by Dan Moren
Brody raised his hands and sidled away from the keyboard. “Particular, isn’t he?”
Kovalic shrugged. “He knows what he’s doing.” He turned and wandered over to look at the giant contraption that dominated the engine compartment; Brody followed after him. The two large discs were still rotating slowly, but nothing else seemed to be happening. “Kind of dull looking, isn’t it?” Kovalic crossed his arms over his chest. “I always thought spaceship engines should be more impressive. Flashing lights, glowing tubes, that sort of thing.”
“You can blame all those science-fiction vids for that,” replied Brody. “Real engineering is rarely as impressive as it looks in other people’s imaginations.”
Kovalic snorted. “Yeah, I’ve seen what passes for a war story.”
They lapsed into silence, but the younger man was unable to keep himself from fidgeting.
“What’s on your mind, Brody?”
He hesitated. “What’s going to happen to my brother?”
“Well, assuming we do in fact manage to get out of here without the Illyrican home fleet turning us into a giant ball of dust, I imagine that Agent Rhys will deliver him back to Caledonia, where he’ll be tried in a court of law and convicted—the Illyricans will see to that.”
Brody ran one hand through his hair; the other covered his mouth, through which he exhaled slowly. “Treason’s a capital crime in Illyrican law.”
“Yes.”
Brody’s eyes slid to Kovalic, his hand still over his mouth. He spread his fingers slightly to speak through them. “Kovalic, he’s my brother. He’s done terrible things, I know, but he’s still my brother. I don’t want him dead.”
“You’d better hope he gets a hell of a lawyer, then.”
Brody opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a ping from the console. Kovalic glanced over his shoulder at the display. The green dot that represented the ship had intersected with the glowing red circle and, even as they watched, it moved deeper into the shaded area surrounding Illyrica.
“We’ve hit the outer defensive perimeter,” said Kovalic. “Keep your fingers crossed. Page?”
“I’m going as fast as I can.” Tension was bleeding through his usually stoic demeanor. “If you’ve got another idea, I’m all ears.”
Kovalic frowned, then looked back toward the engine. “Wait a second. We’re in a jump-ship. Why don’t we just jump the hell out of here?”
“Not that easy,” said Page absently. “We’re too far into Illyrica’s gravity well, and wormholes are gravimetric phenomena. It’s like trying to dig a hole on the beach when you’re below tide—the waves will keep filling it up.”
Brody and Kovalic stared at him and the silence was enough that Page paused to look up.
“What? I studied theoretical physics at school. Here.”
Page looked back down at the console and touched a few keys. A new overlay faded into view on the system chart. It was considerably larger than the defensive perimeter, which was outlined in red. The green dot that represented the gate was just outside of it, on the far side of the planet.
“Shit,” said Kovalic, looking at the display. “In that case, keep working, lieutenant.” He stepped out from under the catwalk and looked up at Tapper, who was leaning on the railing, carbine in hand. “How we doing, sergeant?”
“Still clear, cap.”
Rhys had stepped over to join them again, her mouth set in a firm line. “There are still five unaccounted for, including Dr. Graham.”
“Maybe they circled back to the bridge?” Brody suggested. “To try and take control?”
“Not the most reassuring idea I’ve heard all day,” said Kovalic, eyes flicking in that direction. “I’d say we should try and track them down, but they’ve got the advantage in numbers, and we need Page here to get the console unlocked, Tapper to cover us, and Brody to fly this thing if we ever get it working. That leaves you and me, Rhys, and while I’m in no way questioning your competency, I see no reason to stack the deck against us.”
“Agreed.” Rhys pulled her hair back and fastened it with a tie. “We’ve got Eamon. We get control of the ship and the advantage is ours. I’d recommend we fortify this position.”
Kovalic nodded to the doorway they’d come in from. “That’s the biggest vulnerability right there. It must have some sort of security door for situations like this. Or in case of a reactor meltdown. If we can lock this room down, then we won’t have to spread ourselves as thin.”
“You think they’ll try to attack us here?” Brody asked, glancing around as though a sniper might take a shot at any moment.
“It’s what I would do.”
“It’s what you did,” Brody pointed out.
“There you go.”
“I’ll look for the security door controls,” Rhys volunteered.
Kovalic nodded. “I’ll check the perimeter for any other entrances.”
“What the hell am I supposed to do?” asked Brody.
“Sit tight and get ready to fly.”
Easy for you to say, thought Eli as Kovalic slipped away. Just sit down and fly a totally unfamiliar ship after five years during which he could count on one hand the number of times he’d even been aboard a spacecraft. Not that Kovalic seemed like the kind of guy to accept excuses, even if they were reasonable. He looked over at Page, his lanky form hunkered over the authorization terminal, and then at the tactical display. They’d hit the gate in about fifteen minutes. His eyes shifted back and forth between Page and the display, his stomach sinking with a lead weight of realization.
“There’s no time,” he said slowly. “I’ll never make it back to the bridge before we reach the gate. Especially not with another half dozen commandos running around.”
Page didn’t look up from the terminal. “That’s going to be a problem, yes.”
Eli took a deep breath. Wait, this may be an experimental prototype, but it’s still an Illyrican ship. Interchangeable little cogs. The Illyrican Navy put an emphasis on modular control functions, so there were few tasks that were really tied to a single place on the ship. That way, if a certain location—the bridge, for example—was compromised, whether by hostile forces or by some sort of physical damage, command-and-control could be rerouted elsewhere. To almost any other console, in fact. Such was the glory of software.
“I think I can transfer the pilot controls down here.”
Page raised an eyebrow, his gaze still firmly on his console. “I’d suggest you not waste time talking about it, then.”
Thanks for the encouragement. Now he just had to remember how to do it. He turned to the console next to Page’s and, flexing his fingers, dove in.
Fortunately, the Illyrican software hadn’t changed much in five years. This ship was running a modified version of the Mark IV operating system that had been standard when he’d still been in the service. Typical military, resistant to upgrades. At first the memories came slowly, but once his fingers started moving over the keys they flooded back.
Send helm controls to console—he glanced at the small ID plate on the machine in front of him—E/178C. Yes, I am bloody sure, he grumbled to himself as it asked for confirmation. An authorization dialog box popped up, requesting an administrator code.
“Uh,” he said, looking sidelong at the man next to him. “Don’t suppose you’ve got an authorization code I could borrow?”
Page tapped in a few more commands and Eli’s screen suddenly went from the red “access denied” graphic to a green “access granted.” “Helm controls unlocked,” said Page, drawing himself up to full height and stretching his back. He glanced at Eli’s screen, then reached over with one hand and keyed something in.
The engineering readouts winked out of existence, replaced by an extremely condensed version of the helm controls. Pitch, yaw, roll, and throttle readouts took up the majority of the top display, while the lower console’s touch-sensitive surface had been reconfigured for flying. That’s going to be interesting.
Placing his hands on the virtual controls, Eli gently tweaked the ship’s roll. The ship’s inertial dampeners compensated for the motion, but Eli could feel the ever-so-slight adjustment through his legs. All right, I’ve definitely got control.
“Page,” he said in an aside to the man next to him, “can you lock out everybody else? I’d hate to have to go through that whole rigmarole again.”
The tall lieutenant gave him a curt nod and turned back to his own console while Eli considered his situation. They were still on course for the gate, and, just as Eamon had predicted, nobody had moved to stop them. But as soon as we change course, they’re probably going to be on us like vultures … unless it’s an extremely gradual course change. Even a change of a few degrees on the current heading should end up taking them wide of the gate, but there was no way of knowing how much deviation Illyrica’s traffic controllers would accept.
Just one small decision, he thought. That’s all it takes to change everything.
He reached for the controls and, for the first time, noticed that his hands were shaking. Gripping the edge of the console, he willed them to stop. Easy. It’s just flying. It’s not like last time. It won’t be like last—
The bridge of the Sabaean warship hung right in the middle of Eli’s crosshairs. “You can all go to hell, you sons of bitches.” But he didn’t fire.
“Illyrican fighter, repeat: this is the Sabaean cruiser Dogs of War. We have you in our sights—stand down.”
The targeting reticle blinked red—there was no viewport looking into the bridge, but he could picture the hushed silence that had probably fallen over the crew there, waiting to see whether or not he’d pull the trigger.
“Green Seven, this is Green Two—” the voice of Kantor, the squadron’s second-in-command, sounded scraped raw, “—take the shot and move to point three five; I’ll cover for you.” Eli glanced at his HUD; Kantor was hanging aft and to his starboard, just inside the cruiser’s firing range.
The Sabaeans had dropped their jamming, so other voices filtered through Eli’s headset, interspersed with static. Yelling, pleading for help, even the occasional truncated scream accompanied by a stomach-wrenching shriek of metal and followed by an even more sickening silence.
The targeting computer’s audio cue was a solid tone in his ears—there was no way the shot could miss.
“Illyrican fighter,” said the Sabaean communications officer, “repeat, stand down.”
“Take the shot, Green Seven,” yelled Kantor.
Eli’s finger hovered over the trigger, but his mind felt like it had been dipped in liquid nitrogen. Frozen into a blank, like the outside voices didn’t exist. And suddenly, into that empty canvas, came a single thought.
I don’t want to be here.
It hit him with the force of a body slam, nearly knocking the breath out of him. What the hell was he doing here? How had he found himself with the power of life and death over hundreds of people he’d never met nor, really, had anything against? Except that they just killed your friends.
Of course, they’d have never had that opportunity if we hadn’t tried to invade.
His brain was thawing from its freeze and he didn’t like the way it felt: it ached terribly.
“Brody,” Kantor’s sharp voice broke into his thoughts. “Take the fucking shot. That’s an order.”
Training told Eli’s finger to squeeze the trigger, but something deeper than that held him back. There was no turning back; if he fired, he would kill people. This wasn’t the heat of the battle anymore, this was cold-blooded murder. And he’d be a murderer, despite whatever the medals pinned to his chest might say.
What medals? The Sabaeans blew their gate, remember? Nobody’s going to give you a medal, because you’re stuck here. One carrier and its fighters against an entire fleet. You can’t win.
The thought filled him with relief. They couldn’t win. It was impossible, no matter what had been drilled into them about being the best military ever trained. They weren’t Earth’s legendary three hundred Spartans holding off the Persian hordes—and besides, hadn’t they all died? Eli didn’t want to die. And he didn’t want to kill anyone else. And in that moment, his choice was made.
“Sabaean cruiser,” he said, his voice cracking, “this is Illyrican fighter, designation Green Seven. Standing down.” He punched the button that powered off the targeting computer and then throttled back on his engines to match the cruiser’s speed. His fighter hung above its hull like a baby fish floating next to its mother.
“That’s fucking treason, Brody,” shouted Kantor. “I’ll have your commission for this. I’ll see you court-martialed and execu—”
Eli flipped off the radio.
“Brody. Brody.” Someone shook him hard enough that he started and struggled away from them.
It was Kovalic. “You still with us?”
“What?” He looked around, but his head was still spinning. For some reason he was sitting on the deck, slumped against the console with both Page and Kovalic peering down at him. “Yeah. Yeah. Sorry.”
“What the hell happened there?” There might have been an edge of concern to Kovalic’s voice, but Eli assumed he was imagining it. Or he’s just worried about who’s going to fly this thing.
“I just—I—bad memories.”
Kovalic’s lips tightened into a grimace. “We don’t have time for this.”
A burning sensation spread through Eli’s chest, up from his stomach to his throat, until it poured out of his mouth as pure vitriol. He was on his feet before he realized it, shouting in Kovalic’s face. “I saw my entire squadron blown to fucking bits, Kovalic. Right in front of my eyes. And you know what I did? I surrendered. So fuck you. I’m a coward and a traitor, and I should be dead. So excuse me if I have a little trouble putting myself in that kind of situation again.” He ran out of steam and the anger was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving him shaking like a junkie coming down off a high.
Kovalic stood with crossed arms, taking the tirade in stride. “Got that out of your system?”
“I—yes.”
“I read your file, Brody. I know all about Sabaea.”
“Is this the part where you tell me it’s not my fault?”
“Oh, it’s absolutely your fault. You made a choice to stand down. That cruiser was a sitting duck—you could have taken it out with one shot. And, by the way, the flying needed to get into that position was not inconsiderable. I’m not going to tell you that your choice was right or wrong; that’s not for me to say. But in choosing not to fire that shot, you chose not to take lives. I can respect that.”
“People still died. People I knew. People I cared about.”
“They made their own choices, as we all have to.”
Eli didn’t say anything. He found himself staring at his hands—to his surprise, they weren’t shaking anymore. With a frown, he clenched and unclenched his fingers, as if seeing them for the first time, and found himself marveling that they responded to his thoughts. It was like he was floating outside himself.
A hand descended on his shoulder and he looked up to find Kovalic’s gray eyes upon him.
“Now you have to make another choice. What happened at Sabaea, it’s never going to go away. Trust me. But you can’t let it rule you. If you do, you’ll be more of a coward than Sabaea ever made you.” Kovalic nodded at the console behind Eli. “You can do this—I know it.”
“How?” Eli said miserably. “How could you possibly know that?”
Surprisingly enough, Kovalic smiled. “I saw the look on your face when we took that transport up from Sabaea. It wasn’t just space sickness, there was something else. Something deeper.” His eyes locked onto Eli’s. “Envy. Like somebody was dancing with your girl. You can’t give up flying—it’s part of who you are.”
Eli took a deep breath.
Kovalic squeezed his shoulder. “Now, get us the hell out of here.”
He straightened and gave Kovalic a nod in return. He could
do this. After all, flying was what he’d been born to do. It was the reason he’d left Caledonia, joined the Illyrican Navy, gotten stationed aboard the Venture. He was good at it. He could fly anything. It would take more than some hunk of junk bulk freighter to prove otherwise.
“All right,” said Eli. “Let’s do th—holy shit.” A shot ricocheted off the bulkhead just a couple of feet to his right.
“Oi!” shouted Gwen. She had her back pressed against the wall next to the door, pistol clasped tightly in both hands. “They’re coming!”
Eli looked around wildly but he couldn’t see who had taken the shot. Kovalic’s hand grabbed his upper arm firmly and the man locked his gaze on Eli’s once again. “Listen to me, Brody. You focus on flying this thing—we’ll watch your back. You need to trust us.”
There was little option but to nod in understanding. No pressure. Kovalic’s eyes had gone to Page, and he pointed to Eli. “Nothing happens to him, got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
And with another clap on the shoulder, Kovalic sprinted off to join Gwen. Eli turned his attention back to the piloting console. They’d lost even more time; avoiding the gate but still getting out of Illyrica’s gravity well was going to take a sharp course adjustment, and it wasn’t going to go unnoticed.
Eli nudged the slider for their heading, putting the ship on a new course that would take it toward one of the system’s other four planets, all of which were uninhabited. Fortunately, there ought to be enough of a gap between the two gravity wells to make the jump … if he could just figure out how.
“Hey, uh, Page,” he said, not lifting his eyes from the console. “So, you studied physics. Any idea how to create a self-sustaining singularity that lets us connect two disparate points in space-time?”
“We never got that far in the textbook.”
“Well, you’d better figure it out real fast. And find us some place safe to go when we do manage to get out of here.”
So far, so good, thought Eli, looking at the system overview. Their new heading was outlined as a solid green line, diverging from the dashed path that showed their previous course. At this heading and speed, they’d clear the gravity well in under ten minutes. And from there, home free. The sound of gunfire being exchanged echoed in the large space. Let’s just hope that they don’t hit anything vital.