by L. E. Thomas
What was that?
Austin’s body jolted, his muscles having grown rigid after listening in the cockpit for the past six hours. He turned up the volume on his earpiece and focused on the last transmission. It sounded like the voices discussed moving human cargo …
“Copy that, Station.”
Static.
“ETA? Captain needs to know.”
A pinging sound reverberated through the transmission.
“We are loading the prisoners in four hours. Freighter’s having engine trouble, though. Any way they could bring the operation back down here?”
“Ah, ground that’s, ah, probably not going to be acceptable. Can you bring up that time a bit?”
A pause.
“Need the full complement of guards to safely get the cargo onboard the freighter. Feisty bunch and I don’t want to have an incident, not with the way the captain is about his … what the hell do we call these people?”
“Ha!” The transmission squelched. “Doesn’t matter, does it? Look, just get them up to the station ASAP. Captain’s waiting. Station out.”
“No promises.”
Static.
Austin stared at the control board a moment longer. There had to be more, didn’t there? The intercepted communication obviously discussed the captured Star Runners, but he had to verify the freighter was heading back to the station. If the prisoners remained on the planet and he reported back they had been transferred to the orbiting station, more people would die in a fruitless operation.
He glanced at the time and leaned his head back. In less than five hours, he wouldn’t have enough power remaining to keep the shroud activated and make it home.
Biting his lip, he did a quick mental calculation. It’d taken him eighty minutes to fly down here, which meant he needed the same amount of time to get back out.
His heart sank. He didn’t have enough time. If he were going to verify the prisoners’ location, he needed to wait.
Why do these things always have to come down to the wire?
Closing his eyes, he listened for more transmissions. He heard nothing.
The clock dropped below eighty minutes, and he knew he would no longer be able to make it out of the system undetected. Where was this freighter? He couldn’t return without knowing for sure. If he did, he might risk the lives of Ryker and a crew of Serpents. He couldn’t control if the freighter took off, but he could control planning his next move.
Time to plot an escape route.
Activating his sensor, he watched the patrols in low orbit around the planet. The Interceptors patrolled in pairs. The one capital ship, the ARC docked with the station, seemed inactive and not prepared to pursue one Trident. If he moved fast enough, perhaps he could exit the atmosphere when the station was on the opposite side of the planet. That would leave only the patrolling Interceptors.
He glanced at the timer, saw he had sixty minutes left before his shroud deactivated. The realization he might have to go home a failure popped in his head. Lena said the Star Runners would be moved to the station, and the operations would begin. If that happened, it would be too late, and the Legion officers might die.
No, he thought, he needed to know for sure.
Thirty minutes left.
The Zahlian space station passed overhead, moving to the far side of the planet. The station orbited Nesteel every seventy-eight minutes. If he was going to move, it had to be now.
Activating his engines and clenching his teeth, Austin felt his seat rumble. Leaves swirled around his fighter, his engines sending dirt and wind swirling around the clearing.
Twenty minutes.
He had to leave. Prepping the curvature drive, he verified the coordinates for the Naroovian Salvage Yard and planned to return the same way he came. If he had to, he could deactivate the shroud and curve from low orbit. In all his training, however, the instructors always preached the curvature drive needed to be used in open space and not close to a planetary body. Otherwise, unforeseen variables entered the equation that could spell disaster for the ship entering the curve. He didn’t want to know exactly what that meant, but he might have no other choice.
Ten minutes.
Pulling back on the stick, he lifted the Trident over the tree line and locked his wings into place.
The gamma wave sizzled to life.
“Station, this is Ground. We are inbound to your position with the cargo.”
“Splendid. Captain’ll be happy to hear it.”
“We’ll meet you on the far side.”
His pulse pounding, Austin watched a rectangular craft rising from the mountain range.
An idea popped in his head, one allowing him to confirm the contents of the ship. He glanced at his fuel readings. It might cost him power for his shroud, but he had to know. If the Star Runners—and Ryker—had any chance of being rescued, it depended on the intelligence he was able to bring back.
Slamming the throttle forward, he pulled back on the stick and shot into the air. The force pressed him back as he focused his sensors on the freighter now below him. If he did one good pass of the vessel, he would know what was onboard.
The timer on his HUD adjusted for the sudden expense of fuel.
Two minutes.
He looked away. No going back now.
Adjusting course, he piloted the Trident over the freighter’s bow to ensure the sensors would get a good read. The beams engulfed the massive ship, sending back a substantial transmission of the cargo bay, the information compiling into his computer. He needed to check—
The HUD brightened. Austin sucked in a breath. He looked to the wing, saw the fighter’s hull materializing.
The shroud was losing power.
Shutting down his sensor sweep, he yanked back on the stick and threw all his power into the engines. If he was going to have enough fuel to make it back, he’d have to do it without his shroud.
The Trident shot into the clouds as the shroud sputtered, and stopped.
He was visible.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
“What was that, Defector Three?”
Ryker Zyan shook her head. “Say again, Tammer.”
Lieutenant Dom “Tammer” Jax, her wingman flying in an Interceptor in low orbit over Nesteel, paused. Since she’d returned to active flight status with an instructor flying along, Ryker had completed patrols with Jax by her side. She learned the man liked to shoot down freighters fleeing the doomed Nesteel revolution without asking questions. During every patrol, he searched the stars for easy prey.
“I thought I saw a flicker of energy on my sensors,” Jax said. “Sector Two Four from your position. You’re in a better position. Can you verify?”
She frowned. “Heading there now.”
Captain Tul Dapar grumbled from behind her in the Zahlian fighter designed for training purposes. “Just check it out so he’ll shut up.”
“Yes, sir.”
Ryker adjusted course. She focused on the point of bluish space at the edge of the Nesteel atmosphere. Space flickered and flashed, revealing a craft exiting the atmosphere.
“Captain,” she said in a monotone voice, “we have a bogey accelerating out of the atmosphere in Sector Two Four.”
Jax interjected. “Did I hear that right?”
“Cut the chatter, Tammer,” Dapar barked. “We’ll handle this.”
As the spacecraft moved away from Nesteel, Ryker’s heart sank. She recognized the fighter’s silhouette, would have recognized it anywhere.
It was a Trident.
Her mouth went dry, and she swallowed. “Captain, it’s a—it’s a—um, it’s a Trident.”
Dapar snorted. “Run your check again. The revolutionaries are not supposed to have access to Legion tech.”
“I didn’t run a check, sir.” She blinked, her eyes watering. “It’s a Trident, sir. I can see it from here.”
Dapar exhaled, his breath causing static in her helmet. “Tammer, you run cover from above. I want our pilot to t
ake care of this.”
“You sure, boss?”
“Run cover!” he yelled. “Defector Three, engage the bogey and order them to power down.”
“Sir?”
Dapar grunted. “You have a problem with orders?”
A familiar tingle of pain tugged at the back of her mind, sending a wave of terror through her body.
Not again. Oh, please, not again.
“Yes, sir!” she yelled, burying the throttle and moving on an intercept course with the fleeing Trident.
The sensors pinged off the bogey, revealing no transponder.
“Captain,” she said, “the Trident is not squawking a code used by the revolutionaries.”
“You expect this rabble to carry signs?” Dapar asked, his voice laced with disdain. “I ordered you to engage the bogey. Do I have to repeat myself?”
“No, sir.”
“Or perhaps I should notify Captain Rampa of your inability to immediately obey orders?”
Ryker swallowed. “Engaging the bogey, Captain.”
The Trident soared at one hundred MUs from her position, teetering on the edge of her weapons’ range. She keyed for a gamma wave.
“Unidentified craft,” she said, her mouth dry, “you have entered restricted space of the Zahl Empire. Power down and prepare to be detained. Refusal to comply with these directives will lead to the use of lethal force.”
No response came from the Trident, but the fighter slowed.
“No response, Captain,” she said on the internal comm. “The bogey is slowing, however. Your orders?”
“Repeat the message,” he said with a sigh. “Scum would’ve curved out if he could have by now. I detect no active Lutimite Drive. Fool must be trying to flee on standard engines. Idiot.”
“Yes, Captain,” she said, keying for the gamma wave and repeating the message.
The wave popped, and she heard someone exhale.
“Scorpion? Is that you?”
Ryker’s eyes widened, and she lost the grip on her stick. Her fighter drifted off course, and the Trident exited her crosshairs. Her heart pounded in her ears.
That voice.
“Three?” Dapar asked. “What did the bogey say?”
She swallowed, her chin quivering.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said when she didn’t reply. “Engage! Now!”
A shock ignited her spine, and she launched into action. Moving her fighter within gun range, she fired the pulse lasers toward the Trident. The bogey spiraled away from her. She jerked the stick back, trying to get the crosshairs on the enemy. The bogey pulled up and dived back, moving in and out of her target area.
“Quit screwing around!” Dapar yelled.
“I’m … trying,” she said through her teeth.
Squeezing the trigger, she ignited the space around the Trident. The bolts filled the air around the bogey, but none found their mark.
“Request permission to move in?” Jax asked.
“Granted,” Dapra said, concern in his voice. “This bogey’s got the moves. We’ll flush him toward you.”
“I like this plan.”
“Defector Three,” Dapar said on the internal comm, “continue your pursuit.”
“Copy,” she said just above a whisper.
One of her laser bolts struck the Trident’s wing, sending a shower of sparks into space.
“Scorpion,” the gamma wave voice said. “This isn’t you. You hear me? Remember Oma. Remember us. I’ll give you everything I got. You hear me? Everything I got!”
Her face crumpled as the Trident reversed course and shot past her canopy. The voice … Austin’s voice.
“What the hell are you doing?” Dapar lashed out. “Pursue! He went right around you! I’m taking over the controls! Tammer, we need help!”
As the captain took control of the fighter, the voices trailed away as if at a great distance. Her vision lost focus as her head swayed with the fighter’s movements.
Austin, she thought, you’re here. How? Why?
“The traitorous scum has opened a curve!” Tammer yelled.
“I’m firing on him!” Dapar screamed.
Dimly, Ryker stared at the sensors and saw the fighter vanish from the screen. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath.
“He got away!” Dapar slammed his fist into the canopy. “You let him get away!”
A memory clicked in her mind of another time the same Star Runner got away from her. A smile crept across her face, but a river of nausea flushed into her stomach at the rebellious thought.
Shaking her head, she blinked away the emotion. “I am sorry, Captain.” The corner of her mouth arched in a tight smile, and she risked the pain she knew would come. “The bogey was too good.”
“I monitored your last patrol,” Captain Rufino Rampa said, his eyebrows arching as he stepped into the locker room. “Any idea where the Trident came from?”
Ryker washed her face. Pulling a cloth from her skin, she shrugged. “No idea, Captain.”
“Oh, come now,” he said, leaning against the sink and watching her. “A Trident shows up here on Nesteel, and you don’t have any theories?”
Frowning, she took a deep breath. “Many factions and pirates steal Tridents and use them for illegal purposes against the Zahl Empire. We will destroy all who resist our authority.”
Rampa rubbed his chin and grunted. “Well said. Almost as if you wanted me to think you agree with everything I say.”
Ryker’s mouth opened, but her retort died. “I only live to … to serve, Captain.”
“I know. I find it surprising you weren’t able to take down this rogue fighter, however.”
“The bogey was very good.”
He leaned close to her, his breath touching her ear. “I thought you were better.”
Clearing his throat, he strolled over to the hatch leading to the corridor. The tension in her chest eased the moment he walked away.
“One more thing, Defector Three,” he said, pausing at the hatch. “Did you know the bogey pilot?”
Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath. Clenching her jaw, she turned around to face him.
“I do not associate with pirates, Captain.”
He stared at the ceiling. “Ah, I see. I thought for a moment there was a hint of recognition in your voice when the bogey communicated with you.”
“I did not—”
“Liar!”
She recoiled at his outburst. Rampa stomped across the room, his eyes boring into hers. Seething, he stood two paces from her.
“The call sign in your former life was ‘Scorpion.’ Was it not?”
Closing her eyes, she nodded.
“How did this filth know it was you?”
“I don’t know.”
Rising his hand into the air, he slapped her across the face. The world flashed, and she balanced on the sink.
“I don’t know how he knew!” she screamed. “Please! Don’t!”
Grabbing her shoulders, Rampa pulled her close. “Do you realize how much I have invested in your success? Do you? An entire new batch of pilots is on the way for treatment. You are the prize of this project. You mean everything to me. Do you understand?”
Easing his grip, he pulled her head onto his shoulder. “Now, now,” he said, his voice hissing in her ear. “You should have reported your recognition directly to me when you returned. Now I will have to increase the pain signals in your implant to avoid any other hiccups in your obedience. I cannot have any variables threaten what you and I have accomplished. Understood?”
Her face quivering, she stared at the wall. How she wanted to smash his face into the sink and kick—
Nausea shot through her, and her skin tingled as if it lingered over a flame. Closing her eyes, Ryker emptied her mind as she had learned to do to avoid the pain. She thought of loyalty to the Zahl Empire and the need to obey her commanding officer.
The pain subsided.
“I understand,” she said without moving her mout
h. “I live to serve.”
“Yes, you do.” Releasing her, he stared into her eyes and touched her chin. “Such beauty. Such a flawless creature. It is a shame you were born to be such a good pilot. I can think of so many other professions where your other attributes could have been put to great use.”
Holding his gaze, Ryker offered a tight smile. “Thank you, Captain.”
His expression softened, the redness from his outburst fading from his face. “You are most certainly welcome, Pilot. I will be transferring you back to the station for your training so I can … keep a better eye on you.”
Turning around, he strolled to the hatch and paused at her sink to give his face a once over in the mirror. He wet his finger in the sink and slid it across his eyebrow.
“This was no pirate Trident, and I can think of only one reason why the Legion would send one of their own all the way out here,” he said, his gaze fixated on his reflection. “Your comrade, Defector One, has somehow survived to give up details of our operation here, and this rogue Trident came to verify the story.”
Ryker grimaced. “I thought you said Defector One was killed.”
He snorted. “I think I know how they did it,” he said, ignoring her.
“Did what, sir?”
“Brought a Trident all the way out here to Nesteel,” he said, bringing up both hands to make touches on his face. “The Legion has always thought the Zahl Empire to be an ignorant beast—usually to their detriment. But we have calculated the maximum range of a Legion Trident’s curvature drive, and there are only a few places where this Star Runner would have been able to curve in without being detected. Most are in highly congested areas or right in the middle of space lanes, but I believe I know where this rogue pilot initiated his final curve to reach Nesteel.”
Finished with his personal inspection, Rampa turned to face her. His expression darkened.
“Believe me,” he said, “the Legion won’t pass through the same way again. If they do, they will pay for their arrogance.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
“You are a sight for sore eyes!” Major Jonathan Nubern yelled as the Trident’s cockpit opened with a hiss of hydraulics.