Archangel One

by Evan Currie

  Steph held his breath, knowing he was gambling.

  On any Earth ship, or Priminae ship, or hell, even an Empire ship, he’d not have asked that. He’d have led with the Marines and taken solid control of engineering from the start.

  If he were wrong about the status of the crew . . .

  “How do we know you won’t just kill us after we help you?”

  Steph let out a soft breath, closing his eyes.

  “You don’t,” he answered honestly, “but we don’t have time for that sort of proof. I’ll give my word right now: If you help me help you, if you follow my orders, then you’re my men. And I don’t leave my men to die.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Make your decision. All our lives are in your hands,” he said.

  He killed the comm channel and pushed for more acceleration as the ship’s drives lay silent, hoping that the engineering crew would do what needed to be done. Seconds ticked off, each feeling like hours, and then suddenly the power surged and the ship leapt forward again. Steph breathed a sigh of relief before opening a ship-wide broadcast that included the Marines over his armor comm.

  “Alright, we’re moving. Hold on tight, because the Imperial Fleet has a big lead on us in speed. We’re going to have to redline this baby or they’re going to catch us. I don’t think I need to tell anyone what happens if they do, now, do I?”

  Silence was the only answer.

  Archangel Two

  “About damn time!” Black swore as she pushed the throttle of her fighter-gunboat forward, matching pace with the captured destroyer.

  The acceleration curve started to back off from the danger zone it had been in, but as everything settled out she grimaced.

  It’s not enough. They’re going to be able to close to engagement range at this rate.

  “Archangel Actual, Archangel Two.”

  “Go for Actual,” Steph’s voice came back.

  “You need to push that heap harder,” Alex said. “The Imps are gaining on you, and you’re just not putting enough kick in your pants to open the range.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know. This heap needs a tuning, pronto. They’ve just let the poor baby rust from the inside out. I swear some people don’t deserve nice things.”

  “It ain’t nice enough to lose your life for, Steph.”

  “I’m too good-looking to die, Alex,” Steph responded.

  “Too damn stupid to know you’re dead is more like it,” she yelled in response.

  She was getting really sick of hearing his laughter over the comms.

  Baphon

  Steph checked the numbers he was getting on the relay from Archangel One, grimacing despite his cheerful tone. They weren’t great. The destroyer’s acceleration was considerably lower than he had expected, and it didn’t look like they’d be able to get clear of the fleet’s beams before they were brought into effective engagement range.

  He was also trying to fly a frigging destroyer through a combat HUD and a second set of eyes pacing from a quarter million kilometers away.

  Frankly, it was making him dizzy and giving him a migraine.

  He opened a comm to the Marines.

  “Guys, it’s not looking as good as I’d hoped,” he said. “I’m not ready to give this up just yet, but I want you all back on the Revenge. No sense risking you here. I can deal with these people.”

  Buckler spoke up.

  “Begging the officer’s pardon, sir, but don’t pull that self-sacrifice bullshit with us. We’ll offload when you do.”

  “Goddamn it, you dumb leathernecks, I’m giving you an order,” he growled. “There is no damn reason for you to be here right now.”

  “An order, you say?” Buckler asked, amused. “A good Marine would have to follow that, I suppose.”

  “You’re damn right! Now, get off my ship.”

  “Too bad I don’t see any Marines here, sir. Just us pirates. Har har.”

  Steph swore, earning him nothing but laughter from the Marines.

  “Fine. Make yourselves useful, then. Check the prisoners, see if any of them can tune the drives. And someone get up here with me—I need a copilot.”

  That caught them up short, and it was several moments before the Marines stopped uncomfortably looking at each other and one of them reluctantly stepped forward. Steph barely seemed to notice as the Marine stepped up to the helm.

  “You ever fly anything before?” Steph asked, not looking over at the man.

  “Nothing bigger than a bush plane.”

  “Huh,” Steph said. “Better than I expected. Okay, I’m sending you new codes for your HUD. Get them installed and active, then we’ll see if you can fly this heap like a puddle jumper.”

  “Yes sir,” the Marine said, sounding sick.

  Steph glanced aside briefly. “What’s your name?”

  He could have looked up the man’s IFF tag on his HUD, but right now it was busy doing something more important, and frankly, Steph preferred to ask the question face-to-face—or as close as he could manage.

  “Corporal Harris, sir.”

  “Alright, Harris, relax. You’ll do fine. There’s not a lot to hit out here, and I’ll handle any fancy flying,” Steph said reassuringly. “I just need you to monitor flight telemetry when I’m busy with other stuff.”

  “Yes sir, got it,” Harris said. “New program is up and running. I think I’ve got it.”

  “Good. See the acceleration curve in the top right?” Steph asked.

  “Yes sir.”

  “Okay, we want to keep that in the green.”

  “Um . . . sir, it’s in the red.”

  Steph laughed mirthlessly. “I know.”

  “Oh.” Harris swallowed. “So how do we . . . ?”

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it out,” Steph said as he reverted his HUD to normal settings and stepped back from the helm.

  He glanced at the wounded officer on the ground. “How is he?”

  The corpsman looked in his direction. “About as good as can be expected, given you shot him with a cannon.”

  “He shouldn’t have brought a pea shooter to a gunfight. I take it he’s not going to be of much use for a while?”

  “Not if you want him to live for longer than a few minutes,” she said with a shake of her armored head. “He’s not going anywhere. Maybe I can wake him up if you want to ask questions.”

  “No, leave him,” Steph said, looking around the room. He recognized one of the crewmen. “Hey Derri!”

  The young man who’d helped put the consoles back in place looked up fearfully. “Y-yes Commander?”

  “What’s your job on ship?” Steph asked.

  “Technical maintenance,” Derri responded. “Primarily replacing fiber lines.”

  “Big job?”

  “It has been,” Derri said, eyes wary as he looked for the point of the questions. “The fiber overloads easily, especially when the systems aren’t properly aligned.”

  Steph glanced around. “I’m guessing not much on this baby is aligned properly these days from the sound and feel of her.”

  Derri shook his head. “No, there’s little time or resources available for ships in the repair slips. We are . . . some time overdue for repairs and slip maintenance.”

  Steph had no trouble believing that, though he was mildly surprised the vessel’s state was as bad as it appeared. The Kingdom destroyers had shown similar signs, possibly a little worse, but Steph had put that down to the smaller polity being more hard-pressed.

  Now we have two data points. He thought about the situation. I wonder if we’ll find it much the same through the entire region?

  He was becoming more convinced that was exactly what they would find, in fact. The interference of the Empire showed that they were not content to merely leave the region to its own devices. They were actively keeping the conflict burning, if he had to make a guess.

  He expected the Empire was probably funding competing sides of the conflict. P
ushing them to kill each other, keeping them from noticing that Imperial forces were likely stripping the region of anything of value.

  I wonder how many of the locals even know the game is being played, and how many just take the Empire’s dime when offered without questioning what the real price of their largesse is?

  He sighed, gesturing to the Belj crewman.

  “Come on, Derri, walk with me.”

  Steph started moving, not looking back as Derri looked around in confusion for a moment before scrambling to catch up. He smirked as he noticed a pair of Marines quietly dispatched to follow him by a subtle signal from Buckler, who was watching the scene out of one eye from where he was, trying to get some of the damage cleared so more could be repaired. The sergeant apparently didn’t trust his commander not to do something stupid and get himself killed.

  Smart man, Steph thought as he continued on without pause.

  “Where are we going?” Derri asked fearfully.

  “Engineering.”

  “What?”

  “But first we have a stop to make,” Steph said as he opened his comm. “Archangel One, Archangel Actual.”

  Behind him, but visible on his armor’s command system, the two Marines glanced at each other, then quickly called for two more as they followed the commander out the door.

  Imperial Third Fleet

  “Enemy destroyer is under power, Fleet Commander.”

  Jesan frowned, walking over to the display as he did.

  “Their acceleration is still low,” he noted. “Are we on track to intercept?”

  “Yes, Fleet Commander,” his second confirmed. “As long as they don’t increase acceleration much more we will intercept in just over an hour and should be able to maintain engagement with the destroyer, at least, for no less than twenty minutes.”

  More than enough time to see it obliterated.

  He still wondered what value the enemy saw in that antiquated vessel, but for the moment it didn’t matter. If he got a chance, he might ask them, but frankly he wasn’t likely to get that chance, as his mission profile didn’t call for such things.

  For the moment, unfortunately, he really didn’t have anything he could do or say. They were under the maximum acceleration permitted him by Imperial law, and given his current status with the empress, Jesan was not inclined to flout the law at the moment.

  He could only watch—and wait.

  Baphon

  Milla nervously crossed the threshold that lay invisibly between the Archangel fighter-gunboat and the destroyer, the press of gravity changing as she transitioned from one field to the next with the practiced gait of a career spacer.

  She instantly noted that the Baphon field was not properly aligned, however, the slight pitch of the deck making her feel like she was just barely standing on an incline. It was an irritating and slightly dizzying sensation that the young woman fought to push from her mind as she walked forward to meet the figures waiting her arrival.

  “Stephan.” She nodded to the commander. “I believe I can tell why you called for me already.”

  “That obvious?”

  “If the rest of the ship is in as good a shape as the gravity, I am more surprised that we are still intact with every passing second. Let us go to the engineering section, no?”

  “Yes.” Steph gestured. “This way. Derri here is one of the maintenance crew. He knows the way.”

  “Excellent.” She nodded to the unarmored man. “Please.”

  “O-oh, uh, right this way.”

  Milla and Steph fell into place behind him, their Marine escort taking positions on either side of Derri and behind the two commanders as they moved.

  Engineering was about as Steph imagined it, much to his disgust.

  “Jesus, did they ever keep up maintenance on this thing?” he asked as they entered, the Marines leading the way and quickly locking down the immediate area as Steph and Milla both looked around the interior of the destroyer’s reactor room.

  The fact that they were in space was likely the only reason everything wasn’t rusted, from what he could see, and Steph was making some personal bets that a lot of the systems exposed to space were likely seized via vacuum welding despite the lack of air to oxidize parts.

  “This is too much of a job, Stephan,” Milla said, shaking her head. “It will take weeks to put right, longer without proper infrastructure.”

  “Just get the warps aligned.” Steph tried not to sound like he was begging. “We need the power.”

  She sighed. “I will do as I can.”

  Milla tossed her kit bag to the deck, eyes sweeping the floor as she took in the various uniformed men who were trying to hide from the gaze of the Marines and their weapons.

  “Who is in charge here?” she asked.

  After a moment, Steph growled.

  “I’m getting real tired of being forced to repeat questions,” he ground out. “The lady asked a question.”

  A man nervously rose up. “I am?”

  Steph sighed, shaking his head. “Better, but still the wrong answer. Who is in charge here?”

  The man looked confused before offering. “You are?”

  “She is.” He pointed to Milla. “We have an Imperial Fleet chasing us, and if she can’t get the drives back in alignment, we’re not going to make it. So you are going to do what she says or we’re going to have a little discussion.”

  “She is in charge,” the man said fearfully.

  “Good.” Steph turned to the Marines as Milla got to work, shifting to a private tactical channel. “Not a scratch on her, right Marine?”

  “Oorah, Commander.”

  “I’m going back to the bridge. You four stay here, watch her back. I’ll be fine.”

  The Marines nodded reluctantly, though they did radio ahead to the bridge before Steph was out of the room.

  Milla was grumbling under her breath, already crawling over various bits of machinery and calling out orders and questions.

  “What stores are available on board?” she demanded as she examined a coupler that looked like it should have fallen off sometime a decade or so earlier.

  “We have a database here, but there is not much,” the man who’d spoken with Steph said reluctantly.

  Milla dropped down and checked the system she was directed to.

  “This is what you’ve been working with?” she asked incredulously, looking over her shoulder at the men who just nodded with wide eyes. “I’m impressed. This ship should have fallen apart years ago. You have done wonders with what you have had available.”

  They appeared surprised, exchanging glances.

  “Unfortunately, this will not do for the immediate circumstances,” she went on. “We will have to get more creative. Thankfully, you all appear well used to that. Let us get to work.”

  Archangel Three

  The six Archangels were pacing the accelerating destroyer, flying in fairly tight formation as they kept close to the ship the squadron commander was on, none of the pilots particularly happy about the situation.

  Jennifer had known Steph for several years by this point and thought she understood the man well enough, but his decision to try to save the ship was beyond her. The crew she could understand, despite them being enemies just a few hours earlier. Leaving men to be killed in cold blood didn’t sit well with her either, but saving the destroyer puzzled her.

  For a fighter jock, the boss sure seems to spend a lot of time in bigger ships these days, she thought with some amusement.

  She took a moment to examine the telemetry data, judging the rate of overtake by the Imperial Fleet, and mentally shivered. There was nothing they could do against that much firepower.

  They’ll be in engagement range soon. I hope Steph has a plan.

  Baphon

  It’s creepy how quiet the corridors of the ship are, Steph decided as he stepped back into the bridge.

  He’d barely encountered anyone on the way back from the reactor room, and those he did were
quick to get out of his way, scattering like he was firing wildly with each step or some other equally ridiculous situation.

  What struck him as more odd, honestly, was that they were so clearly practiced at getting out of the way of someone walking the halls of the ship.

  “Where are we?” he asked, pushing the observation from his mind as he examined the state of affairs on the bridge by eye.

  “Sir,” Harris answered immediately. “Still in the red, sir.”

  “That’s not a surprise,” Steph said as he walked over to the helm and brought up the augmented view in his HUD with data supplied from the Archangels surrounding them. “We’re not going to outrun them like this. Let’s hope Milla can work some magic in the reactor and warp generators.”

  “And if she can’t?” the Marine asked.

  “Well, we have a few options,” Steph said as he examined the composition of the system they were flying within.

  They were currently on a downward trajectory, aiming to cut through the inner system before climbing out of the stellar gravity on the other side of the system from the Imperial’s approach. Steph ran a few numbers in his head, deciding that was still the optimal plan, but he had a few tweaks to add.

  “Archangel squadron, Archangel Actual,” he said. “Be aware, I am adjusting course. Stand by for operational orders.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Bringing us a little closer to the gas giant whose orbit we’re crossing,” Steph said.

  Harris blinked. “Are you aiming for a—what do they call it—a gravity assist?”

  “Not specifically, no, though I’m not above giving it a shot,” Steph responded. “For one thing, even if we made it work for us, the enemy would just follow us through. Wouldn’t gain us much, I’m afraid. I mostly just want some cover and a distraction, and those moons and rings should do the job.”

  “Yes sir, if you say so.”

  “Relax. They don’t have us yet.” Steph grinned. “This is where things get fun.”

  “Sir, that’s what I’m scared of.”

  Chapter 20

  Imperial Third Fleet