Retribution_Downfall of the Republic

by T. C. Shrader

  “Your guests will be safe, Rachel. I promise. Achilles won't let anything happen to them, and unless a fleet of renegade battleships shows up, The Ubik will be fine. You have my word.”

  It was almost as if he was reading her mind, but she realized she had visibly tensed after Achilles mentioned unknown hostiles.

  “Alright. So what's the plan?” she asked, eager to see how Alistair came up with his half-baked schemes.

  Chapter 15

  As The Ubik began its approach to the embattled Republic corvette, the other two spacial signatures proved Alistair's guesses true – a colonial freighter and an unregistered corsair. Similar in size to combat corvettes, corsairs were favored by rogue elements throughout human space. Fast attack ships with moderate armament, they prioritized storage space over armor plating. They could use guerrilla tactics to great effect, and were typically outfitted with full offensive kit.

  “The stranded Republic ship is a long range corvette, the URS – Kris. It looks like the colonial freighter, The Omarra Kahn, saw them stranded and docked in an attempt to render aid but were unable to get through the battered hull of the crippled ship.” Rachel was reading from the many display panels in the cockpit, as Alistair had spent a significant amount of time teaching her the basics of interstellar travel and combat.

  The corsair, Aletta's Revenge, was just moving into a boarding position as The Ubik approached. Due to the stealth capabilities of The Ubik they weren't detected until shortly after having sent a small boarding party to investigate The Omarra Kahn.

  “The corsair is unlatching from the freighter. I assume they'll try to intercept us. We look like a freighter too, right?” she asked nervously. Her first bout of space combat was imminent and she was not looking forward to it.

  “Let Achilles handle it. He'll show you what he's doing. For now they see a mineral freighter and pretty soon they'll get to see us with a much better view. Achilles, why not show off a bit? Go for overkill. We're not short on ammo.”

  “Acknowledged, sir.”

  “I'll be waiting at the station boarding hatch after I get suited up. Once that corsair is out of play, bring us up to the freighter. I'd like to make sure everyone on board is friendly.”

  “Standard play, then?” Achilles asked. Apparently, he and Alistair had done this before.

  “You know it!”

  Just like that, Alistair was heading off to his quarters to don what Rachel assumed was an environmental suit.

  “Ms. Sahlinz, I advise that you strap in. I will send a similar warning to all other passengers and crew. We will be within striking range in 180 seconds. I am also blocking all signals sent from all ships in the vicinity. The pirates aboard The Omarra Kahn will be blocked out from their home ship.”

  Her heart was pounding, not sure what to expect. She knew the basics of ship to ship combat, the vast distances involved, and the fragility of these mighty vessels as they slugged it out.

  “What do you think will happen, Achilles?” she nervously asked.

  “The enemy vessel will most likely attempt to go on the full offensive, launching their heaviest munitions followed by shorter range rapid fire cannons. Due to their proximity to the civilian freighter, we will allow them to empty their armed missile silos before attacking.”

  “So.. we'll let them shoot all of their missiles at us?!” Rachel was panicking. She knew how brutal things could be in a face to face confrontation. But now she had nowhere to take cover, nowhere to run.

  “I calculate with a 99% certainty that we will emerge unscathed. We are in an advanced warship, Ms. Sahlinz. Mr. Crowe and I have engaged in ship to ship combat many times before. We are now within weapons range and the Aletta's Revenge has launched four ship to ship missiles.”

  “Well fucking return fire!” Rachel shouted. She was panicking, and all of a sudden felt very small.

  “Acknowledged.”

  As The Ubik sped toward its target while staring down four ship to ship missiles, a low hum rose from the very belly of the ship. Rachel could feel the hairs on her arm stand up and a slight jerk as two brilliant beams of light shot at imperceptible speeds toward the enemy corsair, which had no time to react. The vessel was immediately consumed in fire as it hurled chunks of jagged scrap in all directions. The fire quickly subsided, and all that remained was a cloud of dust and glowing metal.

  “Inbound missiles entering point defense range. Engaging,” said Achilles.

  Just as he spoke, Rachel saw brilliant streams of vibrant green and yellow erupt toward the rapidly approaching warheads. They instantly began to swerve and dodge, but to no avail – the rapid fire plasma cannons aboard The Ubik were state of the art point defense weapons, and made short work of the pirate's antiquated weapons systems.

  The entire battle lasted less than 30 seconds and Rachel was speechless. So many lives taken in such a short time. It seemed almost effortless.

  “That sounded like fun. How were the fireworks, Rachel?” asked Alistair. He'd been viewing the entire ordeal, including Rachel's reactions, from his quarters as he got suited up for boarding.

  “I... is it always that easy?” she asked.

  “Only pick fights you know you can win. If we were up against a Republic battleship, the outcome would have been considerably different. Plus Achilles showed off a bit and used the big guns. They run through the entire ship. Did your hair stand on end? Mine always do. It's the magnetic coils.”

  His casual conversation during times of duress was unnerving but she was starting to get used to it.

  “30 seconds until docking clamps connect with The Omarra Kahn,” Achilles reported.

  “All suited up and ready to go. Let's get this shit going!” Alistair said with excitement.

  He's clearly in his element thought Rachel. She decided to check out his environmental suit through the camera in the starboard airlock and was stunned at what she saw.

  Standard environment suits included an emergency second 'skin' that clung to the body, much like a wet suit, and a much bulkier outer suit that housed electronics and life support. The inner skin was to protect from accidental compression loss due to small holes and was mostly for keeping body parts from freezing in the vacuum of space. The outer shell was a partly rigid set of individual pieces, one for each limb, and a helmet, all of which would attach to the torso piece. This created a breathable environment that could withstand the rigors of an absolute vacuum, and was standard garb for interstellar miners and pirates alike.

  Alistair was not in an environmental suit, but rather a gleaming set of fully powered marine assault armor. It covered his body entirely and was bulky enough to not require a separate helmet. Instead, the pilot's head was safely encased between two large shoulder pauldrons while a somewhat bulbous translucent globe stuck up and forward. She likened the head piece to glass but knew it was a piece of much more sophisticated and resistant composite.

  Sleek metal plates contoured around his limbs while smaller scale-like panels wove themselves around joints and other delicate areas. The chest piece looked to be a solid metal plate with built in speakers, microphones, flood lights, and sensor equipment – all of which were built into small compartments along the breast and neck line just below the visor. Small storage ports and emergency access panels lined the lower torso section and waist. A solid rim of metal protruded from the collar and encircled the head space in an effort to deflect small arms fire from ricocheting into the visor.

  The armor weighed a total of nearly three thousand pounds and was resistant to all but the most concentrated small arms fire. They turned their users into walking powerhouses of speed, strength, and endurance. It was powered by a fusion reactor housed directly between the shoulder blades, and was emblematic of the strength of the Republic Marine Corps. The familiar whirring of its heat exhaust turbines on the shoulder blades was as familiar as the whistle of gravity bombs as they fell through the atmosphere toward their targets.

  She could see from an alternately an
gled camera the light blue flames belching from the turbines as the fusion reactor surged power to the various mechanical, sensor, medical, and communications apparatuses built into the armor. It could power heavy hand held plasma cannons, railgun turrets, and even energy beam turrets.

  Where the hell did he get military grade powered armor?! She briefly thought, then remembered the ship she was on. And how easily it had dispatched a pirate corsair. And how easy it was for them to leave Alceti Hub, even with the authorities watching them.

  “Docking clamps engaged. Mr. Crowe, you are free to board The Omarra Kahn. I read a crew and passenger manifest for 46 souls, but am detecting 50 total heat signatures. I advise caution when boarding.”

  “Don't I always?” Alistair responded, a shit eating grin plastered to his face.

  “Almost never, sir,” the AI responded.

  Rachel had a full battery of camera angles to choose from, including three on Alistair's suit itself – two in the front, and one in back – as well as a bird's eye view of Alistair himself, safely tucked away in his armor. The first thing she noticed was how smoky it was inside, due to the cigar hanging from his mouth. She rolled her eyes. He's just trying too hard to look cool at this point.

  The outer airlock door to The Omarra Kahn slammed shut behind him and the room wheezed and gasped as it filled itself with air. Just before the inner door light turned from red to green, Alistair said “Achilles – lights, please?”

  The Omarra Kahn went dark immediately and Alistair raised his rifle to his shoulder. As the door shot open he let loose a flurry of four low velocity, magnetically propelled tungsten and iron spears. Four bodies fell to the floor and the lights came back on – less than enough time for the confused defenders to engage their low light systems, much less react to what they assumed was another boarding party.

  The entire ordeal, from disabling the lights to turning them back on, took less than ten seconds.

  Alistair lowered his rifle and popped open his visor.

  “Howdy all. Just passing through, don't mind me. Rachel, can you and Achilles check to see if The Kahn's dear captain needs anything?”

  The crowd had been assembled into The Omarra Kahn's cargo bay through which Alistair had just entered and were sitting in shocked silence. Their captors all lie dead on the ground and a hulking man wrapped in powered armor strutted by them to the other side of the ship in order to gain access to the disabled Republic vessel.

  Rachel, still shocked at the efficacy of the assault, shook it off and started trying to console the frightened passengers after patching into The Kahn's intercom system. Achilles went to work checking all critical systems to make sure the colonists would still be space worthy after their run in with a ship of brigands.

  Alistair approached the ship's port air lock and saw that the freighter's crew had been attempting to cut through the hull of the URS - Kris. Plasma torches were doing the trick, but the hardened hull of a Republic warship's outermost layers consisted of a porcelain graphite coating. Larger ships had more advanced thermal barriers, but even smaller ships were able to withstand many thousands of degrees before feeling any adverse effects.

  They had been making progress, however, and he saw a small opening they had been able to create. Alistair reached in and began tearing back the armor plates, his armor humming louder and louder as he tore. The thermal vents began to sound more like jet turbines as the fusion reactor worked harder and harder to keep up with the strain.

  After creating a hole he could fit through, he cautiously engaged his flood lights and entered the Kris. It was pitch black inside, spare the light coming from the air lock on The Kahn.

  “Mr. Crowe, I am detecting two heat signatures similar to your own on the bridge. Power armored marines. There are no other signs of life on the ship. The marines' vital signs are very weak. They seem to have been stranded here for several days and the power on their suits is failing due to damage from the fight.”

  “Keep me updated,” replied Alistair. The entire situation was very odd. He'd never seen a Republic ship in this shape.

  All of the damage seems to have been from a boarding action, but anybody who attacked this ship would have stolen every subsystem available, he thought.

  He worked his way toward the bridge, noting the wounds on the crew members he found along the way. Blast marks and low velocity mag rounds tore through the inside of this ship, and some higher velocity rounds found their way to the reactor. It cascaded and surged the ship with power, then shut itself down.

  Then it hit him. A mutiny.

  He picked up his pace and ran toward the two survivors. He was determined to find out what happened here and leave before any Republic rescue ships showed up. If any made their way here, they would come in force.

  All along the way to the bridge were blast marks, corpses, and the occasional hull breach. Whoever wasn't in an environmental suit would have been doomed.

  “Mr. Crowe, the power signature from the main reactor is fading. It seems it has completed its shut down procedure, and the URS - Kris is now essentially a ghost ship.”

  “I'm just getting to the bridge now, Achilles. Let's see what the survivors have to say.”

  Unfortunately, Achilles' initial estimates were correct – both marines were unconscious, although their armored suits were doing their best to keep them alive. It seemed both men had suffered head trauma, most likely as the ship blew itself apart during a power overload. Their suits automatically put them into a chemically induced coma to prevent any more brain injuries, but were running low on power. Both suit's reactors were malfunctioning after electromagnetic pulses fried electronics across the vessel, which is most likely what prompted the shielded main reactor to shut down.

  As Alistair approached the downed marines, he took note of the melee that must have occurred in the bridge. It certainly looked like a mutiny. Bodies floated in the lack of gravity, but were all slowly congregating at the wall nearest The Omarra Kahn – the freighter's gravisteel plates would have created a minimal gravitational pull, even outside of its intended area of effect.

  “I'm going to bring them back to The Ubik. Prep the med bay and armor repair bay.”

  “Right away, Mr. Crowe.”

  “Alistair, you can't bring them back here. As soon as they wake up and realize they're aboard a stolen – err, commandeered Republic vessel, they'll do whatever they can to take us out,” Rachel objected.

  “They're mutineers, Rachel – let's find out why first, and then decide what to do with them. They could be allies, or they could be jettisoned.”

  Rachel shrugged. Her previous encounters with people of authority had left her jaded, and she deferred judgment to Alistair. She wanted to space them and be done with it. Or even better, leave and pretend that they'd never been here.

  But Alistair saw them as people in need and she understood his drive to help. She also had no doubt that he would deal with them if they were a threat to her people. And if he didn't, she would.

  Alistair locked his MRG carbine to his thigh holster, grabbed each marine by the foot, and effortlessly dragged them back toward The Omarra Kahn. He took special care as he moved closer to the artificial gravity of the freighter, as he didn't want to stress their physical injuries any more than necessary. Once aboard The Kahn, he gently set them, one by one, into the airlock, then disengaged the docking clamps that held the two ships together. He then locked the airlock and had Achilles move The Ubik and The Omarra Kahn away from the Kris and gingerly carried the downed marines back to his ship.

  The former prisoners of The Kahn had begun dispersing to their individual quarters, and were quickly readying themselves for departure. Their ship's systems were fine, as the pirates had only just arrived. As soon as Alistair had finished his rescue mission, they would part ways.

  “They're wounded, I'm taking them back to my ship for treatment. Valiant heroes, I'm sure,” he said as he carried the first trooper back through the airlock to The Ubik.
<
br />   “You're Republic Navy, right?” asked one man as Alistair made his way through The Kahn.

  “Federal Marshal. Just happened to be passing by.” He gestured to the marshal star emblazoned on his combat armor. The man nodded and smiled, relieved that federal forces had saved them from an untimely death at the hands of slavers.

  “We're all ready to provide statements and fill out whatever paperwork you need once you're done here.”

  “Uh, thanks. I'll … be back to do that soon. Shortly. Yep.”

  Alistair just wanted to send these people on their way, and didn't want them to know who he really was. That would only make their trip even worse.

  After getting both marines to The Ubik, he engaged emergency ejection procedures on their suits and put both of them into rapid cellular regeneration tanks in the medical bay.

  “Patch them in together so they can talk when they wake up, would you?” he asked Achilles. Afterward, he disrobed himself, stowed his powered armor, and put on his almost antiquated marshal uniform. He eyed his old duster, but thought better of it. He then headed back to The Kahn while trying to come up with a convincing lie.

  “Where's your captain?” he asked once aboard. The man pointed to a set of double doors opposite the airlock. Alistair lit a fresh stogie and headed toward the captain's office. When the doors slid to the side they revealed a stunningly beautiful woman. It had been years since Alistair had found even the faintest interest of the carnal variety, but the woman who looked up at him from behind her solid wooden desk was something of his dreams. Exotic, yet familiar. Her long dark hair masked a slight hue of red and purple while her face betrayed her inner nature of courageous strength propelled by an unflinching penchant for generosity and self sacrifice.

  She was sleek and fit but not without a degree of feminine curvature which was exaggerated due to the form fitting black flight suit she wore. The look in her dark green eyes as she looked to Alistair gave him pause – she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. Their vision locked on eachother and it filled him with an almost unnatural understanding of who she was as a person - he felt as if her gaze told him the story of her life, dreams, hopes, and fears. Time stood still for Alistair as this tall but sleek creature took hold of his entire existence.