by L. E. Thomas
Gripping his shoulder one last time, she shook him. “I won’t let anything happen to you out there, all right?”
“Thank you.”
Pavlosky approached his Interceptor, taking one last look at Ryker before he slipped on his helmet.
“Defector One” glanced back at her. The woman slowed, allowing her to catch up as they walked down the line of Zahlian fighters.
“Don’t give him any hope,” the woman pilot whispered. “Be better for us all to die out there.”
“I don’t think so,” Ryker said. “There will be a way. There has to be.”
The woman stared at her with a cold expression. “At what cost?”
Ryker opened her mouth to speak, but the words died at her lips. Instead, she asked, “Who are you?”
She shrugged, cocking her head to the side. “Does it really matter?” Locking her helmet into place, she saluted. “See you out there, Defector Three.”
Ryker turned away toward the final Interceptor in the line. Following the Marine’s gesture, she stepped up to her spacecraft. The Interceptors were lower than the Trident, and didn’t require the ladder. Sitting so low to the deck, the Interceptor looked like a race car resembling a U-shaped sea creature. She slid her fingers across the curved wing as she stepped toward the cockpit and locked the helmet in place. Lifting her leg into the cockpit, she settled into the seat and plugged her flight suit into the fighter.
With a rush of air, the oxygen shot into her suit and she tasted the stale recycled air. It was one thing the Zahl Empire and the Galactic Legion had in common: No one had improved the air quality onboard these fighters. She slipped her tablet into the slot and the control board came to life. Cycling through preflight, the whine of the engine and the whistle of the onboard computer signified the fighter was ready to fly.
“Defectors, this is the Enforcer,” Rampa’s voice sizzled in her ear. It reminded her of the time she’d spent in his torture chamber as he bombarded her with questions. “Follow your flight pattern to the ARC in orbit. We will depart the system as soon as you are on board.”
“Copy, Enforcer,” Defector One said. “Let’s move, Defectors.”
Ryker watched the two other Interceptors lift off the deck and float toward the circular opening in the hangar deck. Pulling back on the stick, she moved her fighter into line behind them. Her HUD remained dark except for the position coordinates changing as she moved away from the ship. The shape of the two Interceptors in front of her caused her finger to linger over the trigger. Shaking her head, she fought back her instinct to fire. Countless hours of Legion sim pods had trained her brain to see the Interceptors as the enemy. Now, she was flying one.
Once her Interceptor passed through the hangar, she caught her first glimpse of where she had been held for the past months. Immense forests stretched over rolling hills in all directions, interrupted by vicious cuts into the landscape by what appeared to be logging efforts. Massive fires pockmarked the planet’s surface, sending trails of black smoke streaming into the air. Either there had been a recent battle on this world or someone had carried out an intense planetary bombardment.
“Defectors,” her flight commander said, “going into orbit. Stay with me.”
“Copy,” Ryker said.
The Interceptors shot forward, increasing speed as they headed into low orbit. The sky soon dissipated from blue to black, and she saw the looming shape of the Enforcer ahead. Beyond, she saw—
Her mouth dropped open.
A massive fleet filled the space in orbit, swarming like bees around a hive. The scene was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her years with the Legion. She counted six ARCs and hundreds of Interceptors moving toward each of them, preparing to land. Three MUDs identical to the vessels that captured her landed with precision on the Enforcer. Through her time in Legion briefing rooms, she had heard whispers of the might of the Zahlian Navy and dreamed—or feared—what an invasion fleet would actually look like. Now, she saw it first-hand. A shiver shot down her spine as she realized the Zahl Empire had hundreds of identical fleets operating across a territory larger than all of the Legion and much more densely populated.
Some of her former commanding officers spoke of an impending war with the Zahl Empire. With the force gathering around her, she wondered how the Legion could withstand such a threat.
“Defectors, this is the Enforcer,” Rampa transmitted. “You are clear to land.”
As she followed the other Interceptors to land in the Enforcer’s hangar, she wondered if Rampa had been correct about the immense power of the Zahl Empire. If nothing could defeat it, what would be the point in fighting? The Legion needed to know what she had seen. If she could possibly find a way—
Pain shot through her body like flames touched her skin. She forced herself to focus on landing the fighter. One quick thought flashed across her mind of ramming the fighter into the ARC, but she remembered Rampa’s promise to eliminate their loved ones.
Yes, she thought, there was truly no escape. She was a Zahlian pilot.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Task force is dropping out of the space lane in thirty seconds,” Captain Rufino Rampa transmitted through the crystal clear gamma wave on board the Zahlian Interceptor. “Prepare to launch on my command. Once you are underway, proceed directly to your patrol sector and destroy any ships attempting to leave the system.”
Ryker “Defector Three” Zyan swallowed. Her hands trembled. Interlocking her fingers together, she popped her knuckles and looked around the foreign cockpit of the Zahlian Interceptor. After rechecking the status of her fighter, she glanced down at the crimson uniform over her life-support suit. She felt bulky in the cockpit compared to the primary flight suit the Legion had expected her to wear. A wave of sadness fell over her as she realized she would probably never see the Legion again. Rampa expected her to fly into battle and kill for the “righteousness” of the Zahlian Empire. She couldn’t do it. She wouldn’t.
The implant forced her stomach to roll over, sending a wave of nausea through her system once again. Think about something else, she thought. Think about my comrades. Think about this mission.
“You heard the captain, Defectors,” said the woman Ryker knew only as Defector One. “Once we are clear of the ARC, fall in behind me just as we practiced in the sims.”
“Copy,” Nicholas “Defector Two” Pavlosky said.
Ryker closed her eyes, nodding through her flight check. Today would be just like any other confrontation. Protect your people, survive to fight another day. That’s all. Since the world of Tarrafa or NPT-six-two-three was a dark world on the opposite side of Zahlian territory, she could anticipate no Legion presence. It provided a slight sense of comfort in her mind knowing she wouldn’t be facing any Tridents today. But the comfort was fleeting. She didn’t want to face off against anyone in her Zahlian Interceptor.
“Dropping out of the lane in three seconds,” Rampa said, excitement rising in his voice. “Two. One. Now.”
The hangar lights flickered. A moment later, the outer door opened to reveal a field of stars above a green and brown planet. Craning her neck for a better view, Ryker stared down at Tarrafa. For an instant, she imagined the millions of people on the planet who would have their entire world shattered on this day as invaders descended from the stars.
Beside her Interceptor, the troop transports in the hangar lifted off, hovering for an instant before shooting out into the stars. Four Interceptors flying outside met the convoy, forming into an escort position. The group gathered in front of the ARC and shot toward the planet. Across her view, hundreds of other vessels entered the atmosphere.
“Defectors,” Rampa said, “you are cleared to launch.”
“Roger, Enforcer, engaging,” One said. “Deflector flight on me.”
Ryker nodded, pulling back on the stick and feeling the Interceptor lift off the deck. The Interceptors soared into space, flying directly toward their patrol position.
Nothing but Zahlian craft appeared on her sensors. Looking around, she saw the ARCs and dozens of support craft establishing a perimeter in high orbit. An endless stream of smaller ships and fighters swarmed toward the planet, disappearing as they entered the atmosphere.
“Enforcer, this is Defector One. We have reached our patrol sector and will begin our patrols.”
“Excellent,” Rampa said. “Nothing gets off the planet. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
One took the point position with Ryker and Nicholas taking up position on her wing. Taking a deep breath, Ryker settled into her cockpit, alternating between staring into deep space and gazing at the planet below. One hour passed. Then two.
Families were being subjugated and forced into Zahlian service at this very moment. By the end of the day, the Zahlian forces would have taken control of most of the major population centers. People would fight back; they always did even when a greater force was at their doorstep. The odds would be impossible, but they would still fight. And thousands would die. She remembered as much from her upbringing on the war-torn world of Lian.
As opposed to the “hands off” Legion policy toward dark worlds, Rampa had said the Zahlian Empire would have intervened and prevented the carnage on Lian from occurring. They would have moved in and taken out all the warring factions, ushering in a new era of peace and prosperity. When she looked at his words without bias, Ryker had to concede Rampa’s ideas had merit. But conquering worlds in the name of peace and prosperity seemed wrong. Wasn’t it?
Her sensor flashed red, the HUD glowing the color of blood and washing her cockpit in its light. Checking the readout, she saw three incoming vessels fleeing the planet and driving hard for deep space. Two seconds later, the full information of the incoming vessels popped on the lower right corner of her HUD. The largest of the ships was a bulky freighter with two turret weapons on the top and bottom of the craft. The other ships were two smaller fighters flying escort. Perhaps no one else had seen the fleeing ships.
“Defectors, Enforcer,” Rampa said. “We have picked up a collection of ships heading into your sector. Pursue and disable. Use of deadly force is authorized.”
“Copy, Enforcer,” One said. “We will engage. Follow me.”
We can’t do this. We can’t. “Copy,” Ryker said, adjusting course to fall into position behind her leader. “We are right with you.”
Turn away. What are you doing? You are flying a Zahlian Interceptor. You can’t do this.
Ryker winced, forcing the voice in her head to the back of her mind.
The fleeing forces split up, apparently picking up the upcoming Zahlian vessels for the first time. The freighter adjusted course and headed for deep space. The smaller fighters turned around, heading directly for their position.
“Defectors, this is One. Break formation and engage the incoming fighters. I’m heading for the freighter. Join me when the fighters have been neutralized.”
You cannot do this. “Copy,” Ryker said through her teeth. “Will do.”
One’s Interceptor lifted above them, bearing down on the freighter in the distance. Ryker focused on the incoming fighters, moving her crosshairs onto the incoming ships.
“Two, you with me?” she asked.
A pause. “I-I copy, Three.”
“Keep your cool and—” Ryker swallowed, the memories flooding back, rushing through her mind like a tidal wave. “Stay frosty.”
The Tarrafa fighters dropped below one hundred MUs. Ryker armed her missiles and attempted to get a lock.
What are you doing?
Stop it.
If you do this, you can never come back. You will never come back from this, Ryker!
I have no choice.
Yes, you do.
“Trying for a lock,” she heard herself say as if she watched herself from afar. “Ten seconds.”
The enemy fighter didn’t even try to evade. It remained on a course right for them as if he couldn’t detect her attempt at a missile lock.
“I can’t do this!” Nicholas yelled. He screamed, his voice ripping through the gamma wave like a dying animal. “Ah! No! I can’t do this!”
“Stay cool, Two!”
“No!” Nicholas yelled, fear taking over his voice. “You said you’d protect me!”
“Get back in line! Form up with me!”
“I-I … can’t!”
Ryker watched as Nicholas’ Interceptor broke formation, flying away from the incoming fighters and heading toward deep space.
“Two!” she yelled.
An inhuman shriek bellowed into her earpiece. Nicholas.
Ryker winced, turning around to look at Nicholas’ Interceptor. She saw the fighter go limp, all evidence of piloting ceasing. The Interceptor jerked once and headed back toward the Enforcer.
“Two has been disabled,” Rampa cooed into her earpiece. “Finish your mission, Three.”
Ryker pursed her lips. I want to kill you. I want you to suffer. “Copy, Enforcer. Moving to engage.”
The Tarrafa craft moved in for the kill, filling the space around her Interceptor with laser fire. One moved directly in front of her. The other came from above, shooting down at her as it closed. Her body relaxed, the grip on her stick lessening. They can have me.
Two bolts clipped her wing, and she closed her eyes. It would be over in a moment.
A surge of electricity shot through her body. Biting down on her tongue, she tasted the salt of blood filling her mouth.
“Engage, Three,” Rampa said. “You must. Engage!”
Ryker cried out, gripping the stick and pulling her Interceptor toward one of the incoming fighters. The crosshairs burned red. With her missiles still armed, she screamed and squeezed the trigger twice. A flash of light shot under her wing as two missiles ignited. They shot toward the enemy. Both missiles struck the fighter before the pilot reacted, consuming the craft in a ball of fire.
She pulled up, bringing the second fighter to bear. The bandit spun away from her, attempting to flee. With tears streaming down her face, she pursued. She switched to the pulse lasers. Increasing speed, she pulled within range. Her throat constricted, her finger hovering over the trigger.
I can’t.
Burning electricity tingled through her body. I can’t take the pain anymore.
Without thinking, she kept her Interceptor behind the enemy fighter. The lasers were hot and ready, but she hesitated.
“Please … no,” she said out loud. “Don’t make me. Don’t make me do this. Please.”
Rampa grumbled into her earpiece. “You know the punishment for betrayal. These people have resisted your Empire. Do it.”
“Please! I’m begging you!”
“Do it!”
The pain sizzled in her mind. She pulled the trigger. Rapid red bolts spit from her cannons, igniting the space around her target. Blinking away the tears, she saw a flurry of bolts connect to the outmatched Tarrafa fighter. The stabilizer melted, falling apart in a shower of sparks and sending the craft into a spin. Three bolts obliterated the canopy, cutting the vessel in half.
And then it was over.
The fires rapidly dissipated, leaving behind the blackened and charred remains of the destroyed spacecraft.
The threat of pain left her body. She sucked in a deep breath of the stale air.
“Good, Three,” Rampa said with a hint of satisfaction. “Good.”
Ryker stared into the fighter’s remains as they shot past her canopy. She wondered about the occupant. Did they have a family? Children? Were they tall? Short? Was it a man or a woman?
She had taken their life. What other lives had she ruined today because of her actions? She gazed into nothingness, a blank shroud falling over her body.
Ryker had killed before and destroyed enemies. But it had always been in the name of preserving freedom and keeping the forces of the enemy at bay. Today was different. She was the evil the rest of the galaxy resisted.
Banking her fighter, R
yker stared down toward the planet. An entire world would be suffering the same fate today. Nothing would ever be the same for these people, and the Zahlian Empire would gain another world while the Legion remained stagnant. Rampa was right: The Zahl Empire would conquer all eventually.
“Three, this is Defector One. The enemy freighter has been disabled. Form up with me to await the Marine forces. Prepare to fly escort while they board.”
Ryker swayed in her cockpit, her mind drifting. I cannot do that, One. “I copy,” she heard herself say, “I am inbound to assist.”
The Interceptor rested on its skids, coming to a stop on the polished deck of the Enforcer’s hangar bay. With her mouth hanging open, Ryker watched the crew and two Marines rushing toward her spacecraft. Her suit smelled of sweat and her hair was matted against her skull.
The canopy opened with a whine of servos. The airtight flight suit released, and the smell of fuel and steel from the hangar flooded into her nose. To her right, mechanics swarmed Defector One’s Interceptor. To her left, Two—Nicholas Pavlosky—had landed. Beyond, she watched a dozen more Interceptors landing like swarming insects.
Ryker took a deep breath as she stared toward Nicholas. His canopy opened, and medical personnel pulled his still body from the cockpit. They placed him on a stretcher.
“No!” she gasped, releasing the safety restraints and leaping out of her cockpit.
“Hold it, pilot!” a Zahlian Marine sneered, raising his rifle to bear on her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She pointed toward Nicholas. “My comrade is hurt.”
“He’s dead.”
“What?” Ryker blinked. “Why?”
The Marines glanced at one another, their expressions hidden by their helmets. “He betrayed the mission.”
Captain Rampa strolled across the deck, casting an appraising glance at Defector One as if he assessed the value of a prized steed. Nodding, he moved toward Ryker.
“Captain Rampa,” she said, controlling her anger, “why was Ni—what happened to Defector Two during the battle?”
Rampa frowned. “He did not follow orders.”