by L. E. Thomas
The spacecraft carrying helpless citizens of Tarrafa shuddered with each exploding missile, the vessel coming apart in the skies over the northern territories. The morning light burned orange, creating a swirling inferno as the warming curvature drive ignited, yanking half the ship light years away to the rendezvous. The bow, burning and engulfed in the fingers of a raging fire, floated in the sky for a heartbeat, and then tumbled to the ground in a mushroom cloud of soil and flame.
"Those ... people," Tressa breathed. She punched the back of his seat. "We have to make sure the fourth cruiser gets off the ground, Nat! Turn around!"
He looked at his control board. "I can't do much."
"Why?"
"Missiles are gone, and we took a hell of a pounding back there." He shook his head. "She won't make it to space again. We have to land."
Tressa whimpered as if she wanted to say more but remained silent as he stayed low and turned around for the reservation and the last cruiser on the ground boarding fleeing civilians. Fires burned across the rolling hills, once the location of peace and tranquility utilized by Greeva citizens wanting to get away from it all. A fierce battle raged outside the fence line, Zahlian garrison troops skirmishing with the resistance as they fled toward the cruiser in the distance, their engines emitting a dull blue.
His scope pinged, and he sank back into his seat. The Interceptor that had fired on him and destroyed the cruiser was now strafing the resistance ground forces. Clenching his teeth, Nat pulled up to gain some altitude.
"What are you doing?" Tressa asked.
Lowering his gaze, Nat said, "Hang on."
Throwing all remaining shield power into the lasers, Nat pulled in behind the Interceptor as it fired into the resistance line, battling with the garrison troops. Explosions lifted into his vision as he pulled in behind the enemy, apparently unaware or unconcerned about Nat's pursuit.
He squeezed the trigger, the bolts missing the mark as the Interceptor pulled up from its attack, leaving death and destruction in its wake. He maintained pursuit, doing the best he could as the enemy rolled through the swirling fire and smoke came rising from the battlefield.
"Come on," Nat said, squinting as he pulled the trigger, firing a steady stream of bolts toward the Interceptor.
Several struck the enemy's tail, one penetrating the Interceptor's shields. Metal debris spun away, the shots hitting the hull. The Interceptor pulled up and away from the battle.
"He's bugging out!" Nat shouted, watching the Interceptor fly away from the battle.
"You did it!"
Nat thought of the destroyed cruiser. "I did nothing."
His Interceptor rattled and bounced through the turbulence, the engines sputtering.
"We need to put down," he said, looking north to the landed cruiser. He pointed. "That's our way out."
Tressa said nothing, pressing against the canopy as he banked toward the cruiser while losing altitude. "Da is down there," she breathed. "I know he is. He said he'd leave on the final cruiser."
"We'll see him there."
Battle debris littered the landscape for marks in all directions. Burning hulks of tanks and civilian vehicles filled the sky with black trails of smoke. Mangled bodies were strewn across craters. Old Oshua copters had crashed in the fray of the battle, trying to do what they could against the Zahlian power. But the fight had moved away from the reservation, closer to the final cruiser.
Nat checked his sensor for orbit, saw the Justice was active again and resuming operations. It was still on the far side of the planet near Alpha Station, but moving in their direction.
"We have to hurry," he said, putting as much power into the struggling engine as possible. "The Justice might not have sensors, but it's running again."
The Interceptor's twin engines coughed. His second engine flamed out, and the right side of his craft seemed to grow limp. The cruiser was close, but his Interceptor was losing power.
"Brace for impact!" he shouted. "We're going down!"
Tressa lowered her head, and he could hear her whispering prayers as the Interceptor's single engine whined under strain. Pulling back on the stick, Nat tried to keep the nose up as the ground inched closer, closer. Resistance fighters pointed at them as they passed overhead, eyes wide with fear, fingers pointing in their direction.
They struck the soil, the Interceptor gliding across the grass and bouncing. The craft slid and spun, turning around as it crashed through the battle debris. Tressa screamed, her head striking the canopy. Metal cracked the canopy in front of Nat, sending growing cracks across his view. They propelled forward for what seemed like hours, the Zahlian Interceptor spinning like a child's toy across the battle-scarred landscape.
As they slowed, Nat shut down the engines and killed the onboard systems, hoping to avoid a fire. He unbuckled the harness and wiped the blood from his nose.
"Tress, we have to move." The battered canopy refused to open. He pushed, forcing it to rise over his head. Smoke surrounded him, the sound of the cruiser's massive engines drowning out everything except the surrounding laser fire. "Tressa?"
His chest tightened as he stood, afraid to look back when his sister refused to answer him.
She sat in the rear cockpit slumped over, blood trickling down the side of her face. Biting his lip, he reached back and gently pulled her back into the seat.
He exhaled when he saw her breathing.
"Stars," he said, pulling her into his arms. "Come on, sis. We have to move."
Lifting her from the cockpit, he turned around to the cruiser. He could make it. He had to make it.
Ignoring his weary muscles, he carried Tressa toward the cruiser. He ran over the battlefield, bypassing dead bodies and ravaged ground.
A vehicle approached from behind him, resistance fighters wielding a motley assortment of weaponry standing on the truck's bed. They raised their guns toward them.
"Kill the Zak!" one cried.
"Wait!" Nat fell to his knees, his sister's head flopping to the side. "I'm for Tarrafa!"
The vehicle slowed, the resistance fighters aiming their weapons at Nat as he kneeled in the dirt, his sister's unconscious body in his arms.
"What did you say?" the tallest resistance fighter with a weathered face asked, dropping to the ground and yanking a double-barreled pistol from his holster. "Thought you Zaks didn't use that name. Where'd you get her?"
Nat looked at Tressa's face, the blood streaming from her nose. "She's my sister. Can you take her?"
Sounds of battle to the south echoed, an explosion rumbling the ground beneath him. The aged man nodded, lifting Tressa from Nat's arms and throwing her over his shoulder. He raised the weapon, aiming for Nat's face.
But the man hesitated as more laser fire approached from the south. "Get on board, kid. We'll sort this out if we get out of here."
Nat looked at him. "Are you serious?"
"Let's go," he said, keeping the gun on Nat. "I don't trust anyone in that uniform, but I know what the Zahl does to the young people of Tarrafa. Kad told me all about it. We'll sort this out on board. Let's go."
His eyes widened. "Kad?" he asked as they boarded the truck. "You mean Kad Hodges?"
The man helped the other resistance fighters pull Tressa into the truck bed. "You know him?"
Nat climbed into the back of the truck, the other fighters keeping a wary eye on him. He nodded and collapsed into the truck. "I used to."
They drove away from his crashed Interceptor, his dream ruined in the damaged battlefield.
"Go!" the man shouted, pounding on the truck's cab. "We don't have much time!"
The resistance fighters kept their attention on the south, concern covering their faces.
"What's happening?" Nat asked.
The man sat, the pistol still pointed toward Nat. "Our last attempt at getting more of our people out of the northern reservation was met with stiff resistance. After their initial confusion, the Zahl sent a detachment of Marines north from Greeva whe
n the first camps were hit. It was our last chance to get more people, but now we have to get out. We've done all we can."
Nat nodded, realizing the exodus Tressa had planned was coming to an end. Anyone left on Tarrafa would be here forever, would probably have to deal with the repercussions of this for years. The re-education efforts would be intensified, the martial law reintroduced, and the Zahlian presence increased. Any sign of native culture or remembrance would be met with stiff fines or punishment. Tarrafa, as he knew it, would indeed be dead.
The truck bounced over the uneven terrain, accelerating closer to the cruiser. As they approached, Nat looked over the cab. The ship was immense, more prominent and bulkier than the Justice. He marveled at the fact the resistance had been able to utilize the support of the Galactic Legion of Planets so far away to secure the technology able to mask four large vessels. What else, he wondered, could this Legion do to help the Tarrafa people?
"So how do you know, Kad?"
Nat blinked, looking at the man still holding the gun on him. "He's ... he was my father."
The man's jaw dropped. "Are you serious?"
"Yes."
He swallowed. "He's wounded."
"What?"
The man nodded. "Yeah. He's on board the cruiser."
"Take me to him."
"If we survive this," he said, holstering the gun, "I'd be glad to. Are you Natty-nat?"
For the first time in his life, he didn't mind the nickname. "That's me."
"I think I remember you now." He smiled. "You've grown up. I'm Dedrick Rowe."
Chapter Thirty
The truck came to a squeaky stop in the cruiser's crowded hangar. Wounded citizen soldiers lay beside damaged equipment from the Oshua days in a bizarre combination of the past. People wailed as the hangar doors rumbled shut, reaching for those left on the surface of Tarrafa. All those on board the departing cruiser would probably never see their homeworld again.
If they survived the next few minutes.
Nat hopped off the truck to the deck, gently pulling Tressa into his arms.
"Welcome aboard the Oshua." Rowe nodded. "I'll bring you to your da."
Weaving them through the chaotic mix of discarded equipment and cots full of whimpering wounded, Rowe commanded respect from all they passed, from the old woman carrying an MC-17 laser rifle to the man wearing an old, dusty Oshua uniform.
He cast a glance over his shoulder, saying, "Your old man took a hit in the final assault on Triple Rock."
Nat winced, his muscles burning from carrying Tressa. "Triple Rock?"
Dodger nodded. "Largest reservation in the northern territories. We hit it with all we could spare, got most of the prisoners out."
He shook his head. "I thought you were dead."
Rowe smiled. "Had to be. Too many people knew me. Not the way to help organize a resistance, you know?"
Nat glanced down as the vicious gash on his sister's forehead, struggling to accept his sister and father had been such an integral part of the resistance while he served in an invader's uniform. He glanced at the soiled crimson flightsuit and frowned.
"Here he is," Rowe said, yanking a folded cot from the deck and extending it. "Put Tressa on this. Can you meet me on the bridge?"
Nat nodded. "You got it."
Placing Tressa on a newly-assembled cot, Nat looked over at his father. Three bloodied bandages covered his torso, two on the chest and one near the shoulder.
"What happened to him?"
Rowe grumbled. "Small arms fire. He was carrying a child from Triple Rock when a repeater from a guard tower dropped him." He cracked a smile. "Tower didn't make it."
Nat kneeled next to Kad, running his hand over his father's forehead. "Da? Are you all right?"
"He's out, son," Rowe said as the deck rumbled. "We're taking off. I need to get to the bridge. Are you coming?"
"Yes." Nat leaned over Kad, kissed his forehead and moved to his ear. He whispered, "It's Nat. I'm here now."
Standing, he turned to Rowe. "I'm ready."
They rushed to the bridge, leaving the crowded hangar and hurrying through the panic-filled corridors. A wild assortment of crew scurried about, barking orders and screaming questions. A sinking feeling penetrated Nat's gut as he hurried, wondering how such an inexperienced crew planned to leave orbit let alone fire off a curvature drive.
"I'm not a naval officer," Rowe said, dodging a pair of resistance fighters stomping away from the bridge. "Had enough trouble with a canoe."
Nat frowned, the swirling in his stomach intensifying. "Who's flying the ship?"
"We had some help."
"What kind of help?"
Rowe shook his head. "Some of the friends from off-world. Your sister could tell you more of the details. I just know these Serpents mean business."
Nat didn't understand any of what the former crime boss was saying. When they stormed into the bridge, he looked over the frantic crew lifting the cruiser away from the Tarrafa surface. In the center of the storm, standing like a sturdy lighthouse on a rocky shore, was a lean man with a confident expression. He wore a shimmering black suit adorned with an array of weaponry, his attention seeming to take in the entirety of the bridge. Jabbing a finger over the crew's shoulder, he made adjustments and appeared to be the one flying the cruiser.
"Captain Towers?" Rowe called. "This is Nat Hodges. He's—"
"Not now, Rowe," Towers barked. "We got an ARC on the far side of the planet bearing down on us, wanting to swat us down before we escape."
"But this is Kad's kid and the Zahlian pilot we told you about!"
Towers spun around, his bulging eyes focusing on Nat. "You're a Zahlian pilot?"
Nat swallowed. "Yes, sir."
"You're so young."
"I suppose."
Towers studied him for a moment, sunlight beaming through the viewport behind him. "Very well." He extended a hand and clasped Nat's. "Captain Reece Towers, Galactic Legion of Planets. My Serpents and I have been dispatched to give your people a hand."
Nat nodded, trying to project understanding of the situation when he felt anything but confidence. "What can I do?"
Towers pointed to the communications station. "I've got a Zahlian Captain Tox demanding we power down. Can you buy us any time? Seconds even?"
Nat scowled, the thought of Tox making him sick. "I can try."
He moved over to communications, his mind racing. Slipping on the headset, he didn't have time to consider his words as Towers ordered the crew to prepare the curvature drive to fire.
"Captain Tox," he transmitted, "this is Lieuten—Nathaniel Hodges. Do you copy?"
The headset squelched and paused. "Hodges, you traitor. I'll see you hanged from the Capitol steps—"
"This transmission is for the commanding officer of the Justice," he interrupted. "Tox is no hero and should be apprehended immediately for lying to the people of the Zahl Empire. He never crushed the resistance of Tarrafa. He has failed. His Triumph was undeserved and brings dishonor to the Imperial occupation of the planet you call Yesro Vraun. The four cruisers departing the planet today were filled with the true resistance of Tarrafa. Our culture—our people—will never die now. The rest of the galaxy will know the harsh truth of Zahlian dominance. You don't bring order, you bring only destruction. And we're going to make sure the rest of the galaxy knows it. Your days are numbered."
Nat leaned back, wondering if his words were being heard throughout the planet.
"Hodges!" Tox shouted. "I'll make sure you burn for this! After everything the Zahl did for you—the education, the opportunity to fly—this is how you repay us? You're just a native parasite clinging to the might of the Zahl! You coward! You—"
"You're right, Captain Tox," he said, leaning into the microphone as the plan formed in his mind. "I'm a Tarrafa native. Always have been. And our resistance has a regiment of Zahlian garrison troops imprisoned on board this cruiser right now. Unless the Justice breaks off its pursuit and arrests you f
or deception and lying to the Zahl to advance your career, every single trooper on board will be executed."
No voices came from the wave, only silence.
When Tox finally spoke, his voice was low and laced with hatred. "You think I care about garrison troops? You think—"
The transmission cut off.
Nat turned around to look at Towers. "What happened?"
"Transmission was cut off at the source," Towers said. "The Justice is slowing pursuit, their primary cannon is powering down, and they're launching Interceptors. System disruptor is preventing any missile lock. Looks like they're going to aim to disable us."
"How long till we can escape?" Rowe asked.
"Curvature drives warming and nearly ready to fire," Towers said, looking over at Nat. "We really have Zahlian prisoners onboard?"
Nat shook his head. "No. It's all I could think of."
Towers smiled. "Good job. I—"
Sensors across the bridge wailed, lights flashing.
"Captain!" a crew member said from a station on the far side of the bridge. "Another ARC's just dropped out of Lutimite Space and is directly ahead."
"What?"
The headset crackled again. "This is Captain Goran Neville of the ARC Valiant to the cruiser currently fleeing the orbit of Yesro Vraun. Captain Tox has been relieved of duty, and I am taking over this operation to negotiate the release of our garrison troops immediately. I—"
Nat pulled off the headset. "What do I do now?"
"Hang on!" Tower yelled, dropping into the captain's chair. "You bought us the time. We're firing off the curve."
Bracing himself, Nat stared at the sensor display showing the Valiant entering the system, knowing Soola was on board. He wished he could see her. Suddenly, his stomach dropped, and the sky outside the viewport rippled, and flashed. The old cruiser fled Tarrafa, taking with it the last remnants of the native culture.
Chapter Thirty-One
Space normalized around the resistance cruiser. The Oshua's hull shimmered and wavered as the energy from the curvature drive dissipated. Nat felt drawn to the forward viewport, his mouth hanging open as he gazed into an unfamiliar star field. The crew on the bridge exhaled simultaneously as they realized the curve had transported them safely from Tarrafa.