Terminal Alliance

by Jim C. Hines

  “Zoom in on the colony,” said Mops.

  The planet rushed toward them, making her feel like she was plunging headfirst toward one of the larger canyons about ten degrees north of the equator. The display stopped abruptly before taking a sharp left to reveal a city carved into the ice and stone in the side of the canyon.

  Most prominent was the docking field, a flat area of gleaming black rock almost two kilometers wide, covered in a clamshell-shaped half-dome. Smaller, circular windows dotted the cliff around the field, along with the occasional pipes and vents. Lights beneath the ice glowed smoky purple.

  Geysers rose like white threads from the side of the cliff where Prodryan plasma beams had boiled away rock and ice alike. In several places, blue flames rose from the ice.

  “Methane deposits frozen into the ice,” said Kumar. “The incoming fire must have ignited them.”

  Mops nodded. “Doc, show us the colony’s interior.”

  The display shifted to a digital mock-up as they flew deeper into the cliff and its labyrinth of tunnels and chambers.

  Wolf looked up from her station. “I don’t suppose the blueprints say anything about a secret illegal bioweapons laboratory?”

  “Nothing and nobody by that name appears in the Alliance records. Nor have I found anything tagged ‘Azure.’”

  “How many colonists?” asked Monroe.

  “Six thousand, four hundred and twelve, according to the last report, filed eleven days ago.” Kumar looked around. “What, nobody else subscribes to the Alliance colony news updates?”

  “What about planetary defenses?” asked Wolf, her attention fixed on the screen.

  Kumar pointed. “See those two steaming craters at the top of the cliff? I think that’s what’s left of them.”

  “Scanners are showing eight fighters and two troop shuttles in low orbit,” said Monroe. “Confirmed as Prodryan. We’ll be entering outer weapons range in about five minutes.”

  “Make sure the defensive grid is powered up, and missile countermeasures are ready to go.”

  “Yes, sir.” Monroe’s fingers raced over his controller.

  “I thought the Prodryans were getting their weapon from this place,” said Kumar. “Why attack it?”

  “Probably because a shuttle jumped into the system with dead Nusurans on board and no human prisoners,” Mops guessed. “The Prodryans know we escaped, and have to assume their weapons lab has been compromised. Better to destroy it and kill their coconspirators than to let the Alliance get them. Especially if they already have adequate supplies of their weapon.”

  “I’m picking up a third Prodryan shuttle,” reported Monroe. “This one’s taking off from the colony.”

  “That would be the Prodryans retrieving those adequate supplies?” asked Wolf.

  The Prodryan fighters redoubled their assault. They must have been holding back until their people left the colony. “Track that shuttle,” said Mops. “Once we’re within range, that’s your primary target. In the meantime, fire a missile spread at the attacking ships.”

  Monroe twisted and tapped his controller, and a green halo appeared around the dot representing the troop shuttle. “At this range, they’ll take out our missiles before—”

  “I know,” said Mops. “But they’ll have to divert attention from the colony to do it.”

  He nodded. A spread of green dots spat from the miniature Pufferfish on the screen. “Missiles away. Sir, it looks like some of the Glacidae are abandoning the colony. I’ve got additional launches from the planet. Glacidae shuttles. Two Prodryan fighters are breaking away to pursue. The rest . . . it looks like they’re coming about to engage us.”

  “Fire another spread. Give those shuttles as much cover as we can.” The Glacidae shuttles kept low as they fled the bombardment. Mops wiped her hands on the arms of her chair.

  Several of the fighters began firing at the Pufferfish with plasma weapons. One lucky shot skimmed their hull, but at this range, the beam’s energy had diffused too much, and the discharge crackled harmlessly over their defensive grid.

  The six Prodryan fighters spread into a broad ring to engage the Pufferfish. Approaching head-on, their formation presented a minimal target for plasma beams and A-guns. “Monroe, light those bastards up.”

  Another wave of missiles shot toward the fighters. The Prodryans responded in kind.

  “Deploying countermeasures,” said Monroe.

  Both sets of missiles began to blink out. Three of the Prodryan missiles exploded close enough to the Pufferfish for bits of shrapnel to reverberate against their hull, while one of their own knocked a Prodryan fighter out of formation. It recovered quickly, and the six fighters began weaving and swapping position, presumably trying to make it harder for the Pufferfish to get a lock.

  “I recommend keeping up the missile bombardment,” said Monroe. “Save plasma and A-guns until we’re close enough to hit something.”

  Another plasma beam struck the Pufferfish, causing minor hull damage near deck B.

  “They’re close enough to hit us,” Wolf pointed out.

  “We’re a bigger target.” Mops turned. “Kumar, do what you can to evade their fire.”

  Kumar twisted toward her. “How do I do that?”

  Mops bit her lip. It wasn’t as if she knew EMC combat maneuvers either. “Try anything that breaks us out of a straight-line approach. Monroe, how many missiles does this ship carry?”

  “Three hundred and sixty,” he said. “Between the loss of pod two and what we’ve already used, we’re down to two hundred and four.”

  “What if we fire everything? Overwhelm them. Those little fighters can’t counter two hundred missiles, right?”

  Monroe didn’t respond right away. “Even if it worked, we’d be at a major disadvantage against anyone who survived.”

  “Or any reinforcements,” added Wolf.

  The Pufferfish shuddered again. Despite Kumar spinning the ship in a loose corkscrew, the Prodryans continued to score hits against them. Hits that would become more destructive as they closed range.

  “Decompression on deck C, section one.”

  “Do it,” said Mops. “Kumar, give us as much speed as you can. Monroe, as soon as you’ve emptied the launch tubes, switch to plasma beams. If anything survives the missiles, burn it out of the sky.”

  Specks of green showered forth from the Pufferfish’s two functioning weapons pods toward the approaching Prodryans. It took twenty seconds to empty the tubes. The fighters spread apart, spitting sparks to try to intercept the barrage.

  “They’ve stopped shooting at us,” said Wolf. “That’s a plus.”

  The first of their missiles began to veer off course, victims of Prodryan jamming signals. But the bulk continued swarming toward their targets. “Monroe, open up with those plasma beams. I don’t care if you hit anything, just keep those fighters jumping.”

  “Yes, sir.” The satisfaction in his tone was impossible to miss. A plasma beam lanced through space and swept toward one of the fighters like an enormous sword.

  The fighter twisted and dove to evade the attack, which flickered out after several seconds. “Sorry, sir. Any longer and we’ll burn out the guns. As it is, I’m not sure how many more of those I can do without draining our reserves.”

  “Let’s find out,” said Mops. “Keep chasing that fighter. And don’t we have two working weapon pods?”

  Monroe’s next shot burned past the outer edge of the formation, driving a fighter inward. A second shot followed, directly in the fighter’s path. It swerved again, somehow managing to dodge both beams. Such evasive skill would have been more impressive if it hadn’t flown directly into the path of an oncoming missile, which blew the fighter to dust.

  Wolf whooped and slammed a fist against her console.

  “One down,” said Kumar. “Five to go.”


  The Prodryan formation fell apart as the rest of the missiles arrived. More than three quarters had been jammed, diverted, or detonated prematurely. That left close to forty missiles chasing after the five remaining targets.

  Another fighter exploded, then two more. Only two made it through, plasma beams and A-guns blazing as they accelerated toward the Pufferfish. Behind them, nineteen surviving missiles curved through space in pursuit.

  Mops’ mouth was dry. “Keep shooting, Monroe.”

  “The one on the right isn’t maneuvering as well,” said Kumar. “It might have been damaged in the explosions.”

  “On it.” Monroe aimed both plasma beams at the limping fighter, then opened up with the A-guns. Seconds later, nothing remained but an expanding cloud of debris.

  That was enough for the last fighter. It pulled a tight U-turn and fled, dodging through the remaining missiles. The rest of the Prodryans were pulling back as well. Monroe switched his attention to the Prodryan shuttle returning from the planet, inflicting minor damage before they escaped out of range.

  “Holy shit,” said Wolf. “Did we win?”

  “I’m as shocked as you are.” Mops tilted her head as a new information pane appeared in the center of the screen. “When Grom wakes up, tell them I’d like to know why they felt it necessary to add a high score list to the Pufferfish.”

  Player

  Points

  Lieutenant JG Marilyn Monroe

  106,262—NEW HIGH SCORE!

  Technician Gromgimsidalgak

  72,263

  Technician Gromgimsidalgak

  61,498

  Technician Gromgimsidalgak

  61,159

  Technician Gromgimsidalgak

  57,165

  Technician Gromgimsidalgak

  54,834

  Technician Sanjeev Kumar

  1,804

  “THIS IS LIEUTENANT MARION Adamopoulos of the EMCS Pufferfish. Acknowledge.”

  Wolf shook her head. “Nothing from the colony. I think the Prodryans took out their communications center.”

  “They might not be able to respond, but their personal communications devices should still be picking us up,” said Mops. “Paxif 6, be advised that we have destroyed most of the Prodryan fighters. The rest are in full retreat. From their course, we believe they’re angling for an A-ring jump out of the system. You should be safe to begin recovery efforts. We’re standing by to assist.”

  “I’ve got a signal from one of the Glacidae shuttles!” Wolf shouted. “Audio only.”

  A translated voice filled the bridge. “This is Alfrimdinalang—Alfrim—on evacuation shuttle four. We’ve lost contact with the colony.”

  “So have we,” said Mops. “Alfrim, what’s your status? Do you require assistance?”

  “We’re all right. Do you think it’s safe for us to return to the colony?”

  Mops checked the main screen, along with the additional information Doc was feeding to her monocle. “We’re seeing two methane fires near the docking shelf. I’d hold off until those are taken care of. Unless you want to put down a few kilometers outside of the colony and hike back.”

  “We’ll stay in orbit for now, Pufferfish.” They lowered their voice. “The Prodryans might come back with reinforcements.”

  “Understood.” Looking at the planetary scan, Mops counted a total of six evac shuttles that had escaped the bombardment. At full capacity, they held maybe a tenth of the colony’s population.

  Monroe tensed visibly. “Sir, I’ve got multiple A-ring signatures.”

  “Tell me it’s the Prodryans leaving the system, not more hostiles arriving.”

  He looked over his shoulder at Mops. “If I’m reading the registry codes in these signals right, they’re Alliance. Four ships, including the Honey Badger.”

  “Oh, shit,” whispered Wolf. “Do you think they’ve identified us yet?”

  “They just came out of a jump,” Mops reminded her. “Even if they do an emergency adrenaline hit to wake up their battle crew, we’ve got time before they’re up and running. Who else is out there, Monroe?”

  “Looks like the Roundworm, the T-Rex, and the Plague Rat. Three warships and a fighter transport.”

  On the bright side, their arrival should deter the Prodryans from sending reinforcements. “What’s their distance?”

  “Three hundred fifty million kilometers,” said Monroe. “They came in tight.”

  Mops sagged into her chair. That left maybe three hours before they’d be within weapons range. There was no way for her to get a shuttle down to the surface, search the colony for a hidden weapons lab or the mysterious “Azure,” and return to the Pufferfish in that time.

  “Someone at Coacalos must have talked,” said Monroe.

  Anger and despair warred in Mops’ gut. They’d arrived too late to stop the Prodryan assault. Too late to retrieve the cure—assuming it even existed. Whatever the Prodryans on the surface had been after, the Pufferfish’s battle with the other fighters had given them too much of a head start.

  “Should we jump out of here?” asked Kumar.

  “We can’t,” said Monroe. “Not until Grom wakes up to program a new destination.”

  “We could at least start flying away from those Alliance ships so we’re at a safe jump distance when they wake up,” said Kumar.

  Monroe popped his gum. “Where do you suggest we go?”

  “Anywhere the Honey Badger isn’t,” said Wolf.

  “We’re not leaving.” They fell silent as Mops stood. “We came here to retrieve a cure for our crew. If we scared off the Prodryans before they could finish, there’s a chance that cure is still down there.”

  She glared at the screen, her frustration boring like plasma beams into the blips that represented the escaping Prodryans. “Wolf, we’re going to receive a message from those Alliance ships very soon. Notify me as soon as we do.”

  “Where will you be?” asked Wolf.

  “The Captain’s Cove. Planning the terms of our surrender.”

  “How’s the rest of the crew?” Mops asked, her attention fixed on the systemwide map dominating half of the wall display. The rest showed the historical articles and data from Earth’s downfall. How deeply had the Krakau buried the truth about her species?

  “Not good,” said Doc. “Seven appear to have fallen into comas. The rest are suffering lacerations and broken bones from their incessant struggle to escape. I’m told the smell is rather foul as well.”

  It was about what Mops had expected. “Is Grom awake yet?”

  “They’re beginning to stir. Given Glacidae sleep patterns, they should be fully alert within twenty minutes.” Doc paused. “Are you sure about this plan?”

  “I’m not sure about anything anymore.” She sat with her back to the wall, her splinted legs stretched awkwardly on the floor.

  “Once they take you into custody, I will most likely be turned over to Alliance Intelligence for scanning, data extraction, and reformatting.”

  The calm, matter-of-fact way he said it made Mops wince. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not an accusation. I’m merely suggesting if there’s anything you’d like me to delete from my memory banks, now is the time.”

  Her throat tightened. Before she could respond, Wolf’s voice filled the room. “Incoming signal from the Honey Badger. Audio and video. Want me to put it through?”

  “Yes, thank you.” Mops pushed herself upright and straightened her uniform.

  A new image overlaid the map on the screen. It a
ppeared to be the Honey Badger’s combat bridge. A dark-skinned woman with sleek black hair sat in the battle captain’s chair, ringed by a half dozen human officers. Mops recognized several of them, as well as the acting captain.

  “This is Battle Captain Ginsburg.” The transparency of the layered images—Honey Badger bridge and system-wide map—made it look like Ginsburg had an Alliance warship flying into her left ear. “What the hell happened here, Lieutenant Adamopoulos?”

  Mops ignored the question. “I assume you’re in charge of this operation until your command crew recovers?”

  “I am. I’ve also been warned of your collaboration with Prodryan extremists, and your efforts to recruit other humans against the Alliance. I suggest you surrender, because we have orders to blow the Pufferfish into dust if you resist.”

  “All right.”

  Ginsburg blinked. “What was that?”

  “My crew is dying, Ruth. They were infected with a Prodryan bioweapon that turned them feral. I can’t keep them sedated and restrained forever. Command wrote them off as casualties. You’ve probably been ordered to use maximum quarantine precautions, and to keep us in full isolation, yes?”

  Ginsburg didn’t answer.

  “I believe the bioweapon came from this colony. They have a cure. At least, they had one before the Prodryans attacked. Search the colony. Find that cure for my crew. If you do, I’ll turn myself and the Pufferfish over to you peacefully.”

  The screen went silent as Ginsburg turned to speak with someone off-screen. Mops waited, arms folded, trying to ignore the ache in her gut and the sweat trickling down her back.

  Ginsburg’s voice filled the room again. “That colony is a hot zone, Lieutenant. According to our intel, they’ve been collaborating against the Alliance. Once the mission is complete, and we’ve had time to thoroughly inspect the colony and interrogate any prisoners, I’ll consult with Command and—”

  “Command wants my crew dead,” Mops said flatly.

  Ginsburg paused. “Paranoia is a symptom of reversion. Have you had any other signs? Irrationality, blackouts, food cravings?”