Star Crusades Uprising: The Second Trilogy

by Michael G. Thomas

  “What do you want? Where is the Atlantic Star?” she demanded in a firm voice.

  The man smiled and reached into his pocket. The ASOG troopers turned their aim directly to him, but Teresa lifted her hand to halt their eagerness. From the folds of his robe, he removed what appeared to be an identity chit. He smiled and pushed it away towards Teresa. In the zero-g environment it moved in a perfectly straight line but slow as if being draw by an invisible cord. It took nearly five seconds to reach her, a time that increased the tension ten-fold in the habitation area. She reached out and caught it, then pulled the chit up to her visor. She examined it carefully before looking back to him.

  “I have large numbers of the survivors. A tragic accident, you might say. Now, bring me to your Captain so that we might discuss the issue.”

  Sergeant Morato nodded to her unit who moved in closer around the man. His guards lifted their weapons and directed them at her. The troopers stopped their movement forward, but kept the enemy in their sights. Pontus smiled at her.

  “That is quite far enough. Now, I am waiting.”

  She looked at him for a few more seconds and finally contacting the Lieutenant.

  “Sir, we’ve got a security chit from the crew on board the Atlantic Star. We also have guests.”

  There was a short crackle from the communications gear, and only a few of the words made it back to her. She changed the coding and tried again.

  “Sir, I have a man here called Pontus. He says he is a brother, that’s how Typhon described him and his comrades on Terra Nova. He says he wants to see the Captain. Oh, and apparently, he has survivors from the Atlantic Star.”

  Still there was no answer. She was about to make arrangements when two of the marines appeared along with Lieutenant Harper. Once next to her, he tapped a button and opened the visor of his helmet. Teresa shook her head angrily at the reckless stupidity of doing that. The PDS suits lacked the sensors to check the immediate atmosphere, and he had little to no protection against biological agents. He looked to Pontus and back to her.

  “Comms are non-functioning. Must be something to do with the interference from the atmosphere. Who is this?”

  She maintained her aim on Pontus but leaned in close to him so Pontus and his guards would be unable to hear her. The Lieutenant looked just as much worried, as he was surprised, to see the man on the vessel.

  “Sir, I think he might have some kind of relationship with Typhon and the Zealots. He describes himself as one of the brothers, and he’s got a Biomech guard.”

  The young Lieutenant examined the man from a distance and was intrigued by his armoured bodyguards. With a hand gesture, he ordered his own men to take up flanking positions.

  “What does he want, and why the hell is he here?”

  “He said he’s called Pontus, and he wants to talk with the Captain.”

  The Lieutenant shook his head at the suggestion.

  “Does he now? Why would I even consider this offer? He might be carrying a weapon, or a bomb of some kind.”

  As they talked, the man stood silent, watching them both with a bemused expression on his face. He seemed to become more and more exasperated by their talking until he finally interrupted them.

  “I can see that neither of you is in charge of this little endeavour. It is very simple. Either you bring me aboard your ship to meet with your Captain, or my pilot will detonate our engines. He looked to his left hand where he carried some kind of time device.

  “I will give you thirty seconds to decide.”

  Teresa looked to the Lieutenant for a decision, but he seemed uncertain as to what he should do. He tried once again to contact the Santa Maria, but their communications had dropped from the odd lost data packet to disconnection. The system reported a total signal loss at a distance of more than a few metres.

  “Sir, something is going on here. I recommend we leave this craft immediately.”

  Pontus shook his head.

  “Twenty seconds. If anybody leaves this vessel, I will have the engines detonated. I have no wish to cause harm, merely to speak with your Captain. You may search me, and my guards will stay here during my visit. What do you say?”

  * * *

  General Rivers waited patiently in the briefing room. A dozen heavily armed guards stood nearby and outside were another three squads, all ready to jump in with a single word. He heard footsteps approaching and looked to his personal guards. They were ready for trouble. From the right hand door the familiar shape of Sergeant Teresa Morato appeared.

  “Sir, he’ll be here in less than a minute.”

  “Good,” he replied, more relieved at the end of the waiting than anything else.

  The lights in the room flickered and returned to normal.

  “Is it just me, or are we experiencing more than the usual level of equipment failures and disruption right now?” he asked rhetorically. As if to answer his question, the figure of the ship’s executive officer entered the room. He saluted quickly to the General before speaking excitedly.

  “Sir, our ship-to-ship comms are still functioning. We cannot reach Alliance Fleet Headquarters though. The Captain is concerned that the transport may be carrying some kind of device. He is withdrawing the ship to high orbit and away from the craft, just in case.”

  “Good,” replied the General.

  But there was no more time, as four marine guards entered, closely followed by the flowing robes of the stranger, Pontus. He marched directly to the General and stopped in front of him. He held out his hand, but the General ignored his attempt at mock friendship.

  “General Rivers, your reputation amongst my brothers is well known. It is an honour.”

  He chose to ignore the obvious slight and stepped next to the executive officer.

  “I presume you are the ship’s second in command. What might your name be?”

  General Rivers lifted his hand to stop the XO from speaking.

  “Pontus, that is your name? I have questions for you.”

  He smiled at the words, his face betraying a cockiness and arrogance that sent a shiver down the General’s spine. He stepped back and looked around at the almost completely empty briefing room. It had been stripped of anything of note apart from a small number of the old recruiting posters at the start of the War. One showed a burning city with dozens of civilian bodies littering the ground. The title read Remember New Carlos.

  “On behalf of my brothers, I have a short statement to make,” he explained.

  General Rivers signalled to one of the marines who stepped beside him with a video recording unit. Pontus looked at it and to the General.

  “Hyperion is ours and has been for nearly thirty years. A day of reckoning is coming, a day that will render you and your friends irrelevant. My master informs me that no ship may enter within half a million kilometres of this planet without facing severe consequences. You have already forfeit these ships, and what we do with your lives is another matter.”

  The General gave a short signal with his right hand, and two marines leapt forward and grabbed the man, shackling him between them. He then marched close to him and pushed his face directly in front of the man’s.

  “How dare you threaten an Alliance ship! Tell me, who are you and what are you doing here? The War is over. The Echidna Union was destroyed, and your Zealot friends have vanished like the cowards we both know they really are.”

  The last line seemed to rankle Pontus more than anything else. His amusement changed to bitterness, and his tone altered to a higher pitch.

  “You will unhand me and listen to my terms, or face the consequences. If you do not then...”

  He was cut short by a quick uppercut from General Rivers that landed under his ribs. Pontus dropped to his knees, his chest heaving from the pain. As he lay there, General Rivers called over four marines from outside. They moved in and attached security poles to their enemy’s arms and shoulders.

  “Throw him in the brig.”

  They dragg
ed him out through the door, and as he vanished, he could hear the man shouting as loudly as he could.

  “You have ten minutes, General, then you will reap the consequences of your actions. Trust me, my brothers will make you and the crew of your ships suffer like never before.”

  He said something else, but by now he was too far away for anybody in the room to actually hear him anymore. The XO looked at the General with a confused expression on his face.

  “What do you think he meant?” he asked.

  The General scratched his chin and then made for the door.

  “I don’t know, but knowing our friends, it can’t be good. We need to get to the Captain and fast, come on!”

  It didn’t take long for the two officers and their entourage to run the short distance between the two important parts of the ship. When they arrived in the CIC, it was clear something bad had happened. At least half of the computers were showing nothing but diagnostic screens, and two flashed on and off repeatedly. The mainscreen was functioning and showed an image of the small taskforce of five ships as it made slow progress in moving further from the small vessel.

  “We need to get away from that craft and fast!” he snapped.

  “It takes time to shift orbit,” explained the Captain who was already busy discussing the problems with his chief engineer.

  “Screw the orbit, just move us away from them, and fast!”

  The internal alarms triggered, and there was only a brief warning to those on the ship before the engines triggered. Any change in acceleration would act as an additional force on the ship and cause a variety of complications to those not strapped in. Even the rotating artificial gravity sections would be affected; the occupants would hit by multiple forces pulling in them. The alarms continued as the engines burned and pushed the heavy warship into a higher orbit. The four escorting cruisers were at different levels, and two were in a lower orbit as they oversaw the scanning of the planet’s surface.

  “Captain, I’m detecting an energy signature from the northern continent. It is something massive, Sir,” said the tactical officer.

  Captain Cornwall’s gut instinct told him something was coming. He wished he had some kind of functional shield he could activate, but in this age, it was armour and defensive weapons. He glanced at the XO who was waiting for the command. All it took was a nod, and Commander Petersburg dove into his procedures.

  “This is the XO. Battlestations, this is not a drill. All crew to your stations, prepare for battle!”

  The familiar red lighting and low level siren echoed through every part of Santa Maria as the ship moved to a battle ready state. The crew were fast, very fast. Captain Cornwall watched as security and medical teams reported in, and the weapons crew activated the many weapon systems on board. Like most ships in the old Confederate fleet, she was equipped with different weapons for different situations. Her main guns were medium-calibre railguns that were fitted into the rotating sections of the ship. They were deadly against medium to large targets. For close defence, she had been retrofitted in the War with additional point defence systems. These were small-automated turrets with multi-barrelled Gatling guns. Though primitive compared to the railguns, they were cheap and easy to install and gave decent protection from missiles, rockets and other projectiles.

  “What did he want anyway?” asked the Captain in the brief lull before whatever was about to happen.

  “He wants to speak with you, or we will face the consequences. He said our ships were already forfeit, and all that was left to discuss was what to do with those on board.”

  Captain Cornwall considered his words as the rest of the deck crew went about their duties in preparing the ship.

  “Did he now? Well, there’s no way in damnation I am giving up our ships.”

  The General nodded in agreement, moved to a chair on the right, and started to pull on the straps. It was a requirement when in battle to put them on, and he had no desire to fly around the CIC and crash into people or equipment.

  “Captain, all stations reported in. We’re ready for battle,” said the XO.

  Captain Cornwall had strapped himself into his chair and checked the tactical disposition of his force on one of the smaller side displays. Two of the cruisers were already a good distance away, and the third was the same distance as his ship. What concerned him though was ANS Thunderer was still very low and moving away from Pontus’ vessel more slowly that the others.

  “What’s the hold up with Thunderer?” he asked.

  “Sir, emergency contact by the chief science officer on Thunderer. He says they are losing power to main systems. Something about an energy burst from the surface, Sir,” said Lieutenant Nilsson from her communications desk. She was one of the many experienced officers from the destroyed battlecruiser Crusader that had found new homes throughout the fleet.

  Proximity alarms sounded even louder than the battlestations alarm. The XO looked at the displays and back to the Captain while simultaneously lifting the microphone.

  “This is the XO. Brace for impact!”

  Captain Cornwall watched the mainscreen with dread as what looked like a green pulse of energy moved up from the surface and towards his ships. For a second, he thought it was heading for the Santa Maria, but instead it altered course by a few degrees and hurtled towards Thunderer.

  “What the hell is that?” he demanded.

  “Unknown, Sir. Its energy signature is off the charts,” replied the tactical officer.

  There was no more time for analysis. What happened next only took less than ten seconds, but to those on the bridge watching it appeared an eternity. First the energy pulse rushed towards Thunderer. The point defence systems did their work, and streams of projectiles ripped into the object, yet still it came. It collided towards the rear of the cruiser and flashed with intensity of a low yield nuclear device. With no air to carry a shockwave, there was no sound or blast inside the Santa Maria, but the damage was obvious. As the light flash quickly dissipated, it revealed the wreck of the cruiser, split into three by the blast of energy that was more powerful than any weapon they had seen before.

  “Gods, what is that thing?” muttered the Captain.

  The three large chunks of the cruiser drifted out of control, yet they remained in orbit. Each of the crew watched as small numbers of lifeboats tried to escape the carnage. Molten metal and debris littered their path and for every two boats that got away, one was trapped or destroyed by the field of rubble.

  “Engines all ahead, get us out of here!” demanded the XO to the rest of the crew.

  He seemed unscathed by the terrible event that had just occurred, but in reality he was just doing what he had trained to do for years. When trouble hit the ship, it was his job to operate on autopilot, and to ensure the safety of the ship and the crew, no matter what was happening around them. He was forced to shout several times to snap the crew out of their daze. Over the speakers was the sound of crackling and static on the open channel. At least three of the lifeboats called out in desperation before Lieutenant Nilsson cut the feed; there was little need to spread the terrible sound to anybody other than those that could help in some way.

  “All crew accounted for, Captain, looks like just the one shot against Thunderer,” explained the tactical officer.

  The rumble of the engines increased as the Marine Transport pushed away from their current position with all the power that could be forced from the smaller engines. The large ship was equipped with powerful engines for long distance travel, but it took time to prepare and fire them up as well as a large number of internal procedures that must be carried out prior to them being activated.

  “Is this what that bastard in the brig threatened?” he snapped, his rage almost uncontrollable.

  “He didn’t give specifics,” said a resolute General Rivers who until now had kept quiet. His job was to command the overall operation and to plan the ground phase of any missions. The running of the ships was out of his jurisdictio
n and his knowledge.

  “That was clearly a message, though. Can they hit us again?” he added.

  The tactical officer already had three screens showing the weapon and pages of data from the attack. He looked over his shoulder for a brief moment.

  “So far it seems to be a magnetically shielded fusion bomb. It must be controllable though and big, very big. At least the size of a shuttle and well armoured. Based on the rate of assent and its ability to track and hit a cruiser moving at speed, I suggest we need to leave orbit and fast. I cannot give you an accurate limit to its range.”

  Two of the displays shut off, and the rumble from the engines stopped. Captain Cornwall looked over to the status indicators to his right. They showed that two of the powerplants had shutdown, and a large number of systems were following.

  “What in damnation is happening to my ship?” he demanded.

  General Rivers looked at the screen and to the Captain.

  “I think it’s time we had a little chat with our guest, don’t you?”

  As if to emphases his point, the mainscreen flickered and went black. The few computer systems remaining showed garbage or corrupted data and imagery. Even more worrying was the fact that remaining power system was starting to overheat due to the heavy requirements now being placed on it. The Captain starting issuing orders via the computer system while simultaneously calling over to General Rivers.

  “General, we’ve got problems here. Can you get down to the brig and negotiate something, anything? We can’t afford to lose another ship out here.”

  General Rivers was already on his feet and holding one of the many side rails to stop him from falling. He tapped his communications unit and reached Sergeant Morato.

  “Get your entire troop down to the brig. We have things to discuss with Mr Pontus.”

  He dragged himself to the door and looked back briefly at the confusion in the CIC. It reminded him of the worst moment in the middle of battles, especially some of the situations he and the Admiral had been involved in. The Captain was competent, but he was in no way a match for the old Admiral Jarvis. He sighed and dragged himself out into the corridor.