by Nick Webb
“And they’re alive? And still inside? I feel like there’s something critical I am missing here.”
“Something we call the silk road, ma’am—a long tunnel that spans the entire ship. They’re currently racing away from the blast front, but it’s overtaking them. Zivic’s fighter was damaged, and … well, as of right now there’s no way out of that thing. We q-jumped in. There are no exhaust ports.”
“Not like in the movies,” Proctor breathed to herself. “Ok. Send me the general location, and what you know about the layout of the ship.”
They were only two people. Two lives, weighed against billions. There were other things they could be doing than saving two lives.
But the cold, pragmatic side of her argued that those were two lives that had already figured how to knock out one Swarm ship, and perhaps they could do it again.
And besides. It was Ballsy. And Zivic. She couldn’t leave them in there.
Explosions and fires and streams of debris began to erupted from one portion of the ship, dozens of kilometers away.
Proctor covered her mouth. No! They’re out of time.
Chapter Eighteen
Outside fighter canopy
Inside Swarm Vessel
Near Britannia
His hamstrings were on fire from gripping the wing with his legs. His left wrist was possibly broken from the remains of the emergency straps digging in and pulling him during the fighter’s maximum acceleration just a minute ago. And his fingers were all sausages from the vacuum.
But he was still alive. And so was his son. “Ok kid, I’m getting a little tired of this sausage-fest out here. Seal your suit and let me in. Plus, getting a little hot out here what with the giant explosion overtaking us.”
Without a single argument, Ethan popped the hatch and eased up on the acceleration to allow him to release the strap tied around his wrist and climb through, settling into the cramped space behind the pilot’s seat on his knees.
“Son of a … Now it’s the quads. Cocksuckinggoatmotherofzeusitburns….” The awkward position made the front of his legs tighten up painfully, so he just stood up and hunched directly over Zivic in the cramped space.
The hatch closed and sealed, which pressed him down so his chest was squished up against Zivic’s head. “Hey! Flying here!” Zivic protested. “Go cuddle something else.” Ethan nudged him a little too forcefully with his shoulder.
“Can it. Look, I can reach the gun controls.” He stretched forward and engaged the rear gun. Lower caliber than the main guns, but still deadly.
“How the hell is that going to help us, dad?”
“Because those drones are still tailing us, dumbass, and gaining on us. Faster than the frickin’ explosion is. Guess whatever automated system is driving them has a survival instinct too.”
A stream of rounds peppered the rear of the fighter, and Ethan swerved sharply as he wove to throw off their tail, while Ballsy swiveled the rear turret to get a clear shot. “No targeting assist on this one, I see.”
“Because we never use it, dad. Everyone knows it’s for blasting hired goons in seedy spaceports, not actual space battles.”
“Cute.” He eyed the tiny drone, lined it up in his sights, and …
“Got it. Plastered the bastard.”
The wreckage from his handiwork flew past them as Ethan changed course slightly. Out the side viewport Ballsy caught sight of something disturbing. “Oh, crap. Those aren’t drones.”
“What?”
He peered at the wreckage, at the writhing figure inside. It was similar to one of the larger beings they’d captured pictures of earlier, but … smaller. Less developed. Still gruesome though.
“It’s their kids. Or their brood. Or whatever the hell you want to call them. Tiny pieces of monkeytits piloting those things.” He swiveled the gun to take out another one. And another. Whatever they were, they weren’t the best pilots, or the best shots.
But they were deadly enough. A round tore through the cockpit, missing his nose by inches. The blessed two minutes of pressurized atmosphere left in a hurry, and once again his fingers started to swell up. Luckily his helmet was still running just fine.
“Ok, dad, what’s the plan? We’re on the leading edge of a catastrophic explosion, trapped inside a big ass ship, and being chased by satan’s brood in tiny fighters.”
“Plan?”
Ethan sighed. “Oh god.”
Volz pointed ahead. “Just keep flying. Something will come to us.” Another round flew through the cockpit, taking out the sensor dashboard. “I hope.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bridge
ISS Independence
Near Britannia
Lieutenant Jerusha Whitehorse had only sat in the captain’s chair three times. And all those times had been routine, mundane affairs where both the captain and the first officer had been indisposed and it fell to her to command the bridge crew.
This time was no different, she told herself. Keep your head. Don’t look stupid. Keep everyone alive. No pressure.
She eyed the expanding explosions ripping down the Swarm’s hull with alarm.
Good Lord they were all going to die.
Technically, Commander Mumford outranked her, but his rank was more like an honorary degree, since he was a distinguished scientist and she was the one with command experience—they both had an unspoken agreement, sealed with a furtive nod, that she’d be the one in the hot seat during battle. He called out from the rear of the bridge. “Lieutenant, the explosion from the core is causing a chain reaction throughout the ship’s entire electrical and plasma grid. I think the whole ship is going to blow.”
“Good. Steady, Ensign Riisa, keep us on Defiance’s tail.” She turned back to Lieutenant Qwerty, “We’re still reading them, right? Through the stealth?”
“Aye, ma’am.”
The hull of the Swarm ship was flying past them, two kilometers away, as they raced to align themselves with the end of the silk road. The spot where they supposed Volz and Zivic would appear. Assuming they were still alive.
Qwerty fist pumped the air. “Whoop-de-do, ma’am! The hull is breaking up, so I’m able to penetrate with sensors. And wouldn’t you know it, I’m reading two human life signs, strong and clear, moving quick-like down the silk road. They’re nearly at the end.”
“Ok.” She looked up at the comm. “Admiral? You have a plan? Did you hear that from Mr. Qwerty?”
“I did, lieutenant. Standby.”
Qwerty’s fist was still in the air, but it started to lower, slowly. She saw his smile fall. “And, ma’am, I’m reading that they’re being … chased, by hundreds of other … lifeforms. At least, I think they’re lifeforms. Never seen anything like it.”
She glanced back at Mumford. “Commander?”
He hunched over Qwerty’s console and peered at the data streaming in. “Beats the hell out of me. Life signs all right, but not human. Probably belong to those monstrosities we imaged earlier.”
Ensign Riisa looked back. “Lieutenant, we’re coming up to the coordinates where the road ends.”
Proctor’s voice broke over the comm. “Ok, listen up. We’ve got about two kilometers of hull separating us and our boys. Only one thing to do."
Chapter Twenty
Fighter cockpit
Inside Swarm Vessel
Near Britannia
Unbelievable. The old man had brought them this far, all without a plan of how to actually get the hell out, and now the ship was falling apart and exploding all around them.
He didn’t know whether to punch him or hug him.
Another dozen satan’s-brood-piloted bogeys were creeping up on them, peppering their bird with rounds. He looped up, pushing their inertial cancelers to the limit and managed to pick off five before they scattered. “Ok, what if we just shoot our way out?”
“Through the hull?” Ballsy was busy, stretched over his shoulder and hands holding on tight to the rear gun controls.
“Yeah.”
“It’s two kilometers thick right here.”
“Yeah. Ok.” He looped again and picked off three more. “Oh, and by the way, I’m up to ninety-two.”
Ballsy snapped to look at him, his brow furrowed. “You’ve been counting this whole time?”
He saw the gears working in his dad’s head. Why the hell are you counting when you should be thinking our way out of this? he’d say. “My brain just does it. Automatically. In the background.”
His father turned back to the gun controls. “Apples to oranges, anyway. Doesn’t count.”
Unbelievable. “What? They’re not drones, dad! They’re Swarm. Actual Swarm, and not the liquid crap you fought.”
“Exactly. They’re different.”
Another swerve, another few rounds, another two down. “That’s ninety-four. I’m seven away from beating IDF’s all-time fighter record in a single engagement. So suck it.”
“They’re never going to take my name off there, kid, because these aren’t what I fought.” But now that they were arguing about it, Zivic noticed that his father was darting the gun back and forth twice as fast as before. Not that he was slacking earlier. But something deep inside him was not going to let his son win. “Besides.” He actually chuckled. “I’m up to sixty-five already, and my kill rate is twice yours.”
“Screw you. It’s on.”
For a minute or so there was silence as the fighter looped and swerved its way down the silk road and through clouds of miniature Swarm fighters.
Zivic whooped. “Got it. One hundred and one. Your reign of terror is over, old man.”
“Now hold on; I’m at eighty-two.”
Zivic pointed up ahead. “Time’s up. We’re at the end. What’s the plan, genius?”
Ballsy exhaled slowly, apparently trying to contain his frustration. “Ok. We analyzed the layout of part of their ship when that monster broke apart over New Dublin. There should be an access port somewhere on the terminal wall. Just big enough for a shuttle, so we should have no problem.
“You planned this and didn’t tell me?”
Ballsy shrugged. “Wanted to keep you in suspense,” he said, and waved an arm up ahead at the wall. “Are you not entertained?”
Asshat, Zivic silently replied. “Is that it?” He pointed to a tiny dot on the several-square-kilometer sized wall ahead of them.
“Maybe. Let’s go take a closer—”
The entire ship rocked around them. Zivic wished he could hear what was happening. But, after a few moments, he definitely saw it. “Holy shit. Something big hit the ship. Or one of the Granger moons finally showed up and decided this spot was the best target.” He pointed ahead of them.
The wall buckled. Then the upper half shifted forward by several dozen meters, and buckled down further, sliding several hundred meters towards them.
“Dammit.” Ballsy hunched forward, leaning on Zivic’s shoulder. “There goes our escape route.”
Indeed, the tiny dot he’d seen earlier had completely disappeared, most likely crushed under kilometers of ship.
“Well. That settles that.” Zivic looped the fighter back around and picked off a few more Swarm bogeys that had gotten too close. It seemed they’d been hightailing it for the tiny exit as well, and not necessarily been chasing them. At least, the whole cloud of them now hung dormant near the spot where the exit tunnel had been. Hundreds. Maybe even thousands. “One hundred and four, by the way.”
“What are you doing?” said Ballsy, returning to his sights and picking off a few more of his own.
“Plan B. Or, at this point, Plan F. We’re blasting our way out.”
Ballsy pointed back down the silk road, which was illuminated red with the approaching explosions that were working their way down the walls. They had a minute. Probably less. “Plan F is dead on arrival. Try again.”
“It’s all we got, old man.” Another loop to pick off a few bogeys that were tailing them, and then he aimed straight at the wall and started firing everything he had. Four torpedoes zoomed away in rapid succession, followed by their whole battery of guided missiles, all the while accompanied by the guns. Explosion after explosion ripped metal from the wall. “See? We’ve dug two hundred meters already!”
“Great. We’ll be two hundred meters further away before the blast overtakes us.” Ballsy tapped on the dashboard. “And you’re out of torpedoes and missiles, genius. Guns won’t get you much farther.”
He was right, unfortunately. Zivic glanced back and saw the approaching explosions. Just twenty more seconds and they were toast. He swore and turned back to the giant hole they’d carved into the wall. Wait. What was that? Something odd near the bottom….
The fighter leaped forward as he pushed the engines to maximum. “What the hell are you doing?” said Ballsy.
“Making your original plan work for us.” He pointed ahead. “Look. That wall crumpling sheared off and collapsed the tunnel all right, but not all of it. We just blasted into an intact section.”
Ballsy whacked him on the shoulder. “Fly faster, dammit. When I was your age I’d fly twice as fast, uphill, both ways, in the snow—”
“Shut up, dad.”
They plunged into the tunnel, scraping their canopy on some twisted metal jutting out from the edge. A handful of bogeys followed them in. “Don’t worry about them. You fly. I shoot.”
“Got it,” said Zivic. With the tight quarters he was flying in, there was no way he’d be able to target and shoot, much less do it with the main rear gun.
He slowed down as the tunnel narrowed somewhat. “Don’t slow down! Faster!” Ballsy barked. He was picking them off one by one, but more had entered after the first few, and they’d caught up to them. Apparently they were also scared of the explosion overtaking them.
“This does not end well….” But he gunned the engine anyway, and they picked up speed. It took all his concentration to not hit the walls as the path curved and the tunnel narrowed randomly.
The fighter lurched as something hit their tail. “Dammit!” yelled Ballsy. He swore again, and added, in a somber voice. “I’m sorry, son. They got us.” Zivic twisted around to look, and, sure enough, the rear end of the fighter had been torn to shreds. Except….
He examined the systems status screen, and the rear auxiliary gun’s warning lights were flashing red. The kind of flashing that meant, danger, you are shooting your own ship, you idiot.
“Dad, this isn’t a movie. I can see exactly what happened. You’re a terrible shot.”
Ballsy shrugged. “Hey, can’t blame an old man for trying.” He picked off two more bogeys, then released his grip on the gun controls. “There. That was the last of them. The rest are too far back.” He examined what was left of the sensor dashboard, and then yelled. “Woah! Stop! Stop! Stop! STOP!”
Zivic yanked up on the controls and arrested their forward momentum. And just in time.
The tunnel had collapsed ahead of them.
Ballsy shook his head. Zivic grit his teeth and looked back. The orange glow of the explosive catastrophe was most definitely headed their way down the tunnel. “Any more bright ideas, dad?”
Chapter Twenty-One
Bridge
ISS Defiance
Near Britannia
“Ma’am, the mag-rail slugs are working, but it’s slow going,” said Lieutenant Davenport.
The Swarm ship was convulsing with increasingly intensified explosions. They were getting nearer now, and soon the section of ship directly in front of them would disintegrate in a fiery blast.
“Independence. Switch to gigawatt lasers. Hell, all the lasers. Position yourself so the beam doesn’t hit them on the other side once we punch through. Ten billion watts isn’t going to make Ballsy look any younger.”
“Aye, aye, ma’am,” said Lieutenant Whitehorse through the comm. A few seconds later, the mag-rail volley ceased, and a few seconds after that, the hole they’d been digging started caving inward, the metal boiling aw
ay at an impressive pace.
Commander Carson nodded approvingly. “That’s better. We’re digging now at about ten meters per second.”
Proctor shook her head. “It’s not enough. It’s two kilometers thick. It’ll take over three minutes to dig all the way down, and this ship’s a goner long before then.”
Lieutenant Case, who had been monitoring the whole affair from his console while he waited for the inevitable order to get them out of there, pointed up and whooped. “Ma’am! Sensors showing we just cut through a tunnel of some sorts. And we’re picking up an active IDF transponder signal!”
Proctor whipped around and saw it on her command console. “Independence! Cease fire!”
A moment later the beams stopped, and the glowing tunnel stopped getting deeper.
There! Near the very bottom, from around a corner they couldn’t see, swerved an IDF fighter, burning at maximum thrust.
And behind it, fire. Molten metal flying out as the explosions ripped through the remaining portion of the ship nearest them.
“Come on, come on, come on, come on,” murmured Proctor, staring at the screen. “Case, start getting us the hell out.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It was a race between the fighter and the blast front. But Swarm-scale explosions were apparently no match for Ethan Batshit Zivic: the fighter soared out of the tunnel and blazed its way toward the Independence’s waiting fighter bay. She finally let out a breath she didn’t even realize she was holding in.
They were alive. They had been given up for dead. Just like Danny. But they were alive. Just like Danny.
There was hope for them all yet.
“Case! Go! Maximum thrust. Out of the orbital vector of the ship.”
This was a race that wasn’t even close, and within a minute they were well clear of the disintegrating Swarm ship and getting a clearer view of the broader battle happening around them.