The Starhawk Chronicles

by Joseph J. Madden

  Following Ferret’s line of sight, Grimmel saw the transport had halted its advance just outside the atmosphere barrier, its dorsal laser cannon swinging around in their direction.

  Damn, I hate when I’m right. Tiberius was dead, as was the rest of the transport crew. Grimmel was certain of that. “Emergency shields. Seal the hangar.”

  The transport guns opened up, energy beams lancing out, strafing the hangar from one side to the other. The shuttles within were torn to scrap. Workers scrambled to make their way free of the destruction.

  The guard drones stayed their ground, but did nothing. Without a direct command, they were unauthorized to open fire. The transports cannons began to leisurely pick them off; targets in a shooting gallery.

  “Shields, dammit.” Grimmel shrieked, watching the carnage. “Get those damn shields up!”

  “No good, sir. The ship is already within the shield boundaries.”

  Grimmel watched the last drone go down as the transport continued its random strafing of the hangar. A fuel barge erupted, vaporizing half the hangar bay. Only the viewport set into the wall overlooking the bay below saved Grimmel and Ferret from incineration by the fireball.

  Grimmel rose from where he had thrown himself and looked out through the viewport, now scorched and blackened. Support crews were rushing throughout the hangar, attempting to extinguish the flaming debris of the two ruined ships. The transport maneuvered away from the hangar and ran for the cover of the asteroid field.

  “Perimeter guns, open fire. Blast them before they get out of range.”

  “We can’t fire, sir. Control circuits are damaged.” Ferret’s hands danced across the master control board, rerouting damaged systems.

  “Then tell our sentry ships to intercept. They have permission to fire at will.”

  “Sentries already moving in. Ten seconds to intercept.”

  “Homebase, this is Centurion One,” Colonel Roark Goddard spoke into his helmet mike. “I have visual on the target and am arming weapons. Starting my run. Centurion Two, close up on me.”

  “Affirmative, Boss,” came the response from his wingman.

  Goddard feathered the throttle on his outdated T-37E Tomcat, rewarded with a healthy roar as the fighter accelerated. Though easily surpassed by newer fighters, Tomcats held up remarkably well when properly maintained. It was more than agile enough to navigate the tricky obstacle course that the asteroid field presented.

  Through his canopy, Goddard saw that the transport was accelerating, engines glowing hot white. The ship banked hard around a large asteroid, and Goddard marveled at how maneuverable the craft was. He would not have thought the transport could handle such a tight turn at the speed it was pulling. The ship disappeared from sight.

  “Not picking it up on my scanners, Boss,” Zevo’s voice was steady, but Goddard detected the slight nervous waver. His wingman was new to the Stenax facility, just completing the first month of her tour. While she was a more than capable pilot, flying precision maneuvers at high speeds through the debris field still made her a bit squirrelly. Goddard knew it would wear off. He had been the same way when he had first accepted this assignment. Now it came as second nature.

  “It’s the iron content in these damn rocks. Those bastards didn’t go anywhere. Break off and head around to the far side. We’ll catch them in our crossfire.”

  Zevo affirmed, her Tomcat peeling away from Goddard’s wing and circumnavigating the kilometer-wide chunk of space rock. Goddard banked to his left, beginning his own run. His eyes supplemented his ships scanners in surveying the terrain of the asteroid’s surface. He dropped into a large crater and hugged the surface.

  “Where the hell is it?”

  Goddard wished he knew. Zevo’s Tomcat was cresting the rim of the crater on the far side, coming at him. It executed a sharp turn to starboard, heading for a crevice that split the crater wall on one side, passing over a smaller crater that dimpled the floor of the one they were traversing.

  And there it was. The transport rose from that smaller depression, engines glowing as it hurtled skyward on the Tomcat’s trail.

  “Zevo, they’re coming up fast from astern.” Goddard shouted. “The bastards are right behind you.”

  Zevo’s engines flared as she accelerated, heading for the crevice. The damn thing’s gaining on her. That shouldn’t be possible.

  The transport opened fire, energy blasts flying above Zevo’s fighter, restricting her from gaining altitude and channeling her further toward the chasm.

  “Zevo, hit your retros to kill your momentum, then lean hard on your rudder. There’s a good chance they’ll overshoot you. If they get you into that canyon you’ll be boxed in.”

  “I’m making a run for the canyon,” Her voice quivered. She was on the verge of a full-blown panic. “They can’t follow me in.”

  Before Goddard could reply, the transport opened fire again, each successive burst forcing Zevo’s Tomcat down closer to the rocky surface of the asteroid. She’ll never make it to the canyon.

  “Zevo, eject. Punch out, dammit.”

  There was no reply. He saw the cockpit canopy blow off the fighter. Another two seconds and her ejection seat would blast her clear.

  Zevo never got that chance. Her fighter’s nose plowed into rock. The Tomcat began to cartwheel wildly across the crater floor. Wings and engines tore away from the spiraling ship as it tumbled across the rocky surface. What remained of the main fuselage landed in a cloud of dust meters shy of the mouth of the canyon.

  Goddard watched, sickened, as the remains of Zevo’s fighter come to rest on the asteroid’s surface. There was no way she could have survived such a wreck.

  Ahead, the transport angled into a steep climb, clearing the crater wall by meters and racing away from the asteroid. Goddard switched weapons over to missiles and centered his crosshairs on the transport. The heads-up display showed that there was still too much distance between the two ships for a positive lock. Goddard diverted all extra power, including lasers and partial life support, to engines. The distance reading began to scroll down.

  Grimmel broke through on the comm-set. “Their trajectory shows that they’re heading for the shallow end of the asteroid field. If they clear the belt, they can go to hyperspace.”

  “They’re not going anywhere,” Goddard replied. “Another ten seconds and I’ll have a lock.”

  The distance display continued to scroll down, the transport growing larger as Goddard’s fighter closed in. The asteroids began to thin out, most of the debris not much larger than the transport.

  The crosshairs on the HUD went green at the same time that the target lock tone began to whine throughout the cockpit. Goddard stabbed down on the firing stud. With a muffled roar, a single sidewinder missile loosed itself from the Tomcat’s launcher. Goddard willed it on as it picked up the transport’s ion trail and homed in.

  When the missile was within a few meters, the transport pulled another impossibly tight turn, ducking behind an asteroid. The missile struggled to reacquire, slamming instead into the center of the asteroid. The rock split into three large fragments and hundreds of smaller ones.

  Two of the pieces drifted away, harmless, but Goddard knew he would have a hard time avoiding the third. He yanked his control yoke hard to port, leaning hard on the rudder. The Tomcat responded with characteristic agility, heeling over onto its side, but the maneuver did not come fast enough. The chunk of space debris struck his starboard wing and engine, tearing them off. Goddard’s fighter went into a wild spin.

  Struggling to regain control, Goddard killed power to his remaining engine. Warning sirens screamed at him as systems shorted out. His computer screen scrolled off a stream of damage reports before it sputtered and went dark.

  Goddard grabbed the ejection lever and gave it a hard pull. When the unit failed to respond, he continued yanking in frustration until the handle came off in his hand. Cursing, he threw it at the cockpit viewshield.

  As the galaxy s
pun wildly around him, he caught a glimpse of the transport. It had doubled back, heading for him, then was out of sight again. When it next appeared, Goddard saw its cannons firing, their crimson rays lancing out towards him.

  The last thing Colonel Roark Goddard saw was his fighter vaporizing around him, before he too was engulfed.

  “Damn!” Grimmel watched on his monitor as the white blip that was Goddard’s fighter winked out of existence. The transport had turned again and raced clear of the asteroid belt. It, too, winked out as the ship cleared the debris field and made the jump to hyperspace.

  Cursing, Grimmel threw his bottle, blue ale spilling everywhere as it shattered against the viewport. Numbers were still coming in on his screens, tallying the dead and wounded.

  Grimmel contemplated the last of the ale with a sigh as it streamed down the viewport, knowing he had to report the incident. “Do we have long range communications, or were they damaged?”

  Back at his console, Ferret ran a quick diagnostic. He nodded, the hairs on his head rippling as though he were floating under water. “All communications equipment checks out, sir.”

  “Open a channel to Sector Governor Mahlcobb. We’ll need his authorization before we send out any hunter groups.”

  “Yes, sir. Coding the message now.”

  Knowing it would be some time before the message worked its way through the bureaucratic aides to the Governor himself, Grimmel started for the corridor. “I’m going down to assess the damage. Signal me as soon as the Governor comes on the line.”

  He was stepping through the doorway when Ferret spoke up. The assistant made no attempt to hide the surprise in his voice. “Sir, the Governor is already on the line.”

  “That was… fast,” Grimmel stepped back into the room.

  “Yes sir, especially since I haven’t sent the message yet.”

  Dread caused Grimmel’s stomach to lurch as he faced the wallscreen. After a few seconds of static, Governor Mahlcobb’s image filtered through.

  Governor Rans Mahlcobb looked as close to a corpse as any living, breathing being could. Though only middle aged, his skin was so pale and thin and his dark eyes so sunken that he looked as though someone had wrapped his skull in a clear wax sealant. What little hair was left on his skull was the color of slate, in sharp contrast to the paleness of his flesh.

  Mahlcobb fixed Grimmel with a chilling gaze for several long seconds, and when he finally spoke, his voice was an unhealthy rasp. “Warden Grimmel, I understand you’ve had an escape,”

  “That’s correct, sir,” Now how the hell could you know that already? Grimmel glanced at Ferret, who looked just as confused. Grimmel cleared his throat before continuing. “The prisoners somehow got control of their transport. We no longer have a signal from the shipboard tracer, so we assume the prisoners must have disabled it. However, we have our computers calculating all possible destinations along their last known trajectory. It should only be a matter of time before we pick them up again.”

  “I should certainly hope so, Warden Grimmel.” A fit of dry, hacking coughing overcame Mahlcobb, interrupting him for almost a full minute. When it subsided, his voice was raspier than before. “This is a disgrace. I understand that it was the Nexus Gang who made a mockery of your defense systems.”

  Grimmel glanced at Ferret. The aide shrugged, and Grimmel knew that he had not mentioned who had escaped. “Correct again, sir. I suggest we put out a call to all the available hunter groups within five systems, at least.”

  The governor made a tsk-ing sound through pursed lips, shaking his head. “Spend all those credits to cover up your incompetence? I think not, Warden Grimmel. I think not.” Mahlcobb paused again to catch his breath. Such long speeches were not easy for him. “No, I will dispatch only one group, and I know exactly who it will be. I think Captain Forster and his crew will do nicely. They did the job once. I’m sure they will be more than capable of doing it again.”

  The announcement stunned both Grimmel and his aide. Ferret, who had maintained his composure even through the Nexus Gang’s violent assault, now looked taken aback. As it was, the statement caught Grimmel so off-guard that he sat in silence for long seconds before finding his voice again. “Sir, I know Forster is probably the best hunter on hand, but even he and his crew aren’t enough to handle the Nexus Gang again. Not this soon.”

  “They will be quite enough,” Mahlcobb hissed, dismissing any further rebuttal with a wave of his hand and another fit of spastic coughing. “You will pass on my condolences to the families of the crew you lost in this debacle.”

  Grimmel nodded. “Yes, Governor.”

  “And Warden,” Mahlcobb waited until Grimmel made eye contact once more. “I understand you are due for retirement soon. If I were you, I’d consider tendering my resignation before then, in case Forster is not good enough to stop these vermin.” With that, the screen went blank.

  All was quiet in the office for a long moment. Ferret finally broke the silence. “That was a bit . . . odd on the Governor’s part, wasn’t it, sir? Dispatching only one team, I mean.”

  This whole damned affair is odd, Grimmel thought without looking at his aide. “It’s almost as though he wants Forster to lose on this one.” Like he hasn’t already lost enough.

  That thought troubled Warden Grimmel. Of all the bounty hunters he had dealt with in his career, young Jesse Forster was one of the few that he genuinely liked. Be careful, Captain Kid.

  “Come on, Ferret,” Grimmel started for the corridor once more. “Let’s see what we can do to help out downstairs.”

  Chapter Three

  “You’d think they’d show us a little more respect,” K’Tran was griping as he and Jesse, with Sneaker hovering along behind, stepped out of the local militia station and into the cool Rycan night. The pink twilight sky had faded now to a deep star-speckled purple. “We practically did their work for them! Stupid bastards should have arrested Krebs as soon as he set foot on this rock!”

  Jesse waited out his friend’s tirade. He had heard it before. It came as no surprise that they should receive scorn from the local authorities. In most instances, licensed, registered, and bonded bounty hunters received little more respect than the criminals they targeted. It was something every hunter had to deal with. Jesse had learned to accept it years ago.

  K’Tran, however, would never quite comprehend. He was still growling. “Twenty years I’ve been in this business and still I get treated like something scraped off the bottom of a boot!” He gave his friend a scathing look. “It’s times like this when I think we should take the bribes we’re offered.”

  Jesse gave a slight recoil of surprise. “What bribe? I never said anything about a bribe.”

  K’Tran paused in mid-stride and gave his friend a knowing look, and Jesse shrugged. “Okay, yeah, he did offer a bribe,” Another look, quizzical, and Jesse replied, “Triple.”

  K’Tran gave a soft whistle. “It’s a shame that we’re so damned honest.”

  The elder huntsman chuckled softly, and Jesse knew the storm had passed. K’Tran’s shoulders slumped in a more relaxed position and he raised his arms over his head, stretching fatigued muscles. For all his gruff and tough posturing, K’Tran was the type most likely to have “Mom” tattooed on his arm.

  “My back’s gonna be sore for a week from carrying that fat bastard,” he changed the subject, and hailed a cab. The vehicle glided over to them, its passenger door hissing open. “I can’t understand why the Guild put a whole team on just one guy anyway. Should’ve sub-let the hunt out to a few of the independents.”

  Jesse shrugged. “Our debt to the Farrees family is paid off. That’s all care about.”

  K’Tran nodded. Exaggerating a grunt of pain, he began to climb into the cab, stopping when he realized his friend was not following. “You go on ahead,” Jesse handed him the credit voucher containing their bounty. “I want to walk back.”

  “Obudon isn’t the best place to go wandering at night.”


  Jesse chuckled lightly, throwing back the folds of his jacket and resting his palms on the grips of his twin sidearms. “You don’t think I can take care of myself? Besides, I’ll keep Sneaker with me.” He paused, not meeting the gaze of the older man’s eyes. “I need to think.”

  K’Tran turned a sympathetic gaze on the younger man. He had known Jesse since birth and had been partners with him as bounty hunters for the last six years, as he had been with Jesse’s father before that. He knew all of his younger companion’s quirks as well as he knew his own, and K’Tran knew exactly what it was that Jesse had to think about. “All the thinking in the galaxy ain’t going to bring her back, Jesse.”

  Jesse made no effort to disguise the annoyance in his voice. “Just head back to the ship,” he snapped. His tone grew softer and added, “I’ll be there in a little while.”

  Without further argument, K’Tran retreated into his seat. Repulsorfield whining, the cab raced off down the dark, semi-deserted street.

  Jesse waited until the vehicle had disappeared around a corner before he started walking, looking up at the stars shimmering overhead in the cool, cloudless night sky. Sneaker followed a few feet behind, sweeping his photoreceptors vigilantly from side to side. Riding shotgun, as the rest of the crew was fond of calling the defensive posture Sneaker often took up when at Jesse’s side.

  Jesse stopped walking and continued staring into the sky. “Damn it, Lohren. I miss you.”

  Sneaker let out a questioning trill. Jesse turned to face him; took a deep breath. “Nothing, little guy. Just talking to myself. Let’s cut over to the next boulevard. There’s a weapons dealer I want to check out.”

  He was crossing the street, stepping out of the way of a trio of drunken, raucously singing Verbans, when his commband pinged. “Forster here.”

  “Sorry to bother you, Jesse,” Podo’s voice crackled from the speaker.

  “How’s the arm, little brother?”

  “I’ll be okay,” By the tone of his voice Jesse could tell that he had already dismissed the entire affair. “Dr. Drone says I’ll be playing the snoov harp again in no time.”