by Jay Allan
Something fast.
Something emerged from the Phoenix’s front bow, which was visible in the distance through the transparent wall behind the Senator. It was fast and dazzlingly bright—nearly brighter than the sun. Hardly larger than a common torpedo, it leaped away from the Phoenix, growing terribly brighter and brighter behind the transparent wall of the shuttle bay, until people in the audience rose slowly to their feet, mouths open, heads cocked to one side, staring upwards in unbelief. The camera jolted as the light impacted the ship, and the video cut out before Jake could see the aftermath.
“What the hell?” Captain Watson leapt to his feet as the viewscreen switched to a video feed from the bow of the Phoenix, revealing an NPQR Fidelius caught in the throes of a fiery explosion that was quickly muffled out by the vacuum of space. He spun around. “Po! Was that us?”
Jake had never seen Po’s face so white. “I don’t know sir, the only one with bridge control of the quantum field torpedoes is Smith…” she glanced up at one of her men in the tactical octagon, who had risen to his feet. “Smith?”
“A message from Admiral Trajan,” said the young Ensign, in a voice that trembled slightly, staring directly at Captain Watson. “There is no peace for the wicked.” He lifted his arm and pointed a gun straight at the Captain.
And fired.
The bullet caught the Captain in the shoulder, and as Smith fired again, the XO leaped in front, shoving Watson aside as the second bullet lodged in the XO’s chest.
Watson, his face stricken by disbelief, looked up as the marines stationed by the door to the bridge ran towards Ensign Smith. But before they could reach him, the man calmly raised the gun to his own temple, and pulled the trigger.
Gore splattered the deck as Smith fell, and in the confusion that followed, Po somehow managed to call for the medics as Ben attended to the fallen XO. Jake knelt next to the Captain, who, though pale, looked like he’d be just fine.
Po glanced at Ben, who looked at Jake, who mouthed the words, “Oh shit.”
CHAPTER 7
ADMIRAL TRAJAN GRINNED at the viewscreen before turning to smile broadly at Captain Titus, who, seeing the destruction of the NPQR Fidelius, felt a knot tighten in his stomach. All those people. Senator Galba, the Earth president, the people … all dead. A grizzly image of the chief engineer’s bloody, white face reared up in his mind and he shook his head to refocus.
“Captain. It appears the Terrans have betrayed us. How very unsurprising. Please deploy a gravitic pod to Sol orbit. Signal all available Imperial fleet ships to shift immediately to high Earth orbit.”
“Sir? Are we expecting any fleet ships there?”
“Why yes, yes we are, Captain. I had an inkling something like this might happen, so I made preparations just in case. It seems I had some foresight after all.”
Indeed, thought the Captain.
“We can’t wait the eight minutes for them to receive a transmission sent directly from the Caligula, sir?”
“No Captain, we cannot. The rebels have made their move and now we must act before they destroy us all.”
“Very well, sir. Ensign Evans, deploy a gravitic message pod. Signal all ships to converge on our position.”
Ensign Evans nodded as Admiral Trajan sprang into action. “Patch me through to the fleet.” The assistant comm officer touched a button on his console and motioned for the Admiral to speak. “This is Admiral Trajan aboard the NPQR Caligula, to all Imperial starships in orbit around Earth and its moon. It appears the Resistance is not quite done with their atrocities against the Empire. All ships, move against the nine renegade vessels and destroy them. Do not stand down until they are dead, or have surrendered. Glory be to the Corsican people and its Emperor. Trajan out.”
He signaled to the comm officer to cut the channel, and then turned to the tactical station. “Lieutenant, open fire on their flagship—the Firebird. Target its armaments for now, focusing first on its new quantum field missile tubes. When all offensive capabilities are destroyed move on to another ship. Do not target gravitics. I repeat, do not target gravitics. Evans?” he said, turning back to the communications station, “Is the message pod away?”
“Sending it now, sir,” said the young man.
“Good. Send messages to the rest of the fleet. Have the light cruisers divide up into two groups and target the Roc, and the Falcon. Have the frigates divide up and join with one of the capital ships, then order each battlegroup to converge on a rebel ship, targeting weapons first before moving on to other systems. Advise the battlegroups to take out their quantum field missiles first before moving on to ion beam cannons, and then railguns and finally their torpedoes. Again, no one targets gravitics. We want the surrendering ships intact.”
As Trajan continued barking out orders in his clipped, husky voice, the first railgun rounds began shooting out from the Caligula towards the Firebird, followed by bursts from the ion cannon batteries. The Firebird answered with volleys of its own, and Captain Titus could feel the ship shudder with the blows.
The battle was joined.
-o0o-
“Dick, did you order that missile?” the angry face on the viewscreen said, glaring down at the Captain.
Watson, his shoulder bloodstained, had managed to get to his feet and slide into the captain’s chair. “I most certainly did not! But thanks to our Ensign Smith, a whole lot of good people are going to die today, Admiral.”
The man on the viewscreen—the commander of the Firebird and the Resistance’s most senior admiral—scowled at a readout nearby. “Looks like the fleet is mobilizing. Dick,” he said, turning back to face the Captain, “I’ve got a feeling we’re being played. Admiral Trajan is here as you know, personally commanding the Caligula. I wouldn’t put it past him to plant someone like Smith on one of our ships to make it look like treachery.”
“Possible, sir. The question is, what do we do?”
“I’ll contact the High Council, but I’ve got a feeling what they’ll say: high-tail it out of here to Corsica and press our advantage while we still have it. Bloody hell, Dick, did you see that blast? One missile, one missile, and that entire starship was gone. Corsica won’t even know what hit it. Prepare to make the shift to Alpha Centauri. We’re crunching the numbers now and we’ll transmit them to the fleet as soon as they’re ready,” he glanced back at his console. “Here they come. Engage them at will until we make the shift. Firebird out.”
“Captain!” Po announced in an elevated but calm voice. “The NPQR Severus is moving to engage, sir. She’s opening fire.”
The Captain jumped to his feet. “Return fire. Railguns, full spread. Ion beam cannons, fire at will, target their railgun turrets—we can’t afford to lose our quantum missile capabilities. How many do we have left, by the way?”
Po glanced at her readout. “Fourteen, sir.”
The Captain started barking orders as explosions rocked the ship and damage reports came flying in, and he shrugged off Jake as he tried to wrap the man’s shoulder with strips of cloth ripped from the fallen XO’s uniform.
The surface of the Severus was like a flurry of fireflies as ordnance shot off her bow and starboard flanks, targeting the Phoenix’s aft and port side.
“Captain, they’re targeting our weapons. Two railgun turrets are out … make that three.” Another explosion rocked the ship. “And there goes an ion beam cannon.”
“Keep on returning fire, Commander. And no, Mercer,” he said to Jake, seeing the look in his eye, “keep all fighters aboard. We’re making the shift as soon as those calcs come in from the Firebird. Dammit,” he muttered, grabbing hold of his armrest as the ship lurched to the port side, “where the hell are those coordinates?”
Ben yelled into his comm. “Heavy casualties reported on decks thirty-two through forty-six, aft. Emergency crews respond. Emergency bulkheads are closing, sir, we’ve got exposure to vacuum down there.”
“They hit us in our ass,” the Captain muttered as he glared down a
t the XO, as if talking to an old friend. Jake imagined the dead man’s gruff voice growl some irreverent response.
“Po. Target the bastards with a quantum field missile. Rail crews, focus all forward railgun fire into the path of the missile.” Captain Watson steadied himself as the ship lurched again to port.
“Sir,” the officer at the sensor station looked up, his face ashen. “I’m getting multiple new contacts. Lots of ships shifting into orbit. Big ones.”
Jake glanced at his own console. Damn. Fifteen more capital ships, all converging on the raging battle outside the shipyards.
“Fire that missile, Po. Rail crews, clear a path.”
“Missile is away, sir.” They all looked up to see the bright, white light shoot away from the front bow of the Phoenix. The distance between it and the Severus shrunk, before all the railgun fire from the Imperial ship converged on the incoming missile. Several high-velocity slugs later and the missile burst into a fantastically bright explosion—the shock front rocked the Phoenix.
“Damage to the Severus?”
Po scanned her board. “Minimal, sir.”
“Captain, coordinates coming in from the Firebird. Transferring to the helm,” said the comm officer.
The helmsman turned his head towards the center of the bridge. “Sir, engineering reports that gravitics are out. We’re not going anywhere.”
The gravity of his statement sat heavy in the air as explosions continued to rock the ship.
A blast from the starboard side of the bridge and an accompanying fireball leveled the entire bridge crew to the floor. The last thing Jake saw before drifting into unconsciousness was the broken, bloody head of the XO, a new shaft of steel buried in the dead man’s temple, and beyond him on the deck, the Captain, bleeding from the nose and ears.
-o0o-
“Admiral Trajan, sensors show more imperial ships shifting into orbit. The Parma. The Executor. The Centurion. The Chimaera. I’m counting fourteen … no, fifteen heavy cruisers,” said the tactical officer, grinning with delight. “We’ve got them on the run, sir. I’m detecting multiple gravitic signatures from the nine rebel ships. From those that aren’t too damaged, of course.”
The Admiral spun to face the Lieutenant. “What are you talking about? Which ships are too damaged to make a gravitic shift?”
The officer scanned his board. “The Phoenix, the Roc, and the Heron, sir.”
Trajan glanced at his console, a peeved look on his face. “Captain, when this is over, summon Captain Brouillette of the Severus. Have him report in person to me.” Titus nodded, wondering if he might have to send an accident report to the Captain’s family later that day.
The tactical officer continued, “Sir, the Firebird is making a gravitic shift—power levels are rising, sir, she’s going to get away—” his head shot up to look at the viewscreen. “Hot damn!”
Titus spun around to look at the viewscreen to see the source of the officer’s expletive. The telltale flash of an anti-matter reaction died away from the screen, leaving the devastated wreck of the Firebird in its wake. Secondary explosions ripped through the wreckage, and the ship broke apart into three or four smaller smoldering chunks, each streaming with expanding jets of smoke, debris, and bodies.
Trajan nodded in approval, and sat down in the Captain’s chair near the command station. “One down, eight to go. Tactical, continue fire on the nearest rebel ship that is still active. Comm, signal to the arriving fleet to fire at will, targeting weapons systems only.”
“Sir! Multiple quantum warheads coming from the Raven! They’re targeting the Honorius, sir.” They all turned to look at the screen. The Honorius, and two smaller frigates nearby, erupted with a volley of railgun fire, setting up a blinding defensive screen, which knocked out four of the incoming torpedoes.
But not the fifth. It streaked through the blinding array of railgun streams and impacted the Honorius, which, after a bright flash, seemed to disintegrate before their eyes in an expanding puff of debris, just as the Fidelius had fifteen minutes earlier. Titus could hear a bridge officer mutter an expletive at the sight.
He snapped his head in the Admiral’s direction. “Sir, each of those ships is armed with fifteen of those monstrosities. We can’t afford to—” a raised hand from the Admiral and a stern look from his solitary eye shut him up.
“Captain, control yourself. We’ve taken their queen. We can afford to lose a pawn or two.”
Titus fumed. “The Honorius, was not … a pawn,” he said through gritted teeth.
An icy, sidelong glance from the Admiral shut him up. “Have a care, Captain. That is the last outburst I will tolerate from you today.”
The tactical officer announced, breaking the sudden tension on the bridge, “Sir, the newly arrived ships have engaged the enemy. More gravitic signatures, sir! And there goes—” Another blinding flash from the screen interrupted him. “—the Raven,” he finished, seemingly starstruck by the catastrophic explosion. Another of the rebel starships followed suit, being torn apart by a disastrous blast. “And the Falcon.”
Ensign Evans looked up from his station. “Sir, the rebels are sounding a general retreat. Shall I signal pursuit?”
“By all means, Ensign. Remind the captains to target weapons systems first, and to leave their gravitic capabilities alone.” He turned to Titus with a sly grin. “Let them do the hard work for us. But how fortunate that all these new warships are staffed by former Resistance fighters. Makes it easier for us to snuff them all out—having them all in one place.”
Captain Titus began to realize the breadth, the completeness of Trajan’s plan. The Havoc raid, the rare earths, the delivery to the shipyards … it all started to make sense. “I presume this was all in the plan, sir?”
“Do you realize how hard it is to refine neodymium, Captain? Nearly all of the rare earths are chemically identical to one another, and it wasn’t until a cadre of Scandinavian scientists began their work in the seventeenth century that progress was finally made to understand them and to differentiate them. As it so happens, the shipment received by the Resistance’s construction crew at Geneseo Station must have been contaminated with traces of some other lanthanides, such as prometheum, or gadolinium, for example. It seems that these new rebel gravitic drives have a particular susceptibility to perturbations in their crystal field. How else do you explain what you’re seeing, Captain?”
How else indeed, thought Titus.
-o0o-
When Jake woke up, he wished he hadn’t. A splitting headache pierced his skull, and his hand revealed a trickle of blood running down his neck. He winced, and managed to pull himself up, but he nearly tripped on a fallen beam in his path.
“Status?” He spun around, looking to see who was still up, but the motion made the room spin far more than it should have, and he grabbed onto his console to fight off the wave of vertigo. He heard vague explosions in the background.
The bridge was a mess. Besides the corpse of the XO, half a dozen other bridge members looked to be in bad shape, including most of the tactical octagon.
Po.
His head snapped to Po’s station. She was on the floor next to her chair, but moved, rising slowly to her knees, and then to her feet, but very wobbly.
He looked at the empty chair in the center of the bridge. “Where’s the Captain?” he shouted at Po. She shook her head, and winced.
Jake scanned the bridge, finally locating the Captain’s epaulettes near the port bulkhead. Dead? Jake couldn’t tell. He ran over to the man, nearly stumbling with a combination of rocking explosions and vertigo, and rolled the Captain over.
He was bleeding, and several limbs seemed to be out of place.
But he breathed.
“Captain, stay with us, sir.”
Watson groaned, and tried to open his eyes.
“Sickbay, Commander Mercer. Doc, the Captain is down. We’re sending him there now.”
The doctor’s voice roared over the comm. “Yeah? A
nd where the hell am I going to put him? I’ve got bodies laying in the hall here!” He grumbled something else inaudible before continuing. “Fine. Get him down here fast.”
“Acknowledged.” Jake scanned the bridge again, and saw two marines near the opposite bulkhead stagger to their feet. He motioned to them. “Hey! You two. Get the Captain to sickbay. Now!”
When they came to their senses, they vaulted over fallen beams, bodies, and debris while Jake passed them to look at the command console.
Ben’s voice sounded softly in the cacophony. “Jake, damage reports are coming in. Heavy casualties. Life support on auxiliary power.”
Jake glanced up at his friend, whose ashen face accentuated the bloody wound on his temple. “What do we do?”
“Helm,” Ben began, “can we make the shift?”
The helmsman, now back in his chair, wiped his bloody nose and shook his head. “Gravitic drive is out, sir. All we’ve got are thrusters. Barely.”
Ben ran over to the comm station and pushed the charred, bloody body of the communication’s officer out of his seat and onto the floor.
“What are you doing?” Jake said, jogging over to lean over Ben’s shoulder.
“Signaling our surrender.” Jake squeezed Ben’s shoulder hard, and his friend looked up at him. “Jake, we’ve got nothing left. It’s our only choice.”
Another blast knocked both of them backwards onto the floor. When Jake rolled over, he glanced at Ben who rolled back onto his knees.
Our only choice?
“Bullshit,” Jake said.
He wasn’t going to lose to the Empire. Not again.
“Jake, the Captain is down, and the XO is dead. I’m in command. We’re signaling our surrender. It’s our only chance right now, dammit!” He crawled back to his feet and opened a comm channel to the Caligula.
“NPQR Caligula, this is the commanding officer on the NPQR Phoenix. Admiral Trajan, we surrender. Repeat, we surrender. I’ve instructed our weapons crews to stand down,” he said, glancing at Po, who shrugged, indicating the dead or fallen tactical team underneath her. “And we await further instruction. I repeat, The Phoenix surrenders unconditionally and awaits further instruction.”