by Isaac Hooke
All the combat robots would be left behind, as every spare inch of space on the shuttles would be needed to hold the prisoners. There was no real worry about the human tech falling into the hands of the enemy, however—the bodies of each robot were rigged with powerful explosives. Though he had full remote control over the detonators, Rade was slightly worried that the explosives might go off prematurely in a firefight.
The landing had been rough. The two shuttles had fired reverse thrust long before the main target came into range, and they had to fend off several attack runs from the enemy fighters. By the time the prison ship had neared, they had reversed course completely and were moving at top speed in the same direction as the target. But the vessel had still approached with twice their velocity. The shuttles had jockeyed into position and fired magnetic grappling hooks as the target passed. The carbon fiber cords had grown taut—two broke away, but they reeled in the rest and managed to touch down.
The enemy attack runs had ceased by that point: the fighters didn't want to damage their own ship.
The Callaway and the rest of the fleet had carved a roughly twenty-centimeter diameter hole into the hull with their Vipers during the flyby. That tear penetrated the five meters through the hull and ended in what looked like a passageway from outside. They had spent the first fifteen minutes enlarging that hole with the laser cutters they'd brought along. When the breach was two meters in diameter, enough to fit the MOTH fireteam members, robots, and all their equipment, the group had hauled themselves inside.
There was working artificial gravity inside. A little stronger than Earth's. One point one Gs, according to the HUD.
Small filaments glowed red in unique, almost floral patterns on the metal bulkheads, providing dim background light that was brightened by the helmet lamps of the group. Rade remembered the strange symbols he had noticed in the alien wing segment he had explored before, and he guessed that was how these filaments would look without power.
Fist-sized HS4s accompanied the group. The drones had gone in first and mapped out the immediate area, so Rade knew that a sealed hatch awaited up ahead. He had the video feed from the foremost Centurion piped into the upper right of his HUD, and he watched as the group reached the aforementioned hatch.
"Cut through," Rade said.
The lead combat robot switched its heavy gun to the appropriate mode and began cutting. Yellow gas misted into the compartment from the molten square the weapon formed in the metal.
Rade found himself growing impatient. "Get down," he instructed the robots.
The Centurions and Praetor in front of him complied immediately.
Rade lowered his plasma rifle and fired. He knew he'd caused a breach, because the atmosphere contained beyond the hatch gushed outward, and the force of it nearly toppled him. In moments it had drained completely. He fired two more times, enlarging the white hot hole he'd made, then tossed the weapon to the Centurion in the lead.
"Use this from now on."
"Show the robots how it's done, Chief!" Aaron said over the helmet comm.
Rade sent the HS4s through first. The drones kept close to the bulkheads so that their powerful X-Ray payloads could penetrate the thick metal and flag any human life beyond. The HS4s were programmed to return immediately upon encountering any of those dark amorphous masses, or other indications of alien or robotic life. They would leave the locations of any such enemies marked in red on the maps the drones generated in realtime.
When the HS4s returned the group proceeded forward.
They continued that way, melting every hatch they encountered, venting the internal atmosphere, letting the HS4s scout each new area. Often multiple sealed hatches provided different ways of proceeding. Rade took the rightmost branches on those occasions.
The cylindrical passageways varied in radius. Sometimes the group had to proceed in single file, sometimes they could advance two abreast.
Twenty minutes passed. So far the party had encountered zero resistance. Either the aliens were too busy with the main fighting to pay the intruders any attention for the moment, or they were ill-equipped to deal with a boarding party.
Twenty minutes. And still no sign of the prisoners.
His daughter was here, somewhere.
I'll find you.
But what if she wasn't even alive anymore?
He refused to entertain the possibility.
And then, when the party had almost begun to grow complacent, after melting through one of the hatches the lead Centurion immediately toppled over. Sparks erupted from its torso.
The group dropped to the deck, hoping to use the lower portion of the hatch that was still intact for cover.
Alerts appeared on his HUD, indicating that infrared lasers were being fired into the passageway above him.
It was time to see if Connie's modifications to the weapons worked. "Units A and B, return fire!"
The two Centurions at the front of the party coordinated, moving at inhuman speeds. The first raised itself enough to fire, and the second behind it rose even higher, and together they unleashed hell into the compartment beyond the hatch. They adjusted their aim between shots and in moments ceased shooting.
"Tangos down," Unit A said.
Well done, Connie.
"Units A and B, inside!" Rade said.
The two Centurions leaped through the hatch one after the other. The first went high, the second low. He saw flashes as the two fired again, but he heard no sounds with the atmosphere vented like that.
"Clear!" Unit A transmitted.
Rade observed the compartment via the video feed from Unit A. Several black mists lay motionless between hollowed out sections of the deck. He wasn't sure if he was looking at an alien barracks, a berthing area, or a mess hall.
Well it didn't matter what he was looking at, did it?
The area was clear.
Rade sent in the HS4s to map the place, and the drones determined that there were three sealed exits leading forward, right, and left. As always, Rade chose the rightmost. He retrieved his plasma rifle from the downed combat robot and tossed it to the new Centurion that had assumed the point position. The robot went to the hatch.
"Sir!" the Centurion said urgently.
Though the robot hadn't fired, the metal on the hatch had turned white hot. A hole abruptly formed in the middle.
"To the deck!" Rade said.
The team dropped as the inner atmosphere explosively decompressed. The magnets in their exoskeletons prevented the team from being tossed down the rear passageway like rag dolls.
They waited several moments but the atmosphere continued to vent. That meant one of three things: A) there was a very large area behind that hatch; B) the other adjoining compartments had lost the ability to seal; or C) the ventilation systems in that area were malfunctioning.
Rade aimed his weapon at the hatch. Others did likewise.
"Orders, Chief?" Aaron transmitted over the comm.
"Hold..."
Fifteen seconds passed.
"Chief?" Aaron pressed.
"Hold..."
Thirty seconds.
Finally, at the forty-five second mark, the venting ceased.
The hole had enlarged slightly by that point, thanks to the pressure of the moving gas. The glow of the hatch had faded to blue from white hot, but in that moment it flared white again, and plasma from an unseen weapon spilled through from the passageway beyond. The hole became man-sized.
Rade prepared to fire.
Black mist flowed inside...
"Wait!" an unrecognized voice came over the comm. A woman's voice.
"Hold!" Rade shouted to his men. He was relieved that none of the robots had fired. They were programmed to attack only after receiving his authority, but he never really trusted them, not after the terrible malfunctions he had witnessed in the past.
"I'm human," the voice came again.
Was that his daughter?
"What alien trick is this?" Aaron said over
the comm.
"Be quiet!" Rade snapped, lowering his weapon. He stood up and approached the darkness.
A figure in a spacesuit emerged from the darkness.
"We're human," she repeated.
He went to her and looked into the face plate. Disappointment filled him. It wasn't his daughter.
A small, rectangular device dropped to the deck underneath the darkness and the mist dispersed, revealing a man in a spacesuit.
"Lieutenant Commander Jason Wolf and Lieutenant Lin Akido at your service," the man said.
thirty
Jonathan tightened his grip on the armrests as the bridge continued to shudder under the fighter attack.
"The alien capital ship just braked, hard," Ensign Lewis said. "It looks like they're turning around."
"Coming back for more, are they?" He stared at the display overlaying his vision. The Avengers from Orange Squadron had been harassing the capital ship the whole time; it had launched several more fighters to defend against them.
Jonathan relaxed his grip when he caught an officer looking at his hands. It was best to portray a sense of calm composure for the benefit of his bridge crew. It wouldn't do to continue clasping his fingers so hard that the knuckles were white. "What about the dart ship containing the prisoners?"
"It hasn't turned around. Maybe they're fleeing."
"They're probably a bit distracted by our rescue party," Robert said.
On the tactical display the Salvador abruptly broke formation, decelerating.
"What's she doing?" Jonathan said. "Comm, raise Captain Rail."
"She's responded, voice only," Lazur said.
Jonathan accepted the connection from Rail.
"Get the Salvador back in formation, Captain!" Jonathan told her.
It was several seconds before her response came.
"We're dealing with an alien intruder at the moment," Rail said over the comm. "We'll return to course shortly."
"Bullshit. I want you back in line now."
In answer, the connection terminated.
"Damn it," Jonathan said. He had wanted to let the Avengers chip away at the capital ship for longer, but he was going to have to decelerate the fleet early if the Salvador was to have any chance of survival.
The bridge rumbled badly as the nearby enemy fighters made another attack run.
"Sir, if we increase speed, we can shake off these fighters," Miko said.
Shake off the fighters, or return for the Salvador...
"Your orders, Captain?" Miko said.
Jonathan stared at the 3D display.
"Captain," Robert said. "Do we abandon the Salvador to her fate?"
Jonathan felt his insides clench up. Abandon her to her fate.
"If we turn back," Jonathan said. "And concentrate our Viper fire again, there's a chance we can disable the already damaged capital ship before she takes any of us down."
"It's possible our Avengers will disable the ship for us," Robert said.
"True. But I can't leave the Salvador behind. If we go, she has no chance at all."
"And if we stay, there's also a chance the enemy fighters will disable us," Robert pointed out. "Black Squadron and our upgraded point defenses can only do so much."
"I know." Jonathan took a deep breath. He had made up his mind. "Miko, if we begin decelerating the task unit now, will we reach the Salvador in time to fire a combined broadside at the capital ship?"
"Yes, but we'd have to begin the deceleration immediately," Miko said.
"Do it," Jonathan said. "Fleet wide."
Miko echoed his orders.
"Coordinate with the task unit," Jonathan continued. "I want every vessel to target the particle beam generator on the nose of that ship. We'll fire when we close to fifteen thousand kilometers. And pray that our combined Vipers do enough damage to disable it."
* * *
Barrickblinked several times. His eyes burned painfully—it felt like someone had thrown sand into them. Or splashed them with pepper spray, like in bootcamp. He bent over in agony, shutting his eyes to rub them. The copiously flowing tears wet his fingers.
"Telepath Barrick is awake," the ship's AI intoned. Its voice sounded cavernous, as if spoken from the top of one of the Callaway's hangar bays.
The Callaway. Yes. That was where Barrick was. He had a partial memory of sitting cross-legged in front of the alien, his eyes wide open. That would explain the incredible dryness he felt in his sclerae.
The pain slowly receded. He lowered his arms and tentatively opened his eyes. He stared at his palms.
My hands.
An unseen energy seemed to flow through his fingers. It was like he was conscious of every nerve impulse passing through them.
I've retained the power, then. I feared I would lose it when I finally awakened. But I'm more powerful than ever before.
He sat up straight and stared at the amorphous black mass that lurked in front of him.
And I have you to thank for this.
When he had fallen into the vortex, he had woken as a young man once more in the Academy, his whole life before then merely a dream. He had gone about his days, completed his studies, finished a hundred year tenure in the navy, married and spent the next hundred and fifty years in retirement. He had lived a full life, undergoing many rejuvenation sessions, and died a grandfather at the ripe age of two hundred and sixty five.
Only to awaken as a young man in the Academy once more.
And so it continued. He had become an old man a hundred times over in the mind world, and died young just as often. He had the full recollection of his previous lives and was able to make different choices to vary the outcome each time. Because of those ever-expanding memories, his powers grew far beyond what a normal telepath could ever hope to achieve.
He could still feel the lingering presence of the alien in his mind. It seemed obvious to him now that the being had been using him to understand the human brain. Experimenting on him. Seeing what drove humanity, and how a human reacted in various situations.
It was a form of torture, and yet, what the alien had done to him was also a gift. Because not only had it increased his powers, he had relived the current moment a hundred times. He'd tried so many different courses of action and yet only one resulted in the saving of the fleet, and the entire human race itself. He knew precisely what he must do.
And yet, he had a nagging feeling at the back of his thoughts. What if it's a trick?
The darkness abruptly descended to the bottom of the container. That had never happened before in the mind worlds. The slight presence he felt in his consciousness vanished.
The alien was dead, then. Perhaps what it had done to Barrick had utterly drained the thing, to its death.
He rose on wobbly legs, bracing himself against the glass container. Then he turned around.
The objects of the cargo bay appeared slightly fuzzy. None of the scientists were present. But the five masters-at-arms and their robots were. There was a slight halo around the men.
They were flies to him. All of them.
"Are you all right, sir?" an MA said. Their commanding officer.
The telepath stared at him.
"You have called the acting doctor to report to the cargo bay," Barrick said. "You will cancel that order."
The MA seemed momentarily puzzled that Barrick would know that, and then he said: "I'm sorry sir, I can't do that. I have my orders. You're to remain here under observation until the doctor arrives."
The telepath studied the men. Would the powers he had developed still work now that the alien was dead? Had the ability to control not just one mind, but multiple psyches, all been an elaborate dream?
There was only one way to find out...
He concentrated, visualizing the five MAs in his mind.
The men exchanged glances, then abruptly turned and fired at the five Centurions. The combat robots were reduced to a pile of melted metal.
"Barricade the door," Barrick told t
he men. "And guard it. Don't let anyone in. Shoot to kill, if you have to."
"Yes sir!" the lead MA said.
The five hurried to the door and took up guard positions.
"Telepath Barrick," Maxwell said. "Your actions are in violation—"
Barrick bent down and retrieved the plasma rifle from one of the fallen robots. He fired at the speaker in the overhead, cutting off the AI. He shot out the lightfield cameras in the bay, then removed his aReal glasses and crunched them underfoot. The computer would still be able to monitor him via the Implants in the MAs, but he wasn't too concerned about that: the security personnel had their backs to him, their attention devoted entirely to watching the entry hatch.
That was just as easy as it had been the last time. He smiled. He still had his abilities, then. Of course he did. Though only a few days had passed in the outside world, he had trained in the inner world of the mind for a thousand years.
He lowered himself to the floor, crossed his legs, and sat against the container. He closed his eyes and focused on visualizing the bridge. He could almost sense the presence of the officers there. He concentrated on the faces he knew. Captain Jonathan Dallas. Commander Robert Cray. He placed the two of them side by side in his mind. Through them, he had access to the other members of the bridge. Their representations appeared behind Dallas and Cray, indistinct, blurry. But it was enough.
He focused on bending them to his will.
He felt that nagging doubt once again, that this was all a trick. And he thought he was forgetting something.
What did I do different last time?
He dismissed those thoughts and concentrated his entire being on the bridge personnel.
* * *
Jonathan was studying the 3D display when Maxwell spoke.
"Captain, Barrick has taken over cargo bay seven," the AI intoned.
"What?" Jonathan said. "How?"
But Maxwell didn't answer.
Jonathan heard the bridge hatch open instead. That was strange. No one was allowed on the bridge during a lockdown.