by Sean Allen
The Lodestar hovered in mid-flight as Rilek reversed throttle. The admiral stood firm at the helm, his hands pulling at the contoured spindles, letting go, and then deftly gripping them again as he angled for position against the enemy. “Forward shutter one-quarter!” Rilek commanded.
“Forward shutter one-quarter, aye!” came the call from Nori, and the rectangular window directly at the front of the conning tower expanded. Endless pinpoints of light punched through the blackness in front of them and then vanished as the window suddenly filled with the tail end of the most alien ship Otto had ever seen. He mouthed the word as his eyes traced the name that was burned into the vessel’s shiny hull: Triton.
“Fire!” Rilek shouted, and before he could finish the word, the Lodestar trembled from the might of its cannons and the top starboard engine of the alien ship was torn away in a jet of brilliant orange and red flame. “Well done, Booktu!” Rilek sounded like a man on the verge of victory, the unstoppable tide of the battle on his side, and his confidence filled the room. Otto wanted to let out a jubilant yell to second the praise of Booktu’s fine marksmanship, but before he could gather the breath to holler over the din of the battle, the tide turned.
Two chambered doors opened on the back of the Triton. The shell-like portals reminded Otto of creatures he had seen in the oceans of his home world, but he knew what lay inside was neither scrumptious nor benign, and he wanted to scream ‘LOOK OUT!’ at the top of his lungs. Smooth barrels extended from the center of both doors and hurled their forged bolts at the bow of the ship with strobing flashes that lingered in the backs of Otto’s eyelids when he blinked. Rilek rolled the ship to starboard several times to avoid the aft guns of the Triton, and as they swayed back and forth, it occurred to Otto that the Ghost must still be on their port side. His mouth dropped open and his brow rose. He wasn’t a pilot or sailor, but Major Otto Von Holt was a tactically-minded military man, and he could see the trap they were about to fall into.
Otto’s arm jetted out from his side, his forefinger leading the way like a clawed bullet. It was a foolish gesture. Rilek never would have seen his finger—Otto was sitting behind him—and he didn’t need to. Otto’s arm wasn’t even halfway extended when he lost control of it. Instead of continuing to the viewing pane, it was floating above his head like a flailing limb on an amusement park ride. Rilek had slammed his ship ninety degrees downward as the Triton looped back, rolling on its side and opening fire with a vicious broadside cannonade.
The admiral growled as the Lodestar shook from several detonations on the stern, but the rusty old girl held together and Rilek saved the engines, and most likely everyone’s life, in the most amazing bit of piloting Otto had seen yet. “Captain, Saraunt, resume your attack on the Ghost!” Rilek called over the com as they spiraled down and the Triton gave chase.
The Lodestar trembled, and it wasn’t difficult for Otto to tell the difference between the smaller vibrations of the aft guns covering their escape and the furious impact of shells on the hull. The alternation took on a haphazard rhythm that Otto’s body reacted to without his permission. The rear deck guns pulsated and the tremors traveled through the deck, into his chair, and up his spine in a mild tingle. Rounds from the enemy on their tail slammed murderously into their stern and shook Otto so hard, he thought his harness might cut through him and his teeth would rattle out of his head. Tremble—Tremble—JOLT—JOLT! Tremble—Tremble—Tremble—JOLT—Tremble—JOLT! And then suddenly, everything went silent.
Rilek had started another loop. His ship was squatter from keel to its highest point than was his opponent’s, and he hoped to use the derelict Ghost as an obstacle; swooping from below and cutting close enough beneath it to cause his pursuer to break wide and open himself up for a barrage down the flank. But when they emerged on the other side, the only thing waiting for Rilek was pain and death. Seeing that the Triton didn’t follow, the admiral let the ship drift above the Ghost and pulled the throttle back. The Lodestar leveled out just in time to let Rilek and crew see the Maelstrom’s copper skin catch the light from Clara 591 and bounce it back to their eyes as Captain Saraunt pulled out of a half loop and charged, full speed, at the craft that presumably hosted the bastard Mewlatai that had started this whole infernal mess—the Ghost.
He lost sight of the Triton, but that didn’t matter: the strange ship wouldn’t stray far from the prize. Rilek engaged the throttles again, but as the control pressed against its stop, the admiral gasped in horror. The glimmering alien ship rocketed from the opposite side of the Ghost, rising up from some hellish obscurity in the phantom regions of the dark, revealing itself for one purpose—to kill.
“NO!” Otto cringed at the tortured sound of Rilek’s voice. Until now, he would have thought the soft-spoken admiral incapable of menace—a man that led by courageous example and few words—but it was clear that passion raged just beneath his odd exterior. Otto looked to Malo. The Moxen had been strangely quiet through the entire battle, staring intently ahead, as if soaking up every detail. Otto was certain that the haunting, unusual outburst from Rilek would stir Malo from his requiem, but it was no use. Malo stayed in a trance.
Fire erupted in multiple plumes from the side of the Triton, and the Maelstrom vanished. The green explosion left in place of the once noble ship and its venerable crew flattened and expanded: an emerald disk rushing out to fill the emptiness of space; then it, too, disappeared forever. Captain Saraunt and the Welku were no more.
“Goddam you!” roared Rilek as they pulled alongside the Ghost. “Booktu, track the fuel tanks and prepare to fire!”
“Aye, Admiral!”
Otto was amazed. He was certain Rilek’s hatred for the ship that had just murdered his crew in the Maelstrom would drive him to revenge, but he was going to finish the mission above all else. Saraunt had put the Triton out of position by resuming the attack on the Ghost, and the admiral was going to make certain the Welku hadn’t died in vain. Rilek truly was deserving of his legend.
“Locked on, Admiral!” Booktu said. This was it, and Otto felt the strain on his mind and body begin to drain away. Talfus’ murderer would be brought to justice and the Dissension would continue to grow in strength through the Serum. “Mission accomplished,” he sighed inwardly. Just then, a monstrous shadow flashed by him and he knew he had spoken too soon.
“ROAAARRR!” Malo’s fearsome battle cry shook the bridge like cannon fire. His battle hammer sped through the air, swooping down on Rilek’s head with demonic wrath. The huge metal weight crushed everything in its path. The helm wheel and the myriad flashing buttons and blinking switches behind it crumpled in a shower of golden-white sparks. Rilek was no longer there.
“MALO, WHAT THE F” the sound of gunfire swallowed Otto’s protest as he frantically scurried out of his harness. The little voice in Otto’s head questioned the logic of unstrapping himself as the deck below his feet listed to port, but he stifled his overprotective conscience and dropped to the floor.
Ping! Paer! Poing!
Booktu’s bullets were bouncing off the Haleonex armor on Malo’s left arm as he turned, shielding his head and torso with speed and agility Otto never imagined possible. The Moxen’s hooves clapped across the deck as he cleared the deck in two strides and struck Booktu with his hammer. Luckily for Rilek’s gunner, this wasn’t his first scrape with a bigger, faster enemy. At the last moment, Booktu stepped into Malo’s swing, letting his upper arm take a blow from the hammer’s handle rather than the lethal head. Pain shot up his arm and his sight dimmed as he tumbled through the air and slammed into the back wall of the conning tower. Malo advanced on his helpless, unconscious body and raised his instrument for the final strike.
Ching! Chang! Kling!
Nori rushed from his charts with a rapier in both hands and slashed at every inch of exposed muscle on the Moxen’s legs. Malo, snorting wildly and frothing at the mouth, held his hammer beneath the head and at the end of the handle, twisting it to deflect the ensign’s repeated a
ttacks. Nori’s body glowed and blurred. Suddenly he was two, and each personification was slashing and parrying with its rapier, hoping to pass Malo’s formidable defenses.
Schloop! Schloop! Click! Click!
The sound of metal rushing against cured hide, followed by the cocking of revolver hammers, brought a halt to the action. The Noris, panting heavily, stepped slowly backward to flank Booktu and stood, with rapiers at the ready, glaring at the Moxen. Nori had driven him beyond Booktu’s body, and Malo was now standing a few feet from the wheel-lock at the back of the room and facing toward the bow of the ship. He was breathing forcibly and swaying on hooves set wide apart beneath tensed leg muscles, ready to spring as he stared unseeing at the gun barrels trained on him by Otto, to his right, and Rilek directly in front of him.
“Malo!? I don’t understand!” Otto’s voice was filled with terror, anger, and the hurt only betrayal by family or dear friend can bring. “Lieutenant Schunkari?! ANSWER ME GODDAMMIT!” Otto’s hand trembled as he waited for an answer, but none came. The Moxen stood silent and menacing; staring through dead eyes. “Malo, if you don’t answer…I’m gonna have to…” Otto’s face was set in anguish as the barrel of his revolver snapped level and stopped shaking. “Malo?” Otto asked one last time and waited for a response; and this time, he got one. Malo roared murderously and charged Rilek. Moisture pooled on the lip of Otto’s lower eyelids as he swung his pistol to the right to account for the target’s movement. He blinked his eyes to clear his vision and as fresh tears drained away, he pulled back on his trigger.
BOOM! A streak of purple-white blurred across his vision as the hammer of his revolver pounded mercilessly down. The muzzle of his pistol flashed and kicked back in his hand, and the bullet stopped with a loud crack that Otto didn’t expect to hear. “His skull must have been harder than you imagined,” he thought morbidly as Malo fell to the ground and skidded to a halt at Rilek’s feet.
Otto stood behind the barrel of his smoking gun and looked on in disbelief at the toppled mountain of horns and muscle on the deck. It took him a second to understand what had happened, then he smiled. Much to his surprise, and relief, Malo didn’t have a hole in his head. The loud noise he heard after the report was his bullet hitting the shatterproof pane on the other side of the room. The door to the bridge was thrown wide, and the explanation for the Moxen’s abrupt collapse to the deck was hanging from his back and clutching a white syringe sticking out of his thick neck.
Dr. Mia Weiloonyu sprung to her feet and planted them awkwardly on the deck as it tilted, inch by inch, to port. She was disheveled, breathing savagely and looking up at Rilek with wild, unfamiliar eyes while trying to balance herself against the list.
“Mia?” Rilek said hesitantly. “Are you…all right?”
“Me? Me? Yes, I’m fine,” Mia said in a tone that sounded just as unsure as Rilek’s.
“Forgive me, but I’ve never seen you do anything like that before. I’m in your debt.” Rilek stooped his shoulders forward in a bowing gesture and looked at her with searching eyes as he rolled his head from side to side. “What did you do to him?”
“I injected him with painkiller,” she said, looking around the bridge. “Enough to kill every man in this room twice over, but given his size, he should be fine.”
“And how did you happen to be here with a syringe full of painkiller in time to save me?”
“After taking so much fire, I decided to come to the bridge and see if anyone needed medical attention,” Mia said flatly. “I tried to raise you, but the com was out—I was worried.”
“Where’s Artie?” Otto asked quickly before Rilek started in again.
“Oh, yes, Major, I’m sorry, but Doctor Blink was knocked off his feet during the fighting and hit his head. I’m afraid he has a rather serious concussion and will be unconscious for some time.
“Now, Admiral, can I help anyone else?”
Rilek straightened again, apparently satisfied with Mia’s answers. “I believe Mr. Booktu is in need of your healing prowess, Doctor.”
“Aye, aye, Admiral,” she said and she hurried back toward the door where Nori had managed to pull Booktu to a sitting position. He was scrunching his scarred face in pain and clutching his left arm but managed to give a weak smile as Mia knelt beside him.
Rilek looked forlornly at the remnants of the flight controls. The ship was pitching faster and faster with each passing second. Soon they would be completely on their side, which was worrisome, but more disheartening was their inability to defend themselves, not to mention the acceleration of the ship. They were being drawn to Clara 591 by gravity, and they wouldn’t survive if Rilek couldn’t control the entry. He had to talk to engineering. He reached for the com, and as his feathery fingers touched the holodex controls, he was thrown against the portside wall of the conning tower as shells exploded and rocked the Lodestar.
Rilek tried to push himself upright. He groaned with the enormous effort, his arms shaking, and then he collapsed. He felt the cold of the viewing pane seep into his cheek—it was cool and refreshing and he forgot himself under the intoxicating effects of a hard blow to the head and he smiled—and then his gold-ringed eyes slid closed.
Admiral Rilek was out cold, and his beloved ship was in its death throes, speeding into Clara 591’s atmosphere to be burned to a cinder upon entry or to disintegrate on impact with the planet’s surface.
Chapter 37: Flight of The Firebug
The starboard flank of the Triton flashed over and over—a dozen sinister glowing eyes winking and then vanishing in puffs of ashen spent powder. Dezmara had seen what the strange ship could do with its guns when it destroyed the Maelstrom, and now it was firing a full broadside cannonade into her badly wounded ship. She waited for the emptiness to consume her, and an elusive thought, hiding somewhere her conscious had not been able to reach before, hiding with all the secrets of her past, crawled from its dark place and whispered lightly across her mind. The words steeled her and unsettled her at the same time. “Don’t worry, you’ve been dead before.”
THWACK-CRUNCH! THWACK-CRUNCH! THWACK-CRUNCH!
“What the hell?!” Dezmara said as the strange sound repeated, growing slightly softer and hollower as it retreated away from the cockpit and down the side of the Ghost. She leaned over the control console in front of her for a closer look, then she backed away. The muscles in her jaw rippled and she clenched her hands. Rage streamed from her eyes like scalding rays from an angry sun as she shook her head from side to side. “They’re goddam pirates!”
She reached for the com, but before her outstretched finger could flip the switch, it chimed from the other end. “Snatchers, luv!” Simon yelled.
There was no mistaking the snatcher towing device used by most marauding ships. The top was conical and divided into equal sections by dark lines radiating downward from the tip. Once within range, and before impact, the shell would expand explosively, wrenching back to reveal several curved, barbed talon-like appendages that could cut through the outer hull of a ship and lock it in a death grip. The back of each snatcher was attached to a chain sheathed in a loose, crinkled material, and this tether spanned the distance between the two ships. Dezmara could feel the Ghost moving laterally as the Triton hauled her quarry closer for entry into Clara 591’s atmosphere.
Dezmara moved back to the viewing panes and surveyed the situation. She could see that the Triton had twelve snatchers connected to its hull—all of them streaming from a row of nautilus doors that divided the starboard side of the pirate vessel perfectly down its middle. The sheathed chains were taut and the ships were moving dangerously close to one another. If the captain of the Triton didn’t time it perfectly, they would smash into each other and both, more likely than not, would be badly damaged, possibly destroyed.
Dezmara’s heart pounded against her chest, and the audible thudding crept into her throat as they inched closer. “Oh, shit—we’re gonna crash!” she said, but before she could turn away from the windo
w and strap herself into her captain’s chair, the two rows of nautilus doors flanking the tow chains swirled open. Dezmara froze. “Oh, shit!” Exhaust glowed from fairings protruding from each hole, and she tumbled backward with the acceleration, hitting the floor and yelping in pain from her ribs before struggling into her chair and clipping her harness into place. Dezmara’s vision blurred into streaks of gray metal and squiggles of blue and white light as the Ghost shook wildly on its tethered drop from the heavens. She clenched her eyes shut, gripped the rim of her chair, and strained to hear her own thoughts over the rumbling of the air molecules outside that swarmed and battered the hull like an invisible sea of enemies.
Dezmara was pretty sure they’d come out of the entry in one piece. The entire outside of the Ghost, as well as the exposed surfaces of the interior, was made of heat resistant materials. Of course, that didn’t mean a pilot could approach an atmosphere willy-nilly: something could always go wrong, and there were procedures to minimize the risk of reentry. She noticed the Triton’s shape—its sideways approach to the surface was done by design. The blunt flank of the vessel would push the air out in front of it, creating a space between the air molecules, now superheated by friction, and the surface of the ship. The pirate craft’s profile was big, thanks to the enormous domed shell above its gunwale, and the shockwave would be enough to taper around the much smaller Ghost trailing in its wake…she hoped.