Vanguard Rising: A Space Opera Adventure

by A. C. Hadfield

  “There’s a small delay: Harlan has had to go to a different airlock. But if we’re quick, it shouldn’t take us too long. It’s going to be tight, though.”

  “Needs must.”

  “Looks like we’re all set, then. I’ll bring us into the airlock as best I can. Greta, I’d like you and Bashir to suit up and prepare to receive Irena.”

  The two crew members nodded at Bella and then shared a look that she thought expressed a shared determination. Inwardly she felt a warmth of pride in her team. With that sorted, she returned to the cockpit and prepared to take manual control over the thrusters: she needed to be delicate in order to keep the ship as close to the airlock as possible. They couldn’t dock directly due to the Goat’s lack of a docking ring.

  She let the autopilot continue for a couple of minutes as it brought the shuttle into the vicinity of the Atlas airlock. Outside, the station loomed large on the screen. It’s massive multi-torus design rotated, generating gravity for those inside. The computer matched the rotation speed and began to bring the craft in closer.

  Before they reached their destination, the system’s screen split in two, the lower section showing an emergency broadcast from Victoria Selles.

  Selles stared out of the screen with a serious expression. She was wearing a somber gray suit that spoke of her privilege. Something so well-tailored could only be provided to those of a suitably high-access level—or bartered on the black market. Given Selles was implicated in this whole Vanguard situation, Bella didn’t think she would be above shady contraband.

  “Are you guys watching this?” Bella asked, looking over her shoulder to the crew in the back. “Looks like we’re getting an emergency announcement.”

  Wilbur pointed at a smaller screen flickering to life on the back wall of the hold. “We’re seeing it.”

  A message scrolled along the bottom of the broadcast that read “Terrorist threat, red alert.”

  Victoria Selles cleared her throat and began her speech. “Citizens of Atlas Station, it is with great sadness that I report to you today the death of fifteen innocent members of our society at the hands of terrorists. These terrorists are a group of untethered abbots. We currently do not know their intentions. We have reached out and liaised with the AOA and will hopefully hear from Beaufort, the abbots’ representative.

  “You can rest assured that we are doing all we can to apprehend these monsters. We have neutralized two threats already, and the SMF are on high alert for two known others. We are uncertain at this point how many we are facing, but we will inform you via the emergency broadcast channel of any updates. For now, I would suggest everyone stay within the safety of your apartments, don’t open your door to anyone, and report anything suspicious to the SMF.

  “We are placing Atlas Station on complete lockdown until the threat is over. That means no loitering in public areas. All businesses to shut down. And no craft to take off or land at the station’s docks. We hope to remove these restrictions as soon as we have apprehended the rogue elements. And please leave all matters to the SMF. We have trained experts working on this. This is not the time for vigilante behavior or citizen policing.

  “Finally, I’d like to add that these measures were carried out by my authority and the agreement of the House of Messengers in a brief emergency meeting prior to this announcement. We had to act quickly due to the lack of leadership from President Kallstrom, who, safely nestled in his secure compound on Bujoldia, refuses to accept the severity of our situation. It has become clear to me that the citizens of Atlas Station will always be in harm’s way while President Henrik Kallstrom lives his life of luxury on Mars.

  “If we are to thrive and expand, we need stronger leadership that puts the lives of those on Atlas and other stations first. When voting is triggered, a vote for me means a vote for a safe future. But for now, my attention is solely on extinguishing this terrorist threat posed by these rogue abbots. I will address you all again shortly with an update as soon as I have more news. Thank you for your time, Atlas citizens.”

  Wilbur stood in the doorway and fiddled with a button on his jacket. “That was a little overdramatic. Not sure how professional it was to attack the president during a terrorist threat announcement. She clearly has no shame.”

  Bella spun around in her chair to face Wilbur. “Do any of these political types?”

  “Probably not. But we know she’s worse than most. First the merger, and now this. Given her ambitions to become the new Sol-Fed president, one might think this supposed terrorist threat is not all that it appears.”

  Greta’s large frame loomed behind Wilbur. “Let’s cut to the chase; it’s clearly bullshit. I wouldn’t be surprised at all if she and her Vanguard buddies hacked a bunch of abbots for this very purpose. You’ve got to wonder what they’re up to while the rest of the station is on lockdown.”

  “Covering their tracks, probably,” Bella said. “With Gandit and Hugo killing themselves, Vanguard is panicking, or perhaps bringing forward its plans. We may have forced their hand.”

  “That’s a good thing,” Wilbur added. “Means we’re getting closer and catching them off guard.”

  Before Bella could think on this more, a red light on the ship’s console flashed. They were receiving an emergency hail request. The ship patched the signal immediately.

  A stern male voice crackled over the channel. “Unidentified shuttle, this is Captain Saffile of the SSF Wickham. You are violating emergency lockdown status. Identify yourself and engage with our autopilot protocol immediately for escort to a secure dock. This is nonnegotiable.”

  Bella tapped out a command on the Goat’s console and brought up a camera view, adjusting its angle until she found the SSF Wickham a few kilometers away from them but approaching quickly under aux thrust.

  Greta let out a low whistle. “That’s one heavily armed ship for an escort.”

  Wilbur squinted at the screen. “What class is it?”

  Bella zoomed in for a better look. Unlike their boxy, utilitarian shuttle, the Wickham was of a sleek design and at least four times as large. It featured stub wings swept back with deep arcs, giving the front profile an almost birdlike appearance. The design was supposed to allow it to enter a planet’s atmosphere, but in all her years of flying, Bella had never seen one outside of space.

  “It’s a delta-class torpedo ship,” Greta said.

  Bella had seen dozens of these over the last couple of years. They were used for patrolling the space between stations due to their speed and relatively decent maneuverability. And being well armed meant they were a threat to even the largest of crime syndicates.

  Greta leaned farther over Wilbur, squeezing the smaller man beneath her. “I served on one of those during the Ceres uprising. Good ships. Fast, but no match for the Goat’s agility. We won’t be able to outrun them, but we can outmaneuver them.”

  Pushing his way out from beneath her arm, Wilbur readjusted his collar and regarded his larger compatriot. “What kind of weapons do they possess?”

  “Twin railguns on port and starboard midsections, a primary Gatling turret with full three-sixty arc, and a complement of six torpedoes at full load-out. It’s unlikely they’re carrying all six on a patrol vehicle. I reckon they’ve got two: one pre-loaded in each tube.”

  Bella sighed. “In other words, we’re screwed.”

  Greta nodded. “You better get maneuvering and keep the station between us and them. There is no way they’d open fire if it meant a risk of hitting the station. But out in space with a clear shot? I think they’d take it rather than worrying about escorting us anywhere.”

  Bella knew this was their only option. And with time ticking down, they didn’t have long to negotiate or come up with another plan. “You two, get yourselves strapped in, and tell Bashir to do the same. Things are going to get real bumpy for a while.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” Greta said with a smirk on her face.

  Bella couldn’t decide if it was a good or bad
thing that danger seemed to excite her. Regardless, it was preferable to blind panic.

  The two of them stepped back into the hold, while Bella sent a response to the Wickham. “Captain Saffile, this is Captain—” she thought for a moment about what name to give, cycling through the various monikers she had used over the years and trying to decide which one hadn’t yet run afoul of the SMF “—Eliza Gomez of the Plucky Trader. We’re just a courier shuttle. The docks had already filled by the time we came back from Luna on a government job. We’ll be happy to be directed to the nearest dock. I’m sure you guys have more important business to worry about, what with the whole terrorist issue.”

  As she was saying all this, she was prepping the Goat’s aux thrusters for immediate manual control. She used the computer’s telemetry package to calculate and display the fastest route into the interior of the station. This would mean weaving through the torus sections, where the gaps were too small for the Wickham to follow.

  And leaving her little room for error.

  “Captain Gomez, negative to your suggestion. As requested, prepare for autopilot engagement in four… three… two…”

  “Not today, good sir.”

  Bella engaged the engines, sending the Goat shooting away from the Wickham in a cloud of ejecta and flame. The thrust forced her back into the pilot’s chair. A yell of agony came from back in the hold. Bella knew this was Wilbur: his high-pitched scream was ever-recognizable.

  Using a combination of manual and computer assistance, she eased the shuttle below the topmost torus of the station, jerking the controls immediately to the left. The maneuver sent the craft into a spin, and they narrowly avoided a large spoke section extending from the central cylinder to the interior radius of what was level nine.

  The map overlay showed a yellow-dotted course that terminated at the G3 airlock. Bella flicked the video screen to cycle through all directions. She could just about make out the front nose section of the Wickham hovering five kilometers away as Captain Saffile no doubt conspired a way to get the larger ship through the tight confines of the station’s infrastructure.

  With another set of tight maneuvers and thrusts, they were out of the Wickham’s view and matching the rotation of the station once more.

  Bella hit reverse thrust to slow their velocity as the computer brought the shuttle to within a few hundred meters of the airlock. From the zoomed-in video feed, Irena could be seen through a small window, her suited helmet pressed up against it, her eyes wide.

  She waved as though Bella wouldn’t see her, but Bella was on the case. Within seconds and another blast of thruster, the flame of which cast an orange glow against the exterior escape hatch, they were now just ten meters away and matching course.

  Bella quickly scanned the video feed for the Wickham and couldn’t see it. They were hailing her again, but she switched off the channel and instead connected to Irena’s personal communicator.

  “Hey, girl, it’s Bella. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, yes, loud and clear. I thought you were going to crash into the station at the speed you came in.”

  “Yeah, we’ve… erm… got a little company, but don’t worry about that. Let’s just focus on getting you out of there. I assume the lock’s been depressurized?”

  “It has. I’m ready to go whenever you are. How are we going to do this?”

  “Open the door, but hold on to something. We’re going to throw a tether out to you. Grab on to it and connect it to the tether port on the chest of your suit. It clicks in and secures with a twist. It’s real easy. After that, you’ll just need to jump a little and we’ll pull you in. Just stay calm, don’t flail around too much, and let us do the work. You’ll be fine.”

  Irena wrung her hands together. “I wish I felt as confident as you sound.”

  30

  Irena floated in the non-pressurized airlock. She breathed deeply and closed her eyes in order to calm her heart rate, which threatened to get out of control. She hooked a boot around a pole attached to the wall and wished she had gone with Bella and her crew to the dock.

  Of all the things she’d experienced lately, standing on the edge of Atlas Station staring out into the void of space ranked way up there as the most terrifying.

  If it went wrong, she’d fall forever. Or at least until the oxygen tanks of the suit ran out; then she’d slowly suffocate to death while her body continued to fall through space indefinitely.

  She swallowed and breathed deeper to push back the feelings of nausea.

  “I’m not sure I can do this,” she said.

  Bella’s voice sounded scratchy and thin through the suit’s speakers. “Of course you can. You survived the abbot attack on Earth, got Harlan off Turing Station, and faced down your parents. You’re far stronger than you think you are. Just pull the red lever and grab the handhold. We’ll do the rest. Okay?”

  Irena opened her eyes, located the lever, and grabbed it with the bulky suited glove. She tested it a little to gauge how difficult it would be. With just a small effort the lever shifted downward. She continued until it fully engaged.

  Every muscle in her body tensed as her instincts told her to run as far away from the edge as possible. The final barrier between her and the cold, unforgiving vacuum of space slid upward, exposing her to the sight of the Goat hovering in place.

  Small puffs of exhaust shot out from the array thrusters along its tarnished, dull-gray exterior. It looked like an abandoned storage container and didn’t give her any confidence at all.

  She pushed herself back a meter, using the handholds on the wall, as the shuttle spun on its axis until the rear of the craft was no more than fifteen or so meters away.

  “You’re doing great,” Bella said over the comm. “We’re opening our airlock. Greta and Bashir will send out a tether. Grab it and connect it like we spoke about earlier.”

  “Insert and twist, right?”

  “Exactly. Just tug on it to make sure it’s seated into the coupling correctly. When you’re satisfied, let us know, and we’ll pull you slowly and gently into the shuttle. Couldn’t be easier.”

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  Which, of course, was a complete lie. Irena had never been as unready for something as she was now. Unlike some who were born on the station, she was never a fan of space in general and avoided travel as much as she could. Unlike Bella, Irena had never raced spaceships, had never gone tether diving off the station like some teenagers were wont to do.

  No, Irena was utterly boring when it came to human-space interfacing. As far as she was concerned, if humans were meant to be out in space, then they’d have evolved the natural facilities to do so. It was the same reason why humans didn’t possess gills—well, those who didn’t dabble in gene manipulation—people just weren’t meant to be anywhere other than in an oxygen-rich, terrestrial atmosphere.

  “Hey, girl,” Greta said, her voice perky over the comm. She waved from the back of the shuttle. Bashir stood next to her and was feeding her the tether from a drum attached to the airlock wall. “We’re going to throw this toward you. It’ll come at you slowly, so you should have plenty of time to grab it. Ready?”

  “Go for it,” Irena replied, using the handholds to bring herself closer to the edge.

  Greta threw out the tether. It floated toward Irena like some great white space snake. It curled as they continued to feed more line out to space.

  Slowly, almost too slowly, so that Irena had time to worry about it going wrong, the tether reached her. Her first grab for it missed. She knocked at the metallic end with the back of her hand, sending it spiraling out of control.

  “Don’t panic,” Greta said. “It’s okay. Just take your time and grab whatever’s at hand; then work your way back to the coupling. It’s not going anywhere.”

  Irena followed her instructions and within a few moments held the tether to the coupling ring on the chest of her suit. At first, she couldn’t slot it in; her hand were shaking too much. After a little t
rial and error, she got it seated and twisted it into place with a satisfying clunk. Remembering what Bella had said, Irena tugged the tether away from her to test its connection. It seemed solid enough; she couldn’t budge it.

  “I think it’s secured. Do I need to jump or anything?”

  Greta waved her hands over each other to indicate no. “You don’t need to do anything. Just stay calm. We’ll pull you in.”

  “Calm is the exact thing one would be in this situation, right? Nothing to fear but fear itself, etcetera. Let’s do this, then, and get it over with before I fill my suit with panic vomit.”

  “Here we go.”

  Irena felt a slight tug on her chest pulling her over the threshold of the airlock. After a few moments, she made the big mistake of looking down and saw nothing but the blackness of space and a few stars. They appeared to be moving, and it took her a while to realize it was due to the spin of the shuttle as it matched the station. She closed her eyes and clamped her lips shut as, once again, she felt nauseated.

  “You’re doing great,” Greta said as the tugging sensation continued. “Almost there. You’re about halfway.”

  Irena clutched the tether with her gloved hands as tightly as she could, suddenly concerned that she might not have connected it correctly and would be set adrift.

  “You’re almost in, girl. Just a few more pulls… Oh shit…”

  Irena opened her eyes and looked up. She stared at Greta, who was no more than a couple of meters away. “What? What is it?”

  Bella’s voice came over the communications channel. “Hold on. We’ve got to move. Those damned SMF fools followed us through. I don’t know how they got a ship that size by the spokes, but the mad bastards are threatening to open fire.”

  “What?” Irena said, her voice going up an octave. “Open fire? What the hell’s going on? Get me in. Don’t leave me out here.”

  A burst of orange light to Irena’s right caught her attention. She turned to see the nose of a large SMF ship pointing right at the Goat—and her. A gun barrel mounted atop the hull spun around, flashing orange flame. The rounds fired over the shuttle and into open space, clearly a warning shot.