Invasion

by L. E. Thomas

  Tox bit his lip and waited for the blast.

  Nat took a step back, the gun wavering in his hand as his finger rested on the trigger, Tox drifting in the air. He left the room, leaving Tox with his mouth gaping open.

  "You won't get off this ship alive, Hodges!" Tox cried out, his voice echoing. "You hear me? You're a dead man!"

  Nat's mag boots whistled with each step as he hurried through the halls, passing floating crew members who stared at him as he moved. Some asked for help, but he maneuvered around them without saying more, propelling forward as if drawn by an unseen power. The ship rumbled from multiple secondary explosions. The distinct thump of energy weapons colliding with bulkheads rattled the ship's interior. Firefights broke out, following by screams of terror and pain. Viper's team had done what they'd come to do—the Justice was incapacitated.

  He grabbed Viper's Whisper device.

  "Tarrafa Team, this is Nat," he said, ducking under a drifting officer. "Well done. You'll have to leave without me."

  After a pause, Viper came back. "We're almost to the ship. Repeat your last!"

  "You said you could fly the shuttle." Nat took a right, sprinting toward the brig as he realized time was running out. "I've fired the system disruptor. Tell our people to begin the attack. Withdraw at once!"

  Viper snorted. "We're not leaving without you, man! Get back to—"

  "There's no time." Nat stormed into the brig, saw the security guard floating. "You've completed your mission. Let me complete mine."

  "But—"

  "Go, Viper!"

  He killed the Whisper and pointed his gun at the spinning guard. "Key. Now."

  The shaking guard produced a keycard and sent it spinning across the room, whispering, "Don't shoot me."

  "Keep quiet and I won't." He caught the card. "Where's Tressa?"

  The guard blinked. "Who?"

  "The resistance leader." He gestured with the gun. "Where?"

  "Cell three."

  Nat moved away, the feeling of a ticking clock pounding in his mind. This was taking too long.

  He moved as fast as the mag boots would let him, propelling forward at the speed of a jog. Stopping in front of the third cell, he waved the keycard, and the cell unlocked, revealing his battered and bruised sister.

  "Tress?"

  She recoiled to the wall, her hands flying to her face as she stared at him with red, swollen eyes. A fresh bruise covered her right eye, and her bottom lip had been split, hardened with clotted blood.

  "No!" she shrieked, writhing as she bounced off the rear wall with her eyes on his uniform in the dim, emergency lighting. "Zahlian bastard!"

  "Tress!" he shouted, stepping forward. "It's me—"

  Kicking off the wall, she propelled herself across the cell, hands reaching for his throat, lips curled back across her teeth. He fought her back, spinning and restraining her against the wall. As he pressed his hands to her shoulders, he leaned close.

  "It's me, Tress. It's Natty-nat. Are you okay?"

  Her resistance lessened, her body growing limp as she stared into his eyes. Her chin quivered, her brow crumpling. She convulsed once, her hands framing his face as if she wanted to verify he was indeed there.

  "Nat?" she breathed. "Brother?"

  He nodded. "Yes, it's me." He gripped her wrists. "We don't have much time. Hang onto my shoulders. Can you do that?"

  She nodded, a tear rolling down her bruised face. "You came back for me?"

  "Of course, I did." He looked at her hands, unable to fathom what the guards had done to her. "I'll never leave you again. You got that?"

  Her wounded lips grinned, a new droplet of blood running onto her chin. "Let's go."

  Turning around, Nat waited for Tressa to grab his shoulders. He made his way through the brig, passing the floating security guard who looked away as if he could will himself to disappear.

  They hurried through the corridor, klaxons wailing throughout the ship. Red alert lights pulsated through the halls. Officers screamed orders, but Nat didn't stop. Using the mag boots, he kept going toward the hangar.

  "All hands," a commanding female voice transmitted weakly over the speakers as if relaying through a faint battery-powered transistor. "Battle stations. I repeat, all hands to battle stations. The insurgency has begun an attack on our reservations across Yesro Vraun."

  Tressa squeezed his shoulders. "Da?"

  Nat nodded, tightening his grip on the gun as he rounded the final corner leading to the hangar.

  "We are working to restore gravity ASAP," the woman continued. "Marines, make your way for the MUDs. All Interceptor pilots, to the launch bays. I repeat—"

  The communication wave ended. Nat hesitated at the hangar door, peering through the floating debris. Crew and material drifted over the hangar deck, but the ships had been secured in place. The line of cargo shuttles was on the far side of the hangar, but his eyes were drawn to the smaller craft closer.

  "Where are we going?" Tressa asked.

  "To those," he said, pointing at the Interceptors. "Let's go."

  "You can fly that?"

  He smiled, reaching back to touch her hand. "You bet I can."

  "Without a flight tablet?"

  Nat shook his head. "I'm taking this one step at a time."

  As he moved forward, gravity pressed on his shoulders, hard. All the debris and crew came crashing to the deck with a thud. Tressa's hands dug into his shoulders. Nearby maintenance crews cried out, legs and arms shattered by the sudden restoration of gravity. Tools and equipment, broken and in pieces, littered the area.

  "Can you walk?" Nat asked, twisting around to look at his sister.

  She collected herself, wiping at her face. "I can run."

  "Let's go!"

  They sprinted across the deck, running until they gasped. When they reached the closest Interceptor, Nat keyed for the canopy to open and helped Tressa reach the rear of the cockpit. He slapped the control board, activating the primary systems of the space fighter. The engines sputtered to life.

  "I'll be right there!" he shouted, leaping back to the deck and reaching under to pull the safety restraints from the clamps.

  He worked as quickly as possible, trying to remember the details of how the maintenance crews had prepped his cargo shuttles for launch.

  "What do you think you're doing?"

  Nat froze, slowly pulling the final docking restraint from the Interceptor's landing ski. He turned around, and saw a deck officer with a broken nose staring at him with two more members of the maintenance crew behind him.

  "I'm readying the Interceptor for launch," he said. "You heard the announcement. We need to get—"

  "But you're a cargo shuttle pilot."

  Nat shrugged. "Just trying to help."

  The officer cocked his head to the side, studying Nat for a long moment.

  "This doesn’t make sense,” he said, gesturing to the other crew. "Take him to the brig. Something doesn't feel right about—"

  Laser bolts ignited the air, striking the officer in the back of the head. Four figures materialized on the deck, dropping to their knees and firing wildly into all the nearby personnel.

  "Viper!" Tressa screamed from the cockpit, her voice rough and ravaged.

  Viper emptied the rifle’s charge, dropping two more members of the Justice crew before he turned around, jabbing a finger toward Nat.

  "Get her out of here!" Viper shouted as a counterattack bolt struck his upper arm. Screaming, he slapped a fresh pack into his repeating rifle and unleashed death across the deck. "Give him the tablet!"

  The redheaded warrior rushed toward Nat, a vicious gash running the length of her face. She thrust a tablet into Nat's hands, and he stared back in awe.

  "When Viper realized what you were doing," she said in a shaking voice, "we changed our plan."

  “You can’t—"

  "Knew this was a one-way ticket," she said. "Go!”

  Marines spilled out from the corridors, squads tak
ing cover behind the debris. Nat climbed into the Interceptor cockpit, grabbing the stick and closing the canopy. He thrust the tablet into the control board, granting him full control of the craft.

  "We can't just leave them!" Tressa shouted.

  "They did this for us!" Nat yelled, securing his harness over his shoulder as he glanced at Viper and his team forming a defense perimeter around the Interceptor, exchanging fire with the confused Marines.

  "Why?" she cried, pressing against the canopy.

  "You're the promise of the resistance," Nat said, finally understanding his sister's importance. "Your promise of exodus has been the hope of Tarrafa. Hang on!"

  He pulled the stick back and lifted off the deck just as Viper took two more shots to the chest. His companions encircled him, firing on the Marines before they, too, were hit. The survivor slapped his chest and began to vanish as he ran toward the cargo shuttles. Just before he completely disappeared, a flurry of bolts ignited his back, and he fell to the deck as Nat turned the Interceptor toward the hangar exit.

  Slamming the throttle forward, he darted out of the Justice and into open space.

  "Where are we going?" Tressa asked, her voice soft.

  "To Da," he said, diving toward Tarrafa, "and home. Your plan is underway."

  She inhaled. "We're leaving?"

  "Yes," he said, looking out over the Interceptor's smooth, curved wings. "The exodus is at hand."

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The Interceptor passed through the atmosphere, bouncing through a thick white cloud. The landscape of the former northern territories of Oshua appeared in the sunlight, dense forests and cultivated land giving way to the reservations in the colder hills of the north. Fires raged as the hordes of natives broke through the camp fences, skirmishes raging with the garrisons at three different re-education centers.

  "There!" Tressa thrust a finger over his shoulder. "The cruisers!"

  Nat looked up from the battles raging across the hills. Two large spacecraft appeared on the horizon, driving hard for the higher altitude. He shook his head, amazed the resistance was able to hide such massive vessels in the northern wilds. The higher of the cruisers shuddered as if covered in a mirage and vanished with a vibrant flash of light. An energy wave rippled across the sky, surging forth from the vessel's former position and driving clouds away from the epicenter.

  "What the hell was that?" Nat asked, gripping the stick harder as he leveled his flight. "Did it explode?"

  "No," Tressa said, exhaling as she leaned back in the cockpit. "It was a curve."

  "A curve?" Nat blinked. "You mean one of the curvature drives?"

  "Yes." She reached forward and squeezed his shoulder. "We're leaving. We need to help who we can! Two cruisers are still on the ground!"

  Nat glanced at the wailing sensors. "Uh, oh."

  "What?"

  "I've got two Interceptors on course from Molah, bearing down on the cruiser behind us."

  Tressa punched the back of his seat. "Nat, there are tens of thousands of our people on that cruiser! You have to do something!"

  Nat bit his lip. "This may come as a shock to you, but I'm not an Interceptor pilot! I can't dogfight with these guys!"

  Tressa paused. "But you're one of them, right? They'll think you're one of them!"

  His lips parted to argue the point, but he suddenly realized what she was saying. "I've got you. Hang on."

  Banking, he brought the Interceptor in a wide circle over the reservation closest to the cruiser still on the ground. The evacuation was obviously going slower than anticipated, the territorial garrison putting up stiff resistance to the sudden native uprising. Laser fire intensified around the camp below, punctuated by small mortar fire ravaging the ground. Rebels carried the refugees from the camp on vehicles, carts and in their arms. Those who could fire back at the garrison troops did what they could, but many fell before Nat righted his course to bear down on the incoming Interceptors.

  "They're going to need air cover if we survive this," he muttered under his breath.

  "What?" Tressa asked.

  "Nothing."

  He buried the throttle, giving the Interceptor all he could in the hopes he would close before they had a chance to launch any missiles on the cruiser. If the Justice recovered fast enough, the ARC would be moving into position to blast the native vessels out of the sky. Time was against them.

  Two minutes passed, and he detected the Interceptors to his south, flying in a tight formation for the cruiser. He wiped sweat from his face, knowing he would only get off one shot before the Interceptor pilots would realize he was not one of them. However, at the moment, they didn't react to his presence at all.

  "Unidentified Interceptor at two mark four," his speak crackled, "we see you on course for Molah. Are you all right?"

  Nat ignored them as the message continued. He adjusted course to fly parallel to his position, hoping the new trajectory would prevent them from seeing his real intention. His stomach swirled, nausea filling him as he realized he was about to fire on the very pilots he’d spent the past years idolizing.

  The distance dropped below 200 micro-units, then 150 ... almost in missile range.

  When he reached within 100 MUs, he shoved the stick to the left and bore down on the Interceptors he still couldn't see with his eyes.

  "Unidentified craft," his earpiece burst, "you have altered course. Are your comms down?" He paused, probably speaking with his wingman. "You must establish contact, or you will be fired upon."

  The pilot repeated the message. Nat's finger hovered over the trigger as he armed the missile with his free hand. Once released, the weapon should target the closest Interceptor and even the fight ... if there he was fortunate.

  Closing his eyes and knowing he was about to kill one of his former heroes, Nat squeezed the trigger, pouring into the action all the hatred and longing for his life on Tarrafa before the Zahl. The missile unleashed, propelling toward his targets.

  The Interceptors paused for a heartbeat, then broke formation. They darted in opposite directions, making for the ground as fast as a meteorite.

  "We've done it now!" Nat snapped, his shoulders tensing. He rolled to focus on the farther Interceptor his missile had ignored. Firing two more missiles, he looped around, gravity pressing him back into his seat.

  "What are you doing?" Tressa asked, her voice straining at his maneuver.

  "I can't dogfight with those guys," he said, rolling to balance his craft with the horizon. "I gave them something to think about. Now I want to stay out of missile range when they recover."

  He glanced at his sensors, saw the first Interceptor dropping countermeasures as he shot for the ground. But it was too late. The missile connected, and the Interceptor disappeared from his scope.

  "Got one!" Adrenaline shot through his system as thoughts of his mother, Jet, and all the others who had died at the hands of the Zahl flashed back to him.

  "Yes!" Tressa shouted.

  Nat frowned, watching his sensors as the second Interceptor evaded his two missiles using countermeasures and some of the fanciest flying he'd ever seen. He only had one left.

  "Missed the other one," he whispered, a cold sweat sliding down his back.

  "Why?"

  Nat shrugged, swinging the fighter back around. "Guess he didn't want to die."

  He swung around, bearing down on the second elusive Interceptor as it righted its course.

  "Third cruiser has lifted off," Tressa said.

  "How do you know?"

  She snorted. "I can read a sensor display, Nat."

  "Right," he said, leading the bandit with his crosshairs as it changed course, heading directly for the third cruiser lifting off.

  The sky flashed with a bright streak like lightning. When he turned around, the second cruiser had curved away. Half of the citizens still on the ground had fled.

  He gave the engine everything it could stand, burying the throttle as he tried to cut the gap between him
and the final Interceptor within striking distance of the cruiser lifting off the ground.

  "All right," he said, wiping his eyes with one hand before gripping the stick tighter.

  One missile. One single missile to save tens of thousands on board the cruiser.

  He shook his head. No time to fear.

  "Come on, Nat," Tressa said, her voice rising. "You have to do this."

  "Did that really need to be said?" he shot back, leaning forward as the distance dropped.

  The target Interceptor fell within range, and he squeezed the trigger. The bandit pulled up, dropping countermeasures as he darted up at a ninety-degree angle, a maneuver that would have knocked out some pilots. Nat's missile spiraled for the chaff, blasting into a fiery debris field and falling back to Tarrafa in a harmless cloud of sparks.

  The Interceptor looped around, changing course quicker than Nat could register, unleashing a flurry of laser bolts toward him.

  Slamming the stick forward, he dove for the planet. Tressa grunted behind him as the gravity shoved them back into the seat. Bolts incinerated his rear shields. The fighter shook as fire struck through the shields. Sparks flew from his control board as a bolt exploded into the front right wing.

  Nat winced, staring through the sparks to see the ground rushing toward his cockpit. He pulled up just in time, flying parallel to the planet without much room to spare. The controls felt sluggish, the stick not responding as quickly.

  What was he thinking, trying to dogfight with a fully trained Interceptor pilot? Now, he and his sister would die.

  He braced himself, banking and rolling across the landscape in the dying Interceptor, waiting for the kill shot as sweat poured into his eyes.

  But no final blast took them out.

  "My stars," Tressa breathed.

  Nat twisted around, looking back to the battle over the northern reservation. His attacker had broken off pursuit, resuming the hunt for the fleeing cruiser.

  "Oh, no," he said as the Interceptor he'd just scrapped with unleashed four missiles toward the helpless cruiser barely off the ground.

  So that was why his attacker hadn't used missiles in the counterattack—he was saving them for the cruiser.