by Ryan Krauter
"I'm making another course adjustment," she announced as she pushed the throttles against the stops with her left hand again. Still at max power, no hidden reserves or extra engine she could light off. They were going painfully slow considering what was going on.
"All transports fleeing Lemuria are to heave to and broadcast your positions," they heard the voice over the comms for the second time. Those Primans were good with sensors and comm equipment, nobody would argue that one. They simply blanketed every comm frequency so nobody could claim that didn't receive the message. "Final warning. Anyone not complying will be destroyed."
Elon looked at Merrin, and she was unable to get a read on what he was thinking. "We're the farthest out, almost clear," he mumbled. "Are you a betting woman, Merrin?" he asked. "Do you think they'd really destroy a transport full of five thousand innocent refugees?" He looked out the viewport at the distant Priman ships far off to port. "They can't be in effective weapons range of us, can they?"
"The bet is whether they'd fire on us, not whether they'd hit," Merrin chuckled grimly. "You realize if we turn back, all these people, not to mention us, are going to be interred and conscripted into forced labor until they decide to exile us to space for a slow death aboard some decrepit old vessel."
Elon only nodded. Years of business dealings with cut-throat companies and ruthless entrepreneurs couldn't prepare him for this, though. He knew those people didn't really intend to kill him on the spot. These Primans might. He was waiting, just hoping for some sort of sign that would make the decision for him, because this was a choice he just wasn't prepared to make on behalf of everybody in the back of the ship who had entrusted their lives to him.
Then, somebody did make a decision.
"They're running for it!" exclaimed Merrin as she pointed out her viewport at the little blip on the cockpit’s windshield glass. Highlighted and augmented by a wireframe drawing, the holographic ship that was dodging around space was identified as another Stalwart class transport.
"Let's do the same," Elon said firmly.
"Got it."
Merrin couldn't boost the power, but she could change course, and angled away from the Primans and back toward the very upper reaches up Lemuria's atmosphere. While the heat generated from passage through the remnants of the wispy air up there might help highlight them on scanners, the changing density of the atmosphere itself would make targeting and hitting them much harder than just firing an energy bolt in open, empty space. And if she did it right, they'd bounce off and away farther from the inbound Priman ships with a little extra speed on their side.
Suddenly a red flash lit up the cockpit, turning everything an angry crimson shade for a split second and throwing dark shadows across their faces.
"They just fired on us!" yelled Elon, surprise giving way to alarm at the thought that the enemy could reach out and hit them at this range. He turned to Merrin. "What else have you got?"
She couldn't spare much processing power for a conversation at the moment; she was dividing her attention between flying the transport, watching the nav displays, and keeping an eye on the threat warning receiver. It alerted her a second or two before an inbound shot was about to hit them, and gave her a split second to make some sort of vector change to avoid the incoming blast. She dodged and rolled furiously, hoping that the gravity generator and inertial compensators were up to the task of keeping all of the ship's passengers stuck in one place so as not to coat the cargo bay in a thin layer of everyone's suppers.
Finally, they were rebounding back into space, heading out-system. Merrin was starting to breathe easier; after the first half dozen laser blasts, she hadn't noticed one in a while. It was impossible for her to keep track of time as she lived in the moment, second to second, but it felt like it had been long enough to allow a glimmer of hope to rise to the surface. She glanced at the nav screen and saw the Priman ships falling behind, and was about to say something to that effect when she saw the telltale fireball of a large, oxygen-fed explosion out of the corner of her eye in the viewport. She spared a second to snap her head over to look at the scene, then back at the nav display. One of the transport icons winked out of existence. Five thousand people had just been annihilated.
"Do you think we're far enough away-" Elon began, but didn't finish his sentence.
A hailstorm of laserfire chopped away at the cockpit, shredding it in seconds as a flight of Priman fighters dashed by. They pulled up and over the top of the transport's plane of flight, then rolled themselves one hundred eighty degrees in a practiced maneuver. Extra-atmospheric flight didn't require aerobatic maneuvers, but most species still flew that way to keep their speeds consistently high instead of stopping, turning, and accelerating again, and the Primans were no exception. Speed is life, so the saying goes, whether fighting in atmosphere or not.
They came swooping in for another pass, all ten of them, and pounded the transport's engines into submission. Then, relentless in their determination to destroy the ship, them came in yet again. This time, they just fired on everything they could hit on their pass and then broke off to take up formation high and behind the doomed ship. The Lead Sled had already started to nose over before the death blow was dealt, and it kept heading in that direction. In no time, gravity began its grim task, clawing at the foundering ship as the pull of Lemuria's mass began to draw it downward with the inevitability of an elemental universal force. Friction began to heat the leading edges of the transport. The metals used in its construction were incredibly tough; shields weren't needed for re-entry, though it helped reduce wear and tear on vital components. But this was no normal re-entry. The ship began to turn, slowly at first, then faster as it took on a spin. Eventually, parts of the airframe glowed white hot and began to soften, buckling and separating from the structure until there was just the torn up, disintegrating shell of a formerly spaceworthy vessel. In seconds, it was just a bright comet, streaking across the night sky briefly before everything burned away.
"An effective demonstration, Captain Vol," Representative Ravine commented neutrally. "I don't see you having any more trouble from them."
And indeed the captain didn't. As soon as the gruesome show was over, the remaining transports had come to dead stops wherever they were. They were herded into one large formation and were instructed to wait there under the guard of a handful of Priman fighters.
"This planet is ours," Vol said for the bridge crew to hear, "as are those people and those ships. They do not get to leave, they do not get to warn the Confederation or take their possessions, which we may have use for. This will serve as a demonstration for the next place we visit."
Representative Ravine smiled at the captain and walked across the bridge to inspect the results of the capitol bombardment. Any minute now somebody else from the planet would claim authority and call to negotiate; that's the way it always worked. She was careful to be facing away from the captain before she let her face relax, and she breathed out heavily, then held her lungs empty before finally breathing again. She realized these people had needed a demonstration, that the locals were indeed under the impression they had a lot more leeway than they really did, but part of her wondered if Captain Vol had gone too far. Yes, he was following orders, and frankly he was even following the spirit of the orders, as issued by the Commander. The time for pleasantries was well past; these people knew who they were dealing with by now, and had no excuses. Still, she wondered if this was what Representative Velk felt near the end of his time as Commander, if he had to decide between an open hand or an iron fist. Did ten thousand people need to die just now to make a point? Which method would these people respond to, and how would she know which path was right when it was her time to lead?
General Horle couldn't stop coughing. He didn't know if it was the dust and debris that choked the air in the underground chamber or the shrapnel he'd taken in his side, but the result was that he couldn't make the hacking cough cease. Luckily, the bunker's lights weren't functioning
, so he couldn't check his right side where the pain was located every time he was racked by another fit. He probably wouldn't like what he saw.
The bunker had been spared the worst of the Priman attack, but since it was a military installation in the capital city it had been targeted. The above-ground facilities were gone- wiped off the face of the planet. The underground levels had only fared marginally better; most were without power and had taken damage. Horle's own command center had suffered a partially collapsed ceiling and power loss, but emergency lights were gradually kicking in and personnel were handing out flashlights at present. Data wasn't coming in anymore, though, and that was a problem for the man who was supposed to help defend the planet.
"So you think the capitol is gone, don't you," Horle grumbled to Elco, who sat beside him holding a portable cell stimulator to the growing lump on his own head.
"Based on their past practices," Elco grudgingly admitted, "that would be my guess. I'm sorry, General."
Horle waved off the condolences. "We'll grieve later. Right now, I just wish I knew whether the Primans are negotiating a cease-fire or if they're still attacking my planet."
"There is one small shred of good news," Elco suggested. "It's not much, but it's all we've got." He looked in Horle's eyes and showed a malicious grin, the sort of ace that would make friends and enemy alike nervous. "Those bastards only think I have two ships with me."
"Two ships," Loren muttered under his breath as he listened to the exchange on the open comm frequency that General Horle had beamed out into space. It wasn't a directional signal, an intentional practice so the Primans couldn't just trace it from source to destination. He heard the end as well, and saw on long range sensors the fire poured down onto the surface by the Primans. He resisted the urge to command Avenger into action; first off, it wasn't his call since he wasn't in command. Second, the Lemurians needed to ask for help, though with the capitol itself in ruins he didn't know how anyone would assume command.
"Commander Stone," Loren heard, and shook himself out of his reverie in order to answer the face on the surface of the desktop in front of him. The Captain's station featured the most comfortable chair as well as a workspace whose surface could serve just about any function imaginable. Right now, a small window was open to Captain Montari on the battleship Majestic and Captain Rese on Cobalt.
"Yes, Captain?" Loren replied hopefully. The best thing he could hear right now would be an order to execute their attack plan.
"Your friend, Captain Renner, is in charge of those destroyers, correct?" Captain Montari was just checking his facts, but Loren assumed there was a greater purpose to the call.
"Yes, he is," Loren confirmed.
"I hate sitting like this just as much as you do," Montari continued, the gray-skinned Trin unconsciously sniffing the air. With a sense of smell several times more acute than Humans, the man was falling back on old hard-wired instincts as he sought out sweat, pheromones, and other signs of trouble on a wind that didn't exist in space. On the surface of a planet, he'd be able to tell if Renner was in trouble from quite a distance. In space, he was was stuck with the same technology everyone else was.
"All we can do is be ready," Montari continued. "Your new torpedoes are warmed up and ready to run in?" he asked.
"With much anticipation," Loren replied. They were talking about the latest torpedo upgrade; an external bolt-on miniature hyperdrive. It was short ranged, couldn't maneuver or see anything while in hyper, and the engine burned out after the run, endowing them with the nickname of 'The Lightweight', because they were one-and-done on their hyper engine, just like the alcohol tolerance of the average Navy new recruit. The bulky engine modules made them unable to be fired from a torpedo tube, so they'd had to drag them into place with Freedom class transports and leave them in position with a Prowler riding herd to send them their 'go' command if need be.
Loren had deployed six of them far from Avenger's current position. If need be, he'd send a command to the Prowler, which would upload the target coordinates and send them on their way. A brief hyperspace run later and they'd revert at their coordinates and begin looking for a Priman target. It would be a great distraction since Avenger was not at the beginning of their trajectory. If the Primans tried to find the launching vessel, they'd be out of luck.
Representative Ravine paced the bridge. It had been ten minutes and nobody had tried to contact them since they'd razed the capitol district. Captain Vol had tried to urge them on by targeting the next largest city on the continent and firing a saturation bombardment that was intended to cause widespread destruction and panic. She once almost tried to address him about his choice of strategies but quickly reconsidered. She wasn't in charge, and might never be if she appeared too squeamish about what needed to be done.
"If they take another five minutes without contacting us," Vol proclaimed, "we'll move on to the next city. Sooner or later somebody will volunteer to speak for these people."
Captain Renner sat utterly still in the command chair aboard his destroyer. He'd watched helplessly as the Primans had blasted the capitol city, killing thousands of his people. He'd seen the data feeds drop offline from the Governor's Mansion and several key military facilities as they'd been destroyed or taken out of the loop. Now, he waited in vain for some signal from the surface. He knew the crew on the small bridge was casting sideways glances at him, hoping to see what he planned to do. The surreptitious glances didn't soothe his frayed nerves, either. His express orders were to maintain a submissive posture while the leaders attempted to bargain with the Primans. Well, apparently the bargaining wasn't going very well. The problem was that nobody was filling the gap with the capitol district destroyed. Perhaps everyone else was too afraid of being identified to take on the mantle of representing his planet.
He saw on the displays as the Primans shifted their orbits slightly and aligned themselves towards a new target on the surface. He couldn't take it any more. "Communications," he said softly, then got up and took the handful of steps over to the console and the young woman who was stationed there. She adjusted her headset and waited for her captain to continue. "Send a message to the Confeds on the encoded channel they're listening on. Tell them that if the Primans attack another defenseless city I intend to engage and formally request their assistance. Awaiting a reply."
She nodded and quickly encoded and sent the message, a look of relief on her face that was evident to Renner. They didn't stand a chance by themselves, and frankly it didn't look all that much better with the Confeds at their sides. Still, she thought it was better to die fighting these invaders for their planet than sitting by impotently and watching them destroy their home.
"Commander!" called the comms officer, and Loren almost jumped out of his chair. He'd been in the same sullen reverie that Renner had been in, but Loren was even worse off because he had zero options until a request for help was made.
"What is it, Comms?" Loren asked in as controlled a manner as he could manage.
"Request for assistance on the coded frequency," the officer began. "Captain Renner says he intends to engage if the Primans fire on another city without provocation and they're asking us to confirm readiness to assist."
"Hell yes, we're ready," Loren replied resolutely. "Tell Captain Montari we're all set, and contact Captain Sosus and tell her to get ready for some excitement." He paused as he tried to run through all the important items in his head. "Did the rest of Cory's squadron make it out into position?"
"Yes," the officer replied, "they launched as soon as the Primans entered the system.
"Time has expired," Captain Vol announced. He rarely left his command chair while in combat, and this was going to be no exception; it showed he was calm and in control and felt no need to run around putting out fires and riding herd on his people. "Begin bombardment on the target city."
"They're opening fire," the comm officer said with forced calm. Her family lived in that city.
"Open a channel t
o the Primans," Renner commanded, "and send the official request to the Confeds and tell them to engage."
The officer worked at her station for a second, then looked at Captain Renner and gestured to the screen.
The hard face of the Priman captain appeared on-screen. "You speak for your people, officer?" the Priman asked, though it seemed more like a statement.
"That'll be hard to do, since you're destroying our cities so fast," Renner replied. "I don't see how you expect to hear from any civilian authority down there, but maybe that's the point."
"You insult me as I conquer your planet? Is this how you beg for mercy?"
Renner scoffed at the man who meant to destroy everything he held dear. "I don't plan to beg." He cut the channel himself with the control switch on his armrest. Now, all he could do was hope the carefully crafted timetable they'd laid out would work as well as they'd hoped it would.
"Mark!" Cory called over her comm net to her squadron. All twelve Intruders, accompanied by Merritt's twelve Talons, made final adjustments to their formation, then slaved their hyperdrives to Cory's computer. She would initiate the microjump, every other ship's computers holding them in formation through reversion to normal space.
She pushed her throttles up and over the detent which allowed the hyperdrive to engage, and a split second later the twenty-four fighters flashed forward faster than the speed of light.
"Comms," Loren said as he gripped the railing that edged the upper platform where it took a step down from the command level of the bridge. If he'd had the spare moment to look, he'd have seen his white knuckles holding the poor railing in a death grip. "Give the go order to the Prowler; send the Lightweights on their way."