by Schism
Chancellor D’Trayne sat behind the helmsman and weapons officer strapped into a high backed chair with a smile beaming from his silver face.
His pilot pulled the ship from its dive mere meters above the damaged human vessel. The hawk ascended skyward with impunity, knowing the enemy could mount no defense. It was only a matter of time before one of these strikes provided the fatal blow.
.”Now! All stop! Starboard thrusters at maximum! Port side thrusters rotate one-hundred eight degrees and ignite! Stanton, tumble the generators!”
Brett Stanton stood at the engineering console observing a display of the Excalibur’s position. He shouted desperate instructions to his engineering teams via the intercom: “Rotate the force projection 20 degrees.a little more.keep up with it.watch our belly.another five degrees.more.more.”
Lori stood near the bridge entrance and felt her stomach flutter. Suddenly she felt lighter; or no, she felt as if her head was pulled in one direction, her feet another. She grabbed the edge of a console as she realized.realized.
“The ship! It’s turning!”.
.The Empire’s flagship stopped its forward progress and the massive vessel twisted in a slow-motion barrel roll; a maneuver seemingly impossible for something so large. The tower tipped and rolled over. The bottom side slowly became the top.
Gravity knew no direction inside the Excalibur. Lori Brewer seemed to float first toward the floor above, then the ceiling below. She felt a wave of nausea in her belly as her equilibrium was stretched and pulled like taffy.
She glanced toward Jon. He remained in the command module gripping side rails and focused on monitors. She heard Stanton cough then yell, “We’re losing altitude! The generators can’t output full power in this direction..!”
.The Stingray reached its attack height, slowed, and pivoted about to face down in preparation for another easy assault on the defenseless ship. And while the killing of the Excalibur would take many more such runs, D’Trayne found himself enjoying every strike, as if each wound he inflicted provided a small measure of satisfying revenge against those who had toppled his kingdom in California.
The alien ship descended. Its laser charge. It cleared the thin veil of clouds.
D’Trayne’s smile faltered. Something appeared different about his prey. He saw a series of drum-like protrusions; he did not see the bridge or even the streams of smoke from the damage they had inflicted; he saw two glowing balls of light.
.The belly boppers fired in a wide spread. Two massive globs of energy spat skyward, enveloping the Chancellor’s ship and melting it to scrap in a flash. Secondary explosions went unseen within the blinding fury of the Excalibur’s wrath.
Yet even as it obliterated its foe, the fire from the great ship hastened its fall from the sky: the ocean grew closer and closer.
.”Firing thrusters! Tumble those generators!”
Jon yelled his commands but kept his eye on the altimeter.
Seven thousand.Six thousand five hundred.Six thousand feet.
The gravity field warped and spun again. Loose objects-from pens to clipboards to coffee mugs-fell and clattered. Crewmen vomited from the flexing gravitational field. Sparks flew, equipment tugged in ways never foreseen, wires stretched, and consoles felt stress in unexpected directions.
Jon muttered, “C’mon.catch it.catch it.”
Stanton shouted at his technical teams.
The ship slowly righted its position. The bridge swung to the top side once more. The massive anti-gravity generators returned to the bottom. Yet the Earth kept pulling.
Five thousand feet.four thousand five hundred feet.four thousand feet.
The horizon straightened. The anti-gravity generators fired at full repulsion power. A heavy jerk shook everything onboard the flagship as if they had fallen on top of an invisible wall. The drop of the ship slowed.
Three thousand feet.two thousand seven hundred and fifty feet.two thousand five hundred feet…holding.
Jon Brewer collapsed to one knee inside the command module. Gasps of relief echoed around the bridge.
“Well,” Stanton spoke for everyone. “I sure don’t want to do that again anytime soon..”
* * *
“So now what”
Lori asked a fair question. They managed to talk their way around the Chrysaor then fight their way through the Witiko’s Stingrays with the added bonus of sending Chancellor D’Trayne to whatever deity his race worshipped. Now they moved across the Atlantic Ocean northeast of New Jersey with black smoke rising from wounds to the hull, most weapons systems out, and no way of knowing where to head next.
Jon Brewer ignored his wife’s question for the moment and leaned over Gordon Knox who slept quietly in one of the beds sprouting from a gray wall in sick bay. Other beds were also occupied, mainly by members of Stanton’s technical crew who suffered falls and throws while executing Jon’s gambit.
“How is Gordon”
Ashley sat at the foot of the bed where she had kept watch over the former Director of Intelligence since their arrival.
“He’s stable. Bleeding has stopped, the bullet still seems to be lodged in there but that won’t change until surgery. For now, though, he looks like he’s going to make it, but he probably won’t walk again.”
“So what now” Lori repeated.
Ashley said, “Jon, we have to find JB. They took him somewhere.”
Lori spoke at the same time, “With this ship you have to be able to find where they took him. I mean, what is this thing good for”
The General raised his hand to silence the two and calmly relayed, “We’re in pretty bad shape right now. We’ve got fires burning on some decks because we don’t have damage control parties on board to fight them. The Witiko hit our engines, our defenses, and the structural integrity of the whole thing. We have no choice but to move slow.”
Lori asked, “But you followed the course of that ship or whatever the radars tracked before Trevor’s assassination, right”
“Yes. But this is a crap shoot. We followed that lead because it’s the only one we’ve got. It might be nothing.”
He saw Ashley’s eyes widened and her lips tense.
Jon added, “But we’re going to start a detailed search of the area. We’ve got a bunch of trainee pilots as well as Hauser and Eagle One onboard. I’m going to send them out. They’ve got radar and we even have a few sonar buoys. We’re going to get them going within the hour.”
Ashley relaxed as much as a mother with a missing child could relax.
A nearby intercom rang and Woody Ross’ voice called, “General Brewer, contact the bridge.”
Jon stepped to the wall mounted device, punched in an extension number, and answered, “Yeah Bear, what is it”
“We’ve got surface contacts. Three ships closing fast.”
The General felt an instinctive shiver along his spine. He knew the Excalibur was in no condition to fight another battle. However, the very fact that these contacts were detected meant they were not Witiko ships.
“Hang on, General,” Ross added. “I’ve got identification. They’re subs. Barracudas. Ours. Three of them closing on the surface.”
“Probably coastal patrols sent out to spy on us.”
“General,” Ross’ voice blurted over the intercom. “I’m receiving an incoming message. For you. From one of the subs.”
Another warning, no doubt. Another threat.
“Pipe it down here, Bear.”
“Yes, sir.”
An audible click on the intercom confirmed a change in lines. A second later, a sturdy voice radioed, “.calling the Excalibur. Acknowledge.”
Jon transmitted, “This is General Brewer of the Excalibur. Identify yourself.”
The voice on the other end paused for a moment and then said, “General Brewer Jon This is Captain Farway. It’s been a while.”
A smile picked at the corners of Jon’s mouth.
“Farway Captain What are you doing on a Barracuda I thoug
ht you were attached to the Newport News.”
The friendly voice answered, “I am. Out here doing a training mission for a bunch of cherries and next thing you know the Secretary of Defense sends me on a goose chase after you. Said you been up to no good, he did.”
When Jon Brewer had traveled to retrieve the runes from the Arctic Circle, Captain Farway-a pre-Armageddon naval veteran—and the Newport News submarine provided a ride.
“I hope none of those newbies are claustrophobic,” Brewer teased in recalling Farway’s warning when Jon had ventured onto a sub for the first time in his life.
A soft chuckle in the Captain’s voice suggested he remembered the reference.
Jon Brewer went on, “You’re not the first our Defense Secretary has sent our way. We just tangled with a couple of Witiko bastards.”
“I copy that. General, listen, I’m a fair judge of character and after spending far too much time with you under the waves a few years ago, I got the feeling you were a standup guy. If it was just me here.well, I’d be more than happy to find a little elasticity in those orders. But Jon, I’ve got three boatloads of kids here. I’m not going to let them get caught up in all this.”
“I understand, Captain.”
“So I’m going to follow my orders to the letter. I’m going to keep an eye on you.”
Brewer thought it over and finally said, “Okay then, Captain. Happy to have you along for the ride.”
* * *
Woody Ross stood on the platform in the center of the bridge, his eyes moving from display to display, his fingertips issuing orders and commands although far too few crewmembers were onboard to carry out those orders.
One hour after having made contact with the submarines and three hours since disposing of the Witiko attackers, smoke still poured from various wounds across the Excalibur. With so few men onboard, it would take many more hours-maybe days-to stop the bleeding. However, nearly all of the problems were contained, allowing him to turn his attention to more pressing matters.
“Flight two, clear for takeoff,” the brain ordered.
He watched via monitors as another pair of Eagle transports jetted off the stern launching pads, cut through swirls of smoke, and went off in search of that phantom radar trail.
Incubation
JB watched the sun slip toward the horizon, sinking as fast as his hopes. A chilling ocean breeze carried sprays of salt water across the boy and his father as they lay on what might be mistaken for a nearly flat island of rocks floating in the middle of the sea.
They had climbed through cramped tunnels and dark corridors, all the while protected by JB’s control of the base’s systems. Trevor could only stumble a few steps at a time, preferring to crawl like a beast and he never responded directly to the shouts and pleas of his desperate son.
Eventually Jorgie found some kind of service corridor running parallel to an aircraft hangar. There JB witnessed the deranged Missionary stumble into one of the featureless blob-like flyers The Order used for transport. He tried to kill the evil being with the tentacles in the bay that existed to load and unload cargo, but the ship escaped and flew off to the east.
A short time later JB managed to open a thick-skinned hatch and drag his dad to the surface, leaving behind the dungeon-like Hell hole where the mechanisms of the facility continued to rend and kill any remaining followers of Voggoth.
Jorge had not eaten anything since a stale candy bar nearly two days ago. His stomach ached with emptiness. He felt bruises, cuts and scrapes and a nasty cough brewed in his chest. He could only guess his father’s condition because his dad had not spoken a word. Even in the open ocean air the man did nothing other than lay on the spongy fake rocks with his eyes sometimes open, sometimes closed.
So they waited. A shivering little boy in shorts and his nearly comatose father.
Jorgie thought he heard something above the constant lap and splash of waves surrounding the half-mile circumference of the phony island. He had just begun to fear that his ears had succumbed to fantasy when a shadow appeared to the west.
He saw it.pushing aside clouds the same way a boat pushes aside waves. A massive thing seemingly too large to fly moving toward him even as the last rays of sun slipped below the horizon.
* * *
“Well what is it” Nina, standing with Jon Brewer in the corridor outside the VIP stateroom, asked.
“It looks like an island of, well, rocks,” he answered. “I guess it’s really some kind of base. Sonar shows it’s like an iceberg; a lot more under the surface than on top, just sort of floating in the same place. They grew it, I think. Same way they grow all their war machines.”
“And it’s just out here, in the middle of nowhere”
“In the middle of nowhere, yeah. We caught some luck when one of our Eagles saw a radar blip. Ashley’s son says that blip was the head bad guy making a getaway in one of The Order’s chariot ships.”
“Does this island have any defenses”
“Nothing we’ve seen yet,” Jon answered and while he usually would not take well to being grilled by a subordinate, he felt that in this case, Nina had earned some leeway.
“Do you want me to lead a strike team down there”
Jon realized this was a momentous moment for Nina Forest. She had spent weeks on a secret mission for Ashley, starting first with investigating the assassination, discovering Godfrey’s involvement, finding a dead body that was not a body at all, bringing to light a conspiracy that involved Trevor’s best friend, and then-the biggest shock of all-to find that instead of being assassinated, Trevor Stone had been kidnapped by The Order.
While Trevor’s current condition might be as good as dead anyhow, Nina had not let Internal Security, The Order’s monsters, or long odds stop her pursuit of answers.
She kept on fighting for him, while I sat in an office and pushed papers.
He told her, “No. We don’t have the personnel onboard to do that. We have to figure out what’s wrong with Trevor, first, and then go from there.”
After an Eagle pulled Jorgie and his father from the fake island, Trevor had been wheeled into his quarters on a gurney resembling something akin to a zombie. He breathed, his heart beat, and his eyes opened and closed on occasion, even his fingers and feet twitched every so often. But he did not react to anyone, including his wife and son. It was as if his body was there but his mind had been taken somewhere else.
Jon told Nina, “You did a great job. He would be proud and we all appreciate what you and Gordon went through. Now I’ve got to see the rest of this through. I don’t know what that will be but,” he nodded at the closed stateroom door, “it starts in there. Now get some rest.”
She nodded as if accepting his advice but Jon assumed she would likely end up on the shooting range on Deck 7. Whatever the case, Jon turned his attention to the VIP stateroom, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Ashley and JB sat on either side of the bed hovering over Trevor who lay with the blankets pulled to his chin. His eyes remained closed, either asleep or comatose.
Jorge had changed into a sweat shirt and jeans borrowed from Jon’s daughter’s wardrobe. An empty dinner plate and a half-glass of milk sat on the nightstand. Trails of tears shone on his cheeks, matching similar streaks on his mother’s face.
Jon walked in on the middle of a conversation. No, a berating. JB demanded his mother, “Do something! You’re his wife! You have to pull him out of this!”
In all the years Jon Brewer had known Trevor’s son, he had never seen the boy so upset. To Jon, JB usually exhibited an almost unnatural control over his emotions. Now he appeared angry, frustrated, sad, and confused all at once.
“Jorgie, I don’t know. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“They made him remember bad things, mommy. They made him so.they made him sad. You’re his wife. You have to do something! You’re the only one who can!”
Jon felt awkward but he asked what he came to ask. “Jorge, excuse me. Yo
u were down inside that thing. What was down there”
The child wiped the back of his hand over his eyes, huffed, and answered, “It smelled down there. It was scary. Lots of things that looked like people but weren’t. They call themselves The Order.”
“I know who they are. You say there were lots of them down there”
Jorge nodded.
Jon asked, “We haven’t seen any activity from up here. Where are they, Jorgie”
JB regained his typical composure for a moment, stared Jon Brewer directly in the eye, and told him, “I killed them. I killed them all.”
Jon shivered and glanced to Ashley. Her mouth hung open.
She questioned her son in a cautious tone, like a member of the bomb squad trying to diffuse a dangerous package: “What do you mean, Jorge”
“They had a bad machine,” the boy tried to explain but his voice suffered from coughs and a touch of hysteria as his composure slipped again. “But it was empty. I filled it. I used it. It was the same machine they had father inside and you have to do something to help father! You’re his wife!”
Jon asked, “I don’t know what you mean. What did they do to him What machine”
JB clenched his fists and raged, “They kept showing him over and over all the things that made him feel bad. They put bad dreams in his mind, mommy. Make them stop! You always made my bad dreams go away!”
“Jorgie! Stop speaking to me like that!”
Jorge-frustrated and angry-jumped up from the bed, stormed from the room, and-after a struggle-opened the bulkhead door.
Jon said to Ashley, “He’s been through a lot. I can’t figure out what he means when he says he killed them, but somehow he got away and got Trevor to the surface. From what he says, they were on their own for nearly two days. Pretty remarkable boy you have there.”