by Kasch, Andy
The screens on the walls came on with live feeds of the fore and aft views from the ship. A low humming sound also began to permeate throughout.
“We’re ready to go,” Olut6 said, “so stay in your seats.” He sat down as well.
The ship could be felt moving slightly. The forward screen in the cabin was then overlaid with a web-map made of very thin white lines. There was a yellow dot within the map lines that began blinking. A red dot appeared out in the space before them on the viewer. The position of the ship shifted until the blinking yellow light lined up perfectly with the red one, and stopped blinking. The low humming sound intensified, the web map vanished from the screen, and suddenly the stars were moving by.
“We’re moving!” Joseph said.
“Technically no,” Mip7 said. “Space around us is being distorted, bent out of our way, and we are pushing it behind us.”
“Right,” Joseph said. “That’s what I meant.”
The ride lasted a little more than ninety seconds by Brandon’s calculation. The space that was moving past them slowed down as a planet came into view. When they pulled into orbit, everything stopped moving and the humming sound died.
“We have arrived at Niptil,” a voice on the overhead speaker said. “Please make your way back to the landing craft for the flight to the Niptil space station.”
Niptil was a reddish-brown planet that resembled Mars, but with no polar caps. Two moons could be seen in the distance on the forward screen, quite far away. There was another object close by in orbit over Niptil. That must be the space station. It was still too far off to see clearly. Everyone in the cabin got back in line to re-board the landing crafts.
The journey from the transport ship to the Niptil station took longer than the journey from Cardinal-4 to Niptil. The space station here was tiny compared to Cardinal-4, only three or four levels high. It was rectangular in shape but had arms extending out from one side of it where ships were docked, which could only be the ITF1’s. The pilots couldn’t get a good look at them from the landing craft window, however, as they approached from the back side and landed in a small hangar, even smaller than the one on the transport ship. The shape of the station reminded Brandon of an airport terminal back home, except of course this one was floating in space.
When the station hangar pressurized, they exited the landing craft and entered a narrow corridor where they could walk no more than three wide. It led to a stairwell, then down to another corridor. Brandon and the Earthlings just followed the backs of the big lizard-men, figuring whoever was in front knew where they were going.
They all ended up in a large room with tables and chairs. There was a big window across the far wall with a view of the front side of the station. Everyone was squeezing up against the window to get a view of the IFT1 fighters. Brandon found a spot and nudged his way in.
There they were, just below, docked to the boarding bridges that extended from the station. Interstellar Transport Fighters, the instruments they had been training for, the vehicles that would engage the enemy in foreign space. From what Brandon could see of them from up here, they were big—much bigger than the standard fighters. They reminded him of jet planes back home, except for the dag in place of the wings, the weapon mounts, and the rear turret.
Brandon then noticed there were only five of them. Weren’t there supposed to be six?
Commander Olut6’s voice boomed through the room.
“Keep watching out there, boys. Is there anyone who can’t see well?”
No one answered, but Perry pressed himself up against Brandon to get a better view.
“Good,” Olut6 said. “Keep watching.”
Suddenly, the missing IFT1 appeared before the window, right in the space before them, quite close. It was, in a word, impressive. The design of the ship, its lines, and the way it instantly appeared out of distortion-drive so close to the station. There must have been a good pilot in that thing. Sounds of approval and excited mumbling filled the room.
“Keep watching,” Olut6 said.
The ship vanished as suddenly as it appeared. Then, it reappeared, off in the distance some, and performed a 45° turn before promptly vanishing again. Then it appeared on the left side of the window, facing the station, but vanished again quickly. A few seconds later, it was on the right side of the station, facing left. It then did a long, slow fly-by in front of the window. The room erupted in cheering.
“Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout,” Perry said. “Woo, she is one bad-ass machine, isn’t she? Glad you guys aren’t gonna be fighting from a mini-van.”
“No,” Brandon said. “We’ll be fighting from …my Corvette.”
* * *
“Vector clear target five,” the cockpit speaker crackled. That was Brandon and Mip7’s queue.
“Aston moving on target six,” Mip7 radioed.
Brandon hit the dag drive. The transport ship in the distance was brought right before them in seconds. Then the stars stopped moving and the panel lights flashed green, signaling to Brandon and Mip7 that they had stopped distorting space. To onlookers, they would have just popped up out of nowhere right next to the transport ship.
Their ITF1 was a little out of position for hitting target six, however. Brandon was off this time, but not by much. It didn’t seem to matter to the laser gunner in the lower turret. He was on it immediately. The harmless nondestructive red laser connected to the hull of the ship right next to the target, needing only a slight adjustment before being dead on. Brandon fired the rear side thrusters and adjusted their angle slightly. Mip7 had the missile targeting screen locking in as they turned. A rapid chirping sound came on in the cockpit, confirming missile lock, and Mip7 fired straightaway. The mock missiles bounced off the hull of the transport ship like two bunches of rolled-up socks, right on target. Brandon already had the exit coordinates aligned and hit the dag drive. Off they went.
“Aston clear target six,” Mip7 radioed. They came to a stop a short distance from where they started the run.
“Good job Aston,” the speaker voice said. “Target six confirmed destroyed. Proceed to Reep exercise nine. Repeat. Proceed to Reep exercise nine.”
Olut6’s voice now came on the speaker.
“This will be your last practice shot boys, so make it a good one. In a couple days, you’ll be shooting at the real thing.”
“Yes sir,” Mip7 replied. “Aston moving on Reep exercise nine.”
Four additional days of intense military flight training was about to end, hopefully with a bang. The Reep exercises were executed on a small fleet of decrepit old cargo ships placed in orbit around Niptil’s two moons. Brandon’s crew was the last in procession. Vector could be seen docking at the space station in the distance, done for the day. There was one human in that crew—Stu, the Chinese guy, who held the pilot2 position.
There was one other human in Brandon’s crew. Jack, the artist kid, was the Reep gunner in the rear turret. He was about to go on stage. Command saved the big freighters for the last day of exercises, and all the crews had been looking forward to it. Aston’s target was on the far side of the far moon. Command was watching from a video screen on the station, along with the rest of the crews by now, no doubt. Vector crew would probably de-board in time to watch Aston’s performance as well.
Aston. Brandon liked their name. Brandon was pilot1, and Mip7 was next to him in the cockpit at pilot2. Doing a darn good job, too. Olut6 had decided not to break the two of them up after further reviews of the Cardinal-4 battle. The kid was in the rear turret, a Banorian gunner in the lower turret, and two Amulite technicians were in the main hull of the ship making sure everything kept working properly. Command had decided the optimal ITF1 crew size for this mission was six.
The only other human in a pilot1 position was the Dutch kid, Joseph. No surprise there. His ship, Lotus crew, was to lead the attack. Joseph’s copilot was the second high scorer in the simulation games, a bright-skinned Amulite named Jol2. Everyone w
as expecting miracles from that ship. Matthew, the remaining human, was a laser gunner in one of the other crews. Perry wasn’t part of an ITF1 crew, but there were other jobs to be done. At first, Brandon had hoped all the humans would be together in one crew—but in the end, he conceded the way Olut6 arranged them by abilities and compatibly was wiser. Tomorrow they would begin the trek to Milura to bring retribution upon the invaders.
Right now, they had one last task to perform here in Tora space. Mip7 mapped out the target and Brandon turned the ship, little by little, until the position locator locked on. He hit the dag drive and made their approach. Mip7 loaded the weapons systems with live ammunition during the flight.
They whizzed by the first moon and then the second one became big outside the cockpit window. The target freighter was in a shallow orbit and Brandon wanted to come in underneath it, so they were flying low. It came into view and they drew close.
Brandon came out of distortion just below the target and fired lasers—the real ones this time—from the upper cockpit guns at several structures across the near side. The gunner in the lower turret joined in with the big beam and focused on a target on the bottom of the freighter. There were some explosions.
Then the return fire started.
The rumors proved to be true. It had leaked among the crews that on final exercise day the freighters would be shooting back, with nondestructive lasers of course, via remote controls from the space station. Brandon was ready for it, however, and dagged out before they could lock on to him. He came out on the far side, safely out of effective laser range. He then turned the ship to face the freighter and started another run.
“Are you going to pop up right before them, or go beyond and take the Reep shot now?” Mip7 asked.
“They’ll be expecting it either way,” Brandon said, “so let’s try something else.”
“Is there something else to try?”
“Just watch. Lay off the missiles, too. I want to see what the Reep gun can really do.”
Brandon dagged well past freighter, all the way to the opposite safe side. He needed to pop up in order to make a tight turn, however. So he came out of distortion, turned the ship as fast as he could with the thrusters, targeted a spot just above the freighter, and dagged back in towards it.
“They might not have seen that,” Mip7 said.
“Yeah, they’re probably wondering where we are right about now. I bet they aren’t expecting us to show up right smack on top of them, though. And that looks like a great place to break this thing in half.”
Mip7 shook his head. “If you pull this off, it will be a great motivation to everyone watching back there. Should send us all off with confidence.”
“Then that’s what we need to do. Here we go.”
Brandon hit the ship intercom. “Jack, get ready!”
He dagged out directly above the freighter, maybe a little too close. Now he had to adjust his position. That took precious seconds of working the forward thrusters. Lasers began firing up alongside the IFT1 as he pulled it perpendicular with the freighter and hit manual propulsion. They ascended directly upward from it. The return fire came closer.
“Jack, go!”
A small sonic boom reverberated within the ship causing Mip7 to cock his head. Brandon hit the dag again, but went only a short distance before coming out. He turned the ship back to face the freighter, just in time to watch it literally break in two.
“Just like the Titanic,” Brandon said.
“The what?” Mip7 asked.
“Hey, you came out of it faster this time. Great.”
“Yeah,” Mip7 said. “Guess I’m getting used to it. Extat, look at that!”
The entire freighter went up in a spectacular series of explosions.
“That had to be rigged,” Brandon said.
Mip7 laughed. “Yes, I’m sure it was. Maybe that’s why we’re last. Olut6 must have figured we would get it, and wanted everyone to have this fireworks show to end our training.”
Brandon turned the ITF1 until they got a map fix on the Niptil space station. They were back in a matter of seconds. Mip7 docked the ship.
“Well, now the real combat begins,” Brandon said.
“Now the real combat begins,” Mip7 echoed.
Back in the station, the mood was jovial. Everyone loved the finale that Aston crew had provided. Other crewmembers kept coming up and congratulating them. They were the only ones to make such a complete and utter destruction of the last target. It was a proper way to wrap things up. Two Torian pilots confessed to Brandon that they were the ones shooting at him, using remote controls here on the station. They commended him on his flying.
The transport ship then brought them all back to Cardinal-4, where one last lecture was scheduled. This was to be the final briefing.
When they arrived, they found the assembly hall had been enlarged to accommodate a larger crowd. It was still packed full. All rescue mission participants were in attendance. Ground forces, landing craft pilots, conventional fighter pilots, transport ship crews, the mission control team on Cardinal-4; everyone who was part of the operation was there. This was one of those momentous occasions that precede major historical events. Brandon could tell everyone was on edge. You could just feel the energy in the room.
Commander Olut6 walked out onto the platform, followed by Governor Stugin2, a Sheen, and another official-looking native Brandon didn’t recognize. The Sheen was cloaked; the three natives all wore red shoulder pads. They stood side by side at the rear of the platform while a musical piece was played by a rather interesting four-piece marching band. Two of the wind instruments were exotic-looking; one was tantamount to a trombone with three bells on the end, and the only way Brandon could describe the other was as a piccolo with a tuba bell. The music sounded normal enough, but it had an obvious patriotic effect on the natives in the room, some of whom bowed their heads as it played.
“Who’s that with the commander?” Brandon asked Mip7.
“That’s the High General. Isn’t that Sheen Nunon4?”
Brandon looked closer at the Sheen, whose brightness began to dim now to his eyes.
“Yes, that’s Nunon4!”
The music stopped and the marching band left the stage. The High General stepped forward as a hush swept over the crowd. It became eerily silent. He stood there for a minute, surveying the scene, as if he were taking in the solemnity of the occasion. Finally, he spoke.
“Thirteen days ago, we were ruthlessly attacked by an unprovoked aggressor. The attack came without warning and without justifiable cause. Many Torian lives were lost. This magnificent space station we are all on—the pride of Torian accomplishment—was targeted in particular. Tremendous damage has been done to her, which may take years to repair, at great cost.
“One of our worlds was also invaded in the attack. Two cities had large areas reduced to rubble. Unarmed villagers were murdered with hand weapons outside their homes. In addition to all this, innocent civilian captives were taken prisoner and carried away.
“The perpetrators, as you all know by now, have been identified—but their motivations remain a mystery. They are a fellow member of the ancient Erob Coalition, something which now appears to have become meaningless. Moreover, they recently visited this station under the ruse of seeking to establish diplomatic relations.
“The question of how we should respond is inconveniently imposed upon us. How can we possibly attain a measure of restitution? Perhaps the only thing uglier than outright treachery is the prospect of engaging in interstellar war, especially in foreign space.
“In the new era we find ourselves thrust into, defending our home becomes our top priority. All our leaders are in agreement on this. Foreign policy will change, and new military defense systems will be implemented. We must become secure, and take active measures to keep ourselves safe in the future.
“But that doesn’t mean we simply ignore this provocation of war in the meantime. Our fellow Torians have b
een abducted, and we know where they are. As luck would have it, they appear to be in a position that is not currently secured by the enemy. A window of opportunity has opened for us. With new technology, new leadership, and even new friends…” he looked to the area where the humans were seated, “we can move to rescue them. We will move to rescue them, because our conscience and sense of duty leaves no alternative under the circumstances. You who are before me on the floor—the honor of righting the horrible wrong inflicted upon us is yours. Be of good courage, and get the job done. The eyes and hearts of all of Tora are upon you. Retrieve that which was taken from us.”
The general stepped back and the room erupted in cheering. Perry was on his feet, whooping and waving his fist in the air, along with several natives near him.
Nunon4 now stepped forward. The room eventually quieted again, but nowhere near as quickly or completely as it had when the general was in front.
“Friends,” he began. “My name is Nunon4. My home was destroyed in the attack. Good friends and neighbors were killed before my eyes. My son and I were fortunate not to have become casualties ourselves. But my closest companions have been heartlessly abducted by lawless fools.”
The room became perfectly silent again at those words.
“What the High General said is correct. A new era has begun, one which requires prudent steps be taken in order to keep that which we have all come to take for granted. Our liberty and prosperity is at stake. Wisdom demands the protection of valuables, especially those which cannot be replaced.
“Where law lapses, folly fills the void. In the current age, there are many who no longer consciously regard Erob law. Even so, I suspect most Torians still do regard it in their hearts, whether their mind acknowledges this or not. When total disregard of the law occurs, societies deteriorate into outright rebellion against wisdom. There is no other place to go, when that happens, than into the waiting embrace of folly. The law is the guide which steers us away from folly and keeps wisdom near. Acts of unprovoked aggression can only originate with those who have shunned the law’s guidance and have made folly their bedfellow. It is a tragedy, something to be greatly lamented, when witnessed.