by Tripp Ellis
Chloe was having the time of her life. She had an ear to ear grin on her face, and her blue eyes narrowed as she pursued her target. Nothing was going to get in her way. She was going to score a kill.
“Ease up, Ensign.”
“I’ve almost got him."
"You've almost killed us several times."
The perky blonde looked fresh off the cheer squad. But she was an old soul, and had life experience beyond her years. Barely 19, she had earned a field commission, due to the pressing need for pilots. She had already proven herself in combat, flying transports and gunships. But her heart was with fighters. She wanted nothing more than to obtain a coveted slot at the Navy’s Advanced Fighter Weapons School.
The Super Phantom was an older fighter that had been relegated to mostly training missions. It was a tandem two-seater, and Lieutenant Morgan sat in back. Chloe was going to have to qualify on one of these birds if she ever wanted to get near a Stingray.
The Phantoms were almost 40 years old now. Still a capable fighter, but lacking in technology. It didn't have optical targeting. Modern fighters had cameras embedded in the exterior hull that fed into the pilot’s visor, giving a 360° view of the star field. There were no blind spots in a modern fighter—but there were in a Phantom.
Chloe's fingers wrapped around the joystick as she maneuvered the vehicle through the treacherous asteroid field. Her finger hovered over the trigger, itching to engage the 30mm machine guns mounted in the wings. She just needed a clear shot.
Kilmer was good—one of the best. He was giving Chloe a hard time, but she stuck right on his tail as he weaved his way through the asteroid field. Every time she was about to blast him, he slipped out of her sights.
It was just a training exercise. She wasn't going to fire real bullets. Though, she was pretty sick of hearing Kilmer boast about how great he was, and how no girl was ever going to shoot him down.
If she could take him down, the victory was going to be sweet.
The Phantoms had been retrofitted for simulated dogfights. They would track every imaginable metric of the trainee’s flight. Fuel consumption, weapons accuracy, flight path, and damage. The data was fed into a computer and analyzed. They were graded against what the computer determined to be the optimized flight performance.
Lieutenant Morgan was a seasoned pilot. But still, her stomach was feeling a little queasy from the seemingly uncontrolled twisting and spiraling. Her eyes went wide as they careened straight toward a lumbering asteroid. She screeched with a voice full of panic, “Ensign Johnson! Ensign Johnson!"
Chloe pulled hard on the stick. At the last possible moment, the Phantom dove underneath a mammoth asteroid, narrowly missing the ragged edge.
Lieutenant Morgan’s stomach was in her throat.
Chloe accelerated, twisting her way through the field. The constant change of direction slammed Morgan from side to side in her safety harness. The blur of stars and asteroids were dizzying.
Finally, the targeting reticle flashed red. Chloe had a clear shot. Her finger squeezed the trigger. A rapid beeping sound filled the cockpit. Chloe had eliminated the target.
She was beaming, and her blue eyes sparkled with delight. “Nice flying, Kilmer.”
He grumbled back on the comm line, “This is bullshit. I’ve got a thruster malfunction.”
Chloe rolled her eyes. There was probably nothing wrong with his Phantom. “Operator error.”
“Foxtrot Yankee,” Kilmer grumbled back over the comm line.
Chloe laughed. She didn’t need a translation. “Sticks and stones.”
She broke off the engagement and found her way out of the asteroid field. Lieutenant Morgan exhaled, finally able to relax. She took a moment to collect her thoughts. She was not a happy camper.
A panicked voice crackled over the comm line. The man had a slight drawl to his voice. “Mayday, mayday. This is the SS Intrigue. We are under attack. Coordinates 2037.34, sector 7, Helion Reticuli. Repeat, we are under attack.”
Chloe’s eyes scanned her tactical display. “We’re the closest ship in range.”
“Return to the Revenant, Ensign,” Morgan said sternly. “Let the professionals handle it.”
Chloe’s jaw tensed. “The Intrigue could be destroyed by the time a squadron gets there. We’re only five minutes away.”
“This fighter isn’t equipped for combat. And you have no idea what you’d be walking into.”
Chloe ignored her. “Intrigue, this is Rockstar from the USS Revenant. I’ve got your back.”
“Now that’s exactly what I wanted to hear,” the man said.
“Ensign Johnson, I’m warning you… Head back to the Revenant this instant.”
Chloe throttled up and banked the vehicle around toward the Intrigue. She rocketed through space at full speed. The Phantom may not have been the fastest fighter in the galaxy, but it was still pretty damn quick.
Kilmer headed back to the Revenant.
“You just fucked yourself, Ensign Johnson. You’ll never fly again.”
Chloe picked up the Intrigue on her scanners, and it wasn’t long before she had a visual. She had bitten off more than she could chew. There were three attack fighters making strafing runs at the Intrigue. It was a midsize commercial cargo vehicle. These were most likely raiders trying to hijack her.
Chloe armed the 30 mm guns of the Phantom. The next time she squeezed the trigger, she’d be firing live rounds. But the Phantom hadn’t been loaded with ordnance for the training mission. Chloe didn’t have any missiles. She didn’t have any electronic countermeasures. A quick glance at her ammo stores told her that she only had a few hundred rounds. The seed of doubt crept into her mind. Maybe this had been ill advised after all.
Chloe transmitted across all frequencies. “This is Ensign Chloe Johnson of the USS Revenant. Disengage your attack on the Intrigue or face destruction. You are outnumbered and outgunned.”
Lieutenant Morgan was having a conniption fit. “I swear to God, Johnson, if we make it out of this alive, I’m going to kill you.”
The raiders weren’t breaking off.
Chloe swooped in and targeted one of the fighters. She squeezed off several rounds. The bullets streaked past the fuselage. She definitely had their attention now.
The fighter took evasive action and broke away from the Intrigue. Chloe pursued the raider as it spiraled through space, trying to shake her. But she clung to its tail.
The fighters were Volkov Falcons. Old Radvarian made fighters that were readily available on the secondhand market. Capable fighters that far outclassed the Phantoms.
Chloe got a target lock and blasted the Falcon. A stream of bullets ripped through its port side thruster. The ship tumbled into a fiery ball of debris. The fuselage shattered into a thousand pieces that spiraled off into the blackness of space.
Chloe pulled hard on the stick to avoid the larger chunks of the wreckage. But she had acquired a tail herself. She could see bullets whiz past her cockpit. She banked the Phantom hard to evade the onslaught. Both raiders were chasing her, and the three ships zigged and zagged across the star field.
Chloe knew if one of them got a missile lock, it was all over. She did her best to shake the two raiders, but they were sticking like glue.
The next move she made was risky. Her heart was pounding in her throat. And as calm and cool as she normally was, Chloe was now starting to sweat. She popped the front vertical thruster, flipping the vehicle. She cut the rear thrusters simultaneously. The Phantom was now traveling upside down and backwards, relatively speaking. But her weapons were aimed in the right direction. She unleashed a torrent of gunfire at the raiders, eviscerating one, then the other. Two massive explosions showered debris in every direction. Chunks of the fuselage and avionics scattered.
Chloe flipped the vehicle again and reengaged the thrusters. She breathed a sigh of relief and grinned.
Morgan looked pale and was completely speechless.
“Intrigue, you’re in th
e clear,” Chloe said.
“You are a lifesaver, little lady. What’s your name?”
“Ensign Chloe Johnson, sir.”
“Dale Hicks. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise.”
“I owe you one.”
“It was my pleasure.”
A squadron of Stingrays arrived from the Revenant.
“Looks like we missed all the fun,” said Lieutenant Ford. “Nice shooting there, Ensign.”
Morgan was furious. The veins in her neck look like they were about to pop. She muttered in a low gravelly voice, “You get this vehicle back to the Revenant ASAP.”
“Aye, sir.”
Chloe headed for the USS Revenant and angled the Phantom toward the flight deck. “Revenant, this is Rockstar. Request permission to land.”
“Rockstar, you are clear on flight deck A.”
“Roger that.” She could see the optical landing system and was on glide for a perfect approach. She touched down on the deck like landing on a pillow.
Lieutenant Morgan climbed out of the cockpit and down to the flight deck. She pulled off her flight helmet. Her face was tight and her lips were tense.
“We made it back alive, didn’t we?” Chloe said with a hopeful grin.
Morgan shot Chloe a hateful glance. “You won’t be getting any points for today’s performance.”
Chloe’s eyes widened. “But taking out Kilmer puts me at the top of the leaderboard. Not to mention taking out those Falcons.” There was a slight degree of cockiness in her voice.
“You disobeyed a direct order. You get zero points. And you’re going to face disciplinary action.”
“You can’t do that. I’ll drop to the bottom of the class.”
“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get kicked out of the fleet.” Morgan stormed away.
4
The Revenant
The USS Scorpion looked majestic floating in its orbit around New Earth. President Slade gazed at her with wonder as Marine One approached.
“There’s still a little work to be done. Updating some of the systems, installing some fixtures, some paint,” the Chief of Staff, Robert Glassman, said. “The hardware refurb is almost complete. Structurally, she’ll be as good, perhaps better, than new.”
“I’d never thought I’d see her space-worthy again,” Slade said.
“Well, it wasn’t cheap. And rest assured, the Senocrats are going to make a stink during the budget hearings. 23 trillion in defense spending this year.”
“The galaxy is a dangerous place,” Slade said casually.
Marine One lumbered toward the flight deck. Slade felt giddy like a schoolgirl. She hadn’t set foot on the Scorpion since it had to be abandoned in deep space.
As soon as Marine One touched down, Slade was the first one down the back ramp. The Secret Service agents rushed to keep up. They looked frazzled that she was breaking with protocol, but it was par for the course for Slade. Everything about her presidency was unconventional. And she still had the desire to be in the thick of the fight, not sheltered away in a Situation Room somewhere.
Captain Robinson greeted her with a salute.
“Permission to come aboard.”
“Permission granted, Madam President.” Captain Robinson said with a smile. “It’s an honor to have you aboard. I’ve got big shoes to fill taking command of this ship. I hope to do you proud.”
“I’m sure you will,” Slade assured him.
“If you’re ready, it would be my pleasure to take you on a tour of the ship. I think you’ll be pleased with the updates.”
“I have no doubt.” Slade smiled.
Just as she was about to follow the captain off the flight deck, the Chief of Staff leaned in and whispered in her ear. “We’ve lost contact with the Devastator.”
Slade’s eyes went wide. “Is there some kind of problem with the network?” It was a hopeful question, and she knew it.
“I don’t think so, Madam President. We should return to the Revenant immediately. ”
Slade’s face tensed. “Looks like we’ll have to do that tour another time, Captain.”
Slade sat in a plush leather chair at the conference table in the Revenant’s Situation Room. The figured cherry wood was stained beautifully. She was surrounded by the Secretary of State, the Secretary of Defense, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
Emma Castle attended the meeting. She looked pale and thin, and her eyes were sunken. She had lost 15 pounds, and she didn’t need to lose the weight.
She was heading up what was left of the United Intelligence Agency. She was joined by Captain Walker and Captain Bryant.
“Madam President, we’re picking up the relay beacon from the Devastator’s black box,” Emma said. “The beacon only transmits after a catastrophic event. We can only assume that the Devastator has been destroyed.”
Slade grimaced. The Devastator was one of the most capable ships in the fleet. “What are the odds that this was some type of accident?”
Emma shrugged. “Maiden voyage. New technology. It’s possible, however unlikely. You and I both know these destroyers are put through rigorous tests before they hit open space.”
“Mount a search and rescue operation. Look for survivors.”
“Yes, Madam President.”
“And use extreme caution. If this wasn’t an accident, you could be walking into an ambush.”
Walker chimed in. “I recommend we send a small recon patrol first, so we know what we’re dealing with.”
“I’ll leave the specifics up to you and Captain Bryant,” Slade said. She could see Emma wasn’t looking well. “Are you feeling alright, Emma?”
“Yes. I’m fine. Just a little under the weather. That’s all.” It was a blatant lie.
Slade wasn’t buying it, but dropped it. “Keep me in the loop.”
The room was beginning to spin. Emma’s stomach was gurgling. It was twisting up in knots, and the sour acid was burning the back of her throat. She excused herself from the Situation Room and dashed into the hallway. She made a beeline for the head, struggling to keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged.
Emma pressed a button on the bulkhead and the hatch slid open. She dashed into the compartment, staggered to a stall, and revisited lunch.
The medication wasn’t sitting well with her.
She staggered back to the sink, looking like a zombie, and cleaned herself up. She splashed cold water on her face—it provided momentary relief.
Along with the nausea, the medication made her mouth dry, no matter how much she drank. Her fingernails and her hair felt brittle. Her appetite was nonexistent. And it was a rare moment when she felt steady on her feet.
Her sunken eyes gazed into the mirror. She almost didn’t recognize the person she had become. This wasn’t supposed to happen to her, she thought. She had big plans for her life. Now none of that seemed like it was going to come to pass.
She splashed more water on her face and pulled herself together. She stepped in the hallway just as Captain Walker and Captain Bryant were exiting the Situation Room.
“Are you sure you’re all right?” Walker asked.
“Yeah. I’m fine. I think I just got something bad in the mess hall.”
Zoey Bryant grimaced. “The last thing we need is an outbreak of food poisoning on the ship. I’ll look into it and have them run some tests on the food supplies.”
“Oh, no. I don’t think that’s necessary. I think it’s just me.”
“Better safe than sorry.” Zoey marched down the hall heading back toward the CIC.
Emma had been keeping her condition a tight secret. Nobody knew. She didn’t want people to look at her differently. And she didn’t want any sympathy.
Walker wasn’t born yesterday, he knew something was seriously wrong with her. He had gotten that sense during their mission back on Aldebaran Minor. He knew it wasn’t just food poisoning. “Look, if you need anything. Don’t hesitate to ask. Anything you s
ay to me is said in confidence.”
Emma could see the compassion in his eyes. “Thank you. I’m sure I’ll be okay in a few days.” She forced a smile.
Walker didn’t press the subject any further.
Two pilots raced across the flight deck toward a Specter SV-120. There was only one prototype left in existence. It had the highest stealth capability of any spacecraft in the fleet. It was a top-secret project that had been developed by the UIA. The Specters came in extremely handy on the raid to kill insurgent terrorist Ragza Vin Zelcor. Unfortunately, only one of them returned. They were sleek black ministers of death, with sharp angular features. They were virtually undetectable, and extremely expensive. They weren’t slated to go into production until next year. That’s if the DOD could get congressional budget approval for a project they couldn’t tell Congress anything about.
Lieutenant Dodson and Ensign Ravvat climbed into the cockpit. They went through their preflight checks, and all systems came back green. The Air Boss cleared them for takeoff, and soon, the Specter was lifting off the deck. The svelte craft sliced the air as it glided forward. The thrusters where whisper quiet, even at full power. It crested the edge of the flight deck and nosed into space.
Dodson looked over the glowing controls and programmed in jump coordinates. The Devastator’s transponder beacon was at the ass end of the galaxy. It was going to take several quantum jumps to get there. On a craft this size, the quantum field generator wasn’t powerful enough to hop as far as the new Devastator Class star destroyers—one of the sacrifices of size and stealth.
“Have you ever traveled this deep in space,” Ensign Ravvat asked.
“No. Zeta 3 Draconis is the farthest I’ve been.”
Ravvat grinned, always ready for an adventure. But for all he knew, they could be flying to their death. “Let’s go see what’s out there.”
Dodson engaged the slide-space drive. The Specter vanished without so much as a ripple. Engineers had worked tirelessly to reduce the quantum signature of the Specters. It was one of the main selling points. Most long-range detection systems were highly attuned to quantum distortions. It was the most reliable way to identify when an enemy had entered the area, short of visual confirmation.