing as Lane pulled out something that looked suspiciously like an old fuse box.
“I hate fiber, sir,” she said triumphantly.
Fields fired for a couple more moments; the ship was exploding outward in an ever-expanding junk field. It wasn’t quite destroyed when the Stryvers fired a very high-speed staple at us. It left a gouge on our side, nearly down the entire length of the ship.
“Put the fuse back in. Fields, ease up.”
Beth looked angry, like five-years-old angry and she’d had her favorite dolly confiscated for pulling the dog’s tail, for the umpteenth time. “Stop shooting!” she was screaming. It twisted her face into something that more truly represented who she had become. It was not pretty.
“Done, we’re done!” I had to shout to be heard over her.
“We need that ship!” She was shaking with rage. “They’re starving.” Her rage dropped for a second to show fear. If they were that hungry it stood to reason that she was up on the menu.
“Oh Beth, what have you got yourself into.” I couldn’t help it; there was a tiny measure of pity there.
“The fall through time–it affected them. I hardly even noticed it but, but they’ve changed. They’ve been alt…” The screen went dead.
“That was pretty ominous,” BT said.
“Looked like the start of every psychological sci-fi thriller.” I shuddered thinking of a changing Stryver. It certainly wasn’t to something like a fuzzy koala. If it was frightening Beth then it had to be bad because she was apparently alright with their already nightmare-inducing status. “That second prog ship is going to be here in minutes,” I said needlessly. “Anyone have any thoughts as to why that first ship didn’t fire on us?”
“Lack of command?” BT said-slash-asked.
“Could be part of it, but they do have their own command structure aboard.” I was thinking.
“Could have been afraid we would have plummeted back down onto the surface from where we were,” Tracy said.
“I think it’s worse, sir.” Pender looked up from his console. “I detected a strange signal emanating from the Stryver vessel. It works on the same principle as the way they keep getting their picture up on our screen.”
“Pender, I’ll kiss you if you have a solution to our problem.” He looked wholly uncomfortable with that proposition. The kiss would be worth it; couldn’t imagine a much worse scenario than being in a battle where we could neither move nor fire.
“It’s not really a radio signal. It is a flat line of information. A lasering of code, point to point injected into a system; it bypasses any security measures in place.”
“You’ve figured out how to stop it?”
“Of course.”
I felt relieved.
“We’re going to need enough lead or diamond material to cover this entire ship. I could do the math and see how much.”
I squinted in disbelief at his grip on our situation. “Yeah, don’t bother. I’m not sure we’re going to come across a Lead and Diamond superstore anywhere nearby.”
“The design of this sir, is brilliant, and the implementation is flawless. This is not their technology.”
“Just stop there, Pender. I’m not adding another alien race into the mix. It’s already getting crowded enough. You just start working on a way to stop this forced virus or whatever it is.”
He tilted his head and popped out his bottom lip for half a second. “Fairly accurate description, sir.”
“They’re going to let us help them kill these ships, then they’re going to eat us, aren’t they?” BT asked.
“That would be my guess,” I told him. “Beckert, did you hear Pender?”
“Little busy, General. I did not.”
I filled him in. “Listen, Beckert, I think Pender might start to over think this, find me a viable solution. And if he says anything about diamonds, just punch him. Figuratively,” I added.
“I don’t even know what we’re really even talking about.”
“Great. That makes two of us,” I told him. “You’d better get back to that slider or we’re going to find out if human goes better with a Cabernet or a Zinf. Out.”
“Stryvers are moving,” Lane said.
We knew what that meant. The next Prog vessel was coming in to play.
“Fields, could we do enough, or even any damage to the Stryvers while they are busy with the Progs?”
“That wouldn’t be advisable,” Pender said. “I think they would be able to replicate the interrupter signal; could have us both in their snare.”
“Spiders shouldn’t be able to cast a million-mile web,” BT muttered.
And that was what it was, too, wasn’t it? They trapped their prey, then opened it up to grab the juicy bits inside at their leisure. I thought of us as that poor bee, struggling and buzzing its wings a thousand times a second in an attempt to free itself from that sticky silk entanglement of horrors. I did not want them coming onboard looking for their next meal. I would vent this ship with extreme prejudice before I allowed that to happen.
“Beckert.” I got him back on the line. He looked like he wanted to throw a wrench through the monitor, but didn’t say a word.
“Sir,” he said curtly and through closed lips.
“Pick up your headset. I don’t want anyone else hearing this,” I said after he got it on. “I want you to rig the buckle drive. If at some point the Stryvers incapacitate this ship, I want you to make sure that we don’t become dinner. Clear enough?”
“Understood, sir.”
“Thank you.”
“I realize that you said that as softly as you could, but my ears are as big as the rest of me,” BT said.
“Which way would you prefer to go out? Instant vaporization by high yield bomb, or slowly, and to the sounds of the Stryvers sucking out all your liquefied internal organs while you writhe in agony?”
“Bomb. Definitely bomb.”
Chapter 17
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 14
Don’t know if whoever was on Aradinia directing traffic had a sick sense of humor, but he dropped that Prog vessel directly on top of the Stryvers, used it almost as a missile. I now know where we stood in terms of hatred. That they would sacrifice a ship just for a chance to cause damage to the much larger Stryver vessel was all the information I needed. The Prog ship never had a chance, but it did some damage. Sort of like a Hyundai rolling up on a semi, I could hope it was more than cosmetic.
“General, I think the Progerian vessel winged the rail gun!” Lane shouted–thought she might stand up and raise her fist in the air.
It was tough to see much of anything over the screen; there were explosions and pieces of both ships drifting around them. There may have been some shooting going on, but it was tough to tell as we were shielded from that action, though, the myriad colors flashing around the ships would seem to signify this. I was silently rooting for the Progs. Yeah, I’m about as fickle as an alcoholic at a beer tasting convention. Whichever one I was currently drinking was my favorite. Each of them had hoped we and whoever we were fighting would wipe each other out, I was not above this sentiment now that the tables had slightly turned in our favor.
“Do we help?” Fields asked.
“Shit.” That I said aloud. The Stryvers were going to win, that was a foregone conclusion. It would not look good on our Straw-Man alliance if we sat back and watched the festivities.
“Get in there. When we’re in range, see if the Stryvers want us to start shooting.”
“I meant the Progs,” Fields clarified.
“Not yet.”
“Took your sweet ass time,” Beth said after Lane reached out. The bridge had some smoke on it, there was the flashing of some lights, but no alarm. “And no, we don’t want any of your pathetic help. We have this under control.”
“Glad to see it,” I said, but she had already cut me off; the feed was gone. “Well, we did due diligence. Back away.”
“I have clear firing lanes,” Fields said.
“Lane, are you positive about the rail gun?” I asked. I had my hand up to have Tracy hold position for a moment.
“Sir, the Prog ship hit it, but I can’t tell how bad or if it’s out of commission,” she replied.
“Fields, can you get killing shots in before they can break free from their entanglement and get their guns in place?”
“I can do some serious damage, sir, but I can’t guarantee I can take them down.”
Like the bitch was prescient: “WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!” Beth screamed.
“Reverse is stuck. Fields left the parking brake on.” First thing I could think to say.
“Better unstuck it quickly!” This time she stayed until I nodded to Tracy to get us out of there.
When she again graciously left our bridge, BT asked what I think everyone was thinking. “She seem nervous?”
“They’re vulnerable, I just don’t know how vulnerable. That ship can fuck us up three ways to Wednesday. Even if the rail gun has some damage, they just shoot us with that control ray and we sit here like a bump on a log until they get everything squared away and use us for target practice. It’s not a risk I’m willing to take.”
BT paused. “Really?” he asked.
“This one time I exercise caution, and you’re going to give me flak for it?”
“Just seems like a weird muscle group to exercise right now, considering you’ve never even stretched it before.”
“Don’t make me regret this any more than I do already.” We watched as the Prog vessel was injected with some lethal shots. Like a boxer that had all the wind knocked out of him, the ship was pushed away, and this time the Stryvers didn’t take any chances. They kept firing until there wasn’t much more than scrap metal floating around. Even if we lost this battle, we were severely hampering the Progerian war effort; I can’t even begin to imagine what these ships cost in labor and material to produce. That, and we had been doing our damnedest to totally screw up their infrastructure. We were beating them down, but to whose benefit? The Progs may never get back to earth but had we opened up the door to welcome the Stryvers? The Prog ship had finished its death throes when Tabor came aboard the bridge. She’d been cleaned up somewhat, but her fur was still a kaleidoscope of blood and gore. And that was only what I could see; a fair portion of her had been shaved and hastily worked on then covered with bandages.
“It’s good to see you,” I told her honestly. “Are you sure you do not wish to stay in sick bay for a little longer?”
“You will not have much more trouble from Aradinia,” she thought-said to me. There was a hint of malice and dark humor mixed in with the message. Whatever they had done had been savage, but had also cost them dearly. “I will heal. Pain merely lets me know that I yet live.”
“I am sorry for your losses.”
“We are warriors; there is always cost associated with that. Our freedom was worth the sacrifice.” She bristled when she looked at the screen and saw the Stryver vessel. “You do not fire on them? Why?”
“We’re not in a position to, yet. My current goal is to get us out of here, mostly intact.”
She was agitated; her tail flicked back and forth like that of a cat. She was looking upon an old enemy, and her new ally was doing nothing.
“When the time is right, Tabor, we will strike and strike hard. That ship is vastly more powerful than this one, to move on them now would make for a quick end. That, and there are four more Prog ships on their way and we could use the help.”
She thought on this a while. “You are using an enemy to defeat an enemy?” She grasped the concept pretty quickly. “I like this.”
Things were tense, but no firing was occurring. I made sure to stay far enough away that even if they had a desire to shoot, they would need to get closer. They did not. We stayed looking at each other, fearful that the other might just do that. Something in my gut was telling me that they would have taken us out if they weren’t hampered in some way; another part was thinking that there were still Prog ships out there and they wanted some help with them no matter how much more powerful they believed themselves to be. This was exactly our own position, and I wondered if Beth realized that as well.
“Imminent arrival in ten minutes,” Lane said. It was great we knew the ship was coming, it sucked that we couldn’t quite pinpoint the location. If they decided to park on top of us, the Stryvers would take that opportunity to strike us both, I could feel it in my bones.
“Get us moving, Colonel. Random zig-zags at two-minute intervals. At no point do I want to be closer to the Stryvers than we are now.”
The Stryvers began their own evasive maneuvers a couple of minutes later. The Prog ship came in close to the Stryver vessel again. It seemed like she had her guns firing before she even exited. Brilliant flashes of light erupted all along the hull of the Stryver ship. She returned fire just as the first shots made impact.
“They’re not using the rail gun,” Pender said.
“Get in there,” I ordered.
“And?” Fields asked.
“Put one over the bow of the Progs to give us a second or two and then hit the Stryvers.”
BT took in a heavy breath through clenched teeth causing him to whistle. “This is it.”
“General, there’s still three Prog ships out there,” Tracy said.
“I can count,” I assured her.
“How many fronts you want to fight on?” BT asked under his breath.
The Prog vessel was punching and clawing as best it could, but it was more on the receiving end of the struggle.
“Imminent arrival, two minutes,” Lane said.
“In range, sir,” Fields said.
“Do it. Hit them with everything.” I felt as if I’d swallowed my own throat, if such a thing is even possible, considering my stomach felt like it wanted to float away.
“We’re taking damage, Michael–you need to get in here or face our wrath!” Beth shouted. This time there most certainly were alarms sounding in the background.
“We’re coming,” I told her.
Lane looked over, wanting to know if she should pull the plug. I never gave her the response to do so. After all the shit Beth had put me and my family through, the multiple times she’d tried to have either Tracy or myself killed…no. I wanted to see her face when she realized that I was finally going to get my own. Delayed justice, but justice nonetheless.
Fields popped two rounds off, one over and one under the Prog vessel.
“You’d better get a new man on weapons; how does one miss a ship the size of Manhattan?” Beth asked. She seemed even more stressed.
“He’s the best I’ve ever had,” I told her.
She knew immediately once I said that. Every bit of weaponry we had was pointed and firing on the Stryvers; if the Progs had been so inclined we had a broadside open to them they could have exploited. Much like them, though, I was too focused on the Stryvers to give a care about the other ship. Beth’s image lurched to the side as the first of our ordnance made contact.
She smiled–she fucking smiled. “I knew you would betray me. It was only a matter of time.”
“Betray you? No, Beth, this is payback.” Then, what I hoped wouldn’t happen did. That fucking rail gun started to swing into place. They’d been playing possum, either to lure us in or see where we stood. Either way, we had fallen directly into their trap.
“Just keep hitting them.”
“Beckert!”
“Here, sir.”
“My buckle drive status.”
“Been good for about a minute now.”
I swiveled my head so fast to the monitor I left my brain behind; it took a second for my vision to catch up. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Sir, literally, a minute; we just finished up some tests.”
The monitor flew from its mount as we were hit.
“Conventional weaponry.” Fields was sweating buckets. Seems the Stryvers had diverted some of their firing to come to us.
“Prog ship is lighting up their buckle drive,” Lane said.
The next Prog ship came back; the Stryver ship was now surrounded. She must have felt a lot like the Bismarck; far outclassing the smaller warships of the day, but still, not much can withstand the combined firepower of so many opponents. The main screen flared a brilliant blue color and a moment later we were tossed to the side. I thought someone had initiated the slider.
“Rail projectiles pierced their drive just as they were buckling,” Lane reported.
“I can’t line up shots!” Fields yelled. I understood why, we were nearly at a forty-five-degree angle.
“Dip under,” I told Tracy, hoping that would buy us some time from her main guns.
“Prog vessel is running,” Tracy said.
“Great, after we show our hand.”
“Can’t really blame them, can you? Three-quarters of their fleet are gone and the two ships responsible for it are fighting against each other now. Shit, man I’d be finding a safe place too if I were them.” BT said.
“Pender, slide us the fuck out of here now!”
“Does this thing look like a Ferrari, General? I can’t flip five hundred million tons of flying machinery on a dime.” He replied.
“Did I ask you to make sense now, Under Colonel!”
“Sir! It's just not…” Tracy interjected.