StarFight 3: Battlecry

by T. Jackson King

  She, Richard and Alicia occupied the central pedestal that overlooked all parts of the Bridge. Behind and above them sat Jacob, his chin resting on his right fist, as shown by her ceiling video view that filled the holo on her right. The image of her lover made her heart thump extra a moment. Then his intense command expression, so similar to the look often shown by his father Gordon, reminded her of her duties. She looked to her left front holo, which showed a cross-section of the Lepanto’s seven decks. At the back end of Command Deck lay Engines Deck. The three fusion reactors and three fusion-pulse engines that filled the rear of the deck were all showing Green Operational. The left side holo that usually showed a system graphic and her right front holo that often held a true space image of wherever the ship happened to be, they were empty. They would not go active until Alcubierre exit.

  Telling herself to quiet her nerves, Daisy looked ahead, fixing her gaze on the nine Bridge crew persons who sat before control pillars. Half circles of holos hovered before each of the pillars. The nine crew posts followed the Bridge’s curving wall around to her left and right. She ran their names through her mind, tasting the uniqueness of each one. There was Maggie Lowenstein at Power, Rosemary O’Brien at Tactical, Oliver Diego y Silva at Weapons, Akira M’Bala at Engines, Louise Slaughter at Navigation, Andrew Osashi at Communications, Cassandra Pilotti at Gravity, Joaquin Garcia at Life Support and Willard Steinmetz at Science. Good people all. Most of them older than her and Jacob. But everyone was clearly alert and ready for normal space entry.

  She looked back to the ceiling view holo. Behind her, partly filling the rear curving wall were observation seats. The seats flanked the hatch that gave access from the Command Deck hallway. Sitting there were Lori their exobiologist, Carlos the programmer superior, Quincy the laser gunner and Kenji of the Mess Hall. The four of them and herself had become friends with Jacob on the long trip out from Earth to Kepler 22. Since the wasp attack on the battle group’s former captains and XOs, they had all moved to quarters on Command Deck, at Jacob’s insistence. Though each had worked on different decks, it was nice living on this deck. Nicer still were the promotions granted to each of them. No longer ensigns, they had moved up to higher rank and better pay. Lori and Carlos were now lieutenants jg, while Quincy had jumped to petty officer second class. Even Kenji, a Spacer who worked at feeding multiple shifts of ship crew, had advanced to petty officer third class. It was something each of them was still adjusting to, along with the frequent space battles that had—

  “Alcubierre space-time bubble emergence in five minutes,” said Louise from Navigation.

  “Com what’s the tatus of our fellow ships?” called Jacob.

  “The Chesapeake, Philippine Sea and Aldertag all report they are ready for emergence, according to neutrino com signals from each ship’s XO,” said Andrew.

  She liked the quick response of Andrew. The older man had resisted Jacob’s decision to assume command upon loss of comlink with their former captain and XO. But he, like everyone else in the battle group, had learned that Jacob had the daring, ruthlessness and determination to lead a fleet of combat starships.

  “Put the images of their captains at the top of the wallscreen. I want them aware of all that happens here,” Jacob said. “Osashi, activate the All Ship vidcom so that every crew person is informed on the actions we take.”

  “All Ship vidcom activated,” Andrew said.

  Jacob looked down at her. “XO, status of ship stations and functions?”

  “Captain, all are Green Operational,” she said, telling herself to relax the tenseness of her hands. At least they were covered by the gloves of her vacsuit. “The three spots with deep punch throughs are covered by steel sheeting that is ablative coated and with functional adaptive optics lenses for laser deflection. Sir.”

  “Good. Tactical, initiate neutrino targeting cross-linking with the Tactical officers on the other ships,” Jacob said. “Prepare to target any wasp ship that might be present at our emergence point.”

  “Cross-linking with Tactical on the other ships,” Rosemary said. “Established. Emergence of all four ships should be simultaneous, assuming the ship AIs coordinate.”

  “Agreed. Melody, cross-link with the other ship AIs,” Jacob called out.

  “Linking up, beautiful human male,” the AI said in a musical voice that came from the ceiling.

  Daisy winced. The growing personal familiarity of the ship’s AI and its focus on treating Jacob as if he were the AI’s date or buddy had sent Carlos into a dither as he did a systems diagnostic on Melody’s modules. Nothing errant had been found. Nor had Alicia been able to determine why their ship AI acted this way. It did not mean the AI was self-aware. Or so Daisy hoped. But its algorithms allowed it a wide range of response modes to humans and other bioforms. Maybe Jacob’s assumption of command over the battle group was the reason for the change. She had certainly never heard the AI talk this way to Admiral Johanson or to Captain Miglotti.

  Jacob’s image showed him wincing, then looking to the front of the Bridge. “Tactical, feed me the neutrino sensor data ASAP, once we emerge.”

  “Ready to report,” said Rosemary, her milky-white skin, red hair and green eyes something Daisy envied.

  Their leader looked to a new crew post. “Weapons, get the antimatter cannon online and ready to fire.”

  “As you command,” said Oliver, his swarthy hands touching his control pillar. “Sending orders to AM Chief Linkletter. The AM reservoir has a full eight shot load.”

  “Four minutes,” called Louise.

  Daisy looked from the other redhead on the Bridge. Time to focus on the front wallscreen. Below the images of captains Rebecca Swanson, Joy Jefferson and Joan Sunderland there would shortly appear multiple imagery. A true space image of the charcoal black space at the edge of the star system would be one. Neutrino sensor imagery and a system graphic would fill the left and right sides of the wallscreen. What else showed up was yet to be discovered. She reminded herself of her duty, her training and her absolute determination to protect and defend her crewmates.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Richard told himself to relax. The next few moments were unlikely to involve live fire combat. While the arrival spot for ships coming from Kepler 10 was known to the wasp aliens, it was unlikely they could repeat Admiral Renselaer’s close bracketing of the wasp arrival point at Kepler 10. He doubted their ability to put the four ships of their fleet within range of wasp lasers and lightning bolts. The only wasp ship that worried him were the giant ones with gravplate hull sections that were able to generate a black hole effect. The range of that weapon was just under 4,000 kilometers. The wasps might be that close when they emerged. But young Jacob had shown himself to be a fine student of fast combat maneuver. The pursuit of blitzkrieg in space was a talent the young man had demonstrated. Their small fleet would move quickly out of range of any wasp weapons before circumstances became deadly.

  “Three minutes to emergence,” called Louise.

  He’d come to know and value Louise Slaughter. While the married woman had no children, she was an excellent pilot who during the several space battles had moved the Lepanto as if the giant ship were a wasp itself, nimbly shifting vectors and angles as if it were a much smaller frigate. Richard respected that.

  “Melody, move ship from Alert System Entry to Alert Unknown Enemy,” Jacob said firmly from above.

  “Moving to Alert Unknown Enemy,” the AI said, its tone changing from playful to deeply intense.

  Above him yellow ceiling lights went to blinking and low hoots echoed off the Bridge walls. The lights and hoots were also happening on every deck and room of the Lepanto.

  Just right. Prepare for the worst and cover your buddies. That was what Richard had learned at Camp Lejeune, long years ago. It was a motto his DI had drilled into him and his fellow gyrenes. It was a motto he had reinforced among the Marines under his command. He had spent the two and a half days of their transit time to this star reinforcing
that combat alertness. He’d especially worked on the three Marines who had arrived on the two new Darts. They replaced the two Darts that had died in the Kepler 10 battles, costing him two fine pilots in Chao Lee and Aaron Jacobs. Those losses had left him with the Darts Chapultepec and Chao Lee. The new Darts had been renamed as Tarawa II and Fallujah. The two new pilots and Marine corporal were good people. They had integrated well. Now they had four fully operational assault Darts and the marines and Shinshoni hard shell suits to mount a forced entry of any alien spaceship. He looked ahead, eager to see what faced them in the wasp system.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Support Hunter Seven flew above his bench in the Flight Chamber of his flying nest, feeling both depressed and eager. Sadness filled him at the condition of his nest. Its two propulsive devices were molten heaps of metal, while its three weapons rings were dead and empty of the ability to send off sky light beams or lightning strikes. And half his fellow Swarmers who had once lived and flown through its tubeways were now dead from the horrendous biting of Soft Skins wearing white hard-shells that carried deadly weapons aplenty. He had the two-legged Soft Skins to thank for such a wounded nest. Seven fluttered his wings, then sent forth a calming pheromone to encourage his fellow Swarmers to pursue their caste duty.

  Strangely, eagerness also filled his inner gut. That was due to their return to the yellow sky light system the Soft Skins called Kepler 22. Its fourth world of Warmth had been a welcoming place to deposit his ship’s Pods with their loads of larvae, Workers, a few Fighters and fewer Servants. They had been joined in laying down Pods by the other flying nests once led by Hunter One. That had been many rest cycles ago. Now, those other flying nests were dead fragments and cold frozen bodies. Only his wounded nest survived out of many six-groups of flying nests. At least Hunter One had no nest, forced to tolerate the repellant pheromones of the Soft Skins who flew the giant flying nest to which his nest was attached. If he did not know that they were returning to the Colony system, he would have ordered the destruction of his nest and all who flew within it as a final bite strike against the Soft Skins.

  “We fly near to end of this alternate dimension travel,” called his Flight Servant.

  “How soon before we arrive?” he scent-cast to the older female, adding a touch of excitement pheromone to his emission.

  “Less than a hundredth of a sleep cycle,” she said in a mix of territorial, aggregation and excitement scents.

  Soon, very soon they would see the yellow sky light of the Colony system and hear scent news from the Servants who had gone down with the larvae Pods. While the colonizing Pods carried basic tools and supplies, several held speaker units able to reach through the alternate dimension and provide immediate scent news without the delay experienced by all emissions within home space. Once they emerged he would send forth a call to one of the flying nests left behind when Hunter Prime brought his cluster of fighting nests to the Soft Skin colony system. That leader, sent from the home world of Nest, was now organic vapor floating through cold dead space. Which left Seven subject to the pheromone orders of Hunter One. Once he had sought to displace One, but had failed in the battle within the Practice Chamber of One’s nest. That flying nest had also become fragments and vapor during the final battles with the Soft Skins. Shock still filled him at the loss of so many Swarmers and other flying nests. As surely it filled the surviving Servants, Fighters, Worker Leaders and Workers who flew among the tubeways of his once-deadly flying nest. Time to fight against that memory.

  “Speaker To All, prepare yourself to scent-cast our call to Warmth,” he said to the older male who rested on a bench to Seven’s right. “All Swarmers, rejoice!” he scent-cast to the Servant who managed all communications within his flying nest. That Servant touched open the pheromone signaler that linked to every signaler within his nest. “We arrive soon at our colony of Warmth! Surely our fellow flyers will send a nest our way to take wing with us back to the newborn colony. Be ready!” he scent-cast in a mix of aggregation, territorial and excitement pheromones.

  And when his fellow Swarmers arrived, perhaps they could send a lightning bolt against the Soft Skin nest to which he was attached. While it would not destroy the large nest, it would be a reminder that any lifeform which fought the Swarm must always expect a deadly bite in return!

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Hunter One rested on the hard metal bench that he occupied in the round Flight Chamber ruled by the Soft Skin who went by the scent identifier of Jacob. While the pull-down feel matched that of his home world, the chamber lacked the heat and humidity normal to Nest and to the colony world of Warmth. Its air was low in the breath of life. Worst of all, that air was filled with the pheromones emitted by these giant versions of the tree climber thieves who occupied the forests of Nest. And these Soft Skins, who labeled themselves as humans, seemed unaware of their stink and the misshapen scent-castings carried by those odors. It was worse than the unshaped scent-casting of newborn larvae, who had no coherence at birth. Instead, these deadly beings used acoustic signals emitted by their mouth parts to do what every Swarmer did by selective casting of specific scents. They did not even rasp their upper bodies to send basic signals, as every Swarmer could do by raking one’s upper arms against their hard shell. Instead, the Soft Skins did what they called speaking, dressed themselves in flexible skins suitable for surviving the airless cold of the dark outside, and thought themselves normal. His antennae twitched at the thought.

  Still, he must cooperate if he were to have any hope of rejoining the Swarmers he had left on Warmth. It was an event he both needed and dreaded. He had left Warmth as the Hunter leader of almost two six-groups of flying nests, pursuing the invading Soft Skins as they fled to the outer magnetic field of the Colony system, seeking to exterminate the invader as was the ancient practice of all Swarmer cohorts. His flight cohort had failed in their first attempt. Then, when he returned with the many six-groups led by Hunter Prime, their two Colony nests armed with the Pull-Down field that nothing could escape from, they discovered more Soft Skin nests within a nearby Soft Skin system which held a world suitable for a Swarmer colony. Their efforts to englobe the Soft Skin flying nests had failed. Even the final strike against the Soft Skin colony on the fourth world had failed as these humans used sky light beams to extinguish nearly every particle disruption seed sent against that colony.

  Since then he had been a captive aboard the most deadly of the Soft Skin flying nests. Worse yet, he had been without the company of fellow Swarmers when the three captive Workers and single Worker Leader had been sent to Support Hunter Seven’s flying nest. That badly wounded nest was attached to the outer hard shell of this nest, being taken back to Warmth as if it were a larvae unable to break free of its shell. And he was forced to communicate with the Soft Skins inside the place they called Lepanto by use of captured pheromone signaler blocks. So sad. So very sad.

  Briefly he wondered if the offer made by the elder Soft Skin was real. Would these humans really allow other Swarmers to continue occupying the third world in the Soft Skin colony system? Would they go further and give the sky light location of other systems with warm, wet worlds similar to his home world, in exchange for knowledge of warm worlds with much surface water and a pull-down strength twice that of Nest? He did not know. But he was willing to convey the offer, and the idea of a mutual cessation of biting attacks, to the Matron and Servants living on Warmth. No doubt they would send off a flying nest to a nearby nest colony, perhaps even all the way back to Nest. He expanded his spiracles, drawing in fresh air to lighten his mind. Once this Lepanto arrived at the Swarmer system he could join his fellow Swarmers on one of the flying nests left behind by Hunter Prime. He needed that. He needed the scent of fellow Swarmers badly.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Rebecca sat in the captain’s seat on the Bridge of the Chesapeake, listening as Jacob’s Navigation tech Louise spoke the time remaining until emergence from Alcubierre space-time.

  “Two minutes
,” the woman intoned softly.

  She looked away from the front wallscreen and to the left, where her XO sat. Lieutenant Andrei Doshensky had been with her ever since she boarded the Chesapeake five years ago as its Navigation Deck chief. A veteran of the Russian Space Force and a fine pilot, the 42-year-old man was stocky, broad-shouldered and as intense as she was about the proper functioning of all ship systems and people. He was excellent at stellar navigation. Plus, he was a better chess player than she was. Which balanced out her focus on the near-term, when immediate decisions had to be made. She valued his long-term perspective.

  “Andrei, what are the chances there will be a wasp fleet waiting to strike us when we emerge?”

  The man’s clean-shaven face tightened as he kept watch on his own cluster of status holos that formed a half-circle in front of his seat. His right hand gave a sideways dismissive gesture.