Space Cruiser Musashi: a space opera novel

by Dean Chalmers

  And it worked; their altitude adjusted. The ship cruised past the crimson-peaked mountains—

  —but the surface was coming up, that rocky plain with needle-like spires rising fast to meet them.

  “Brace yourselves for impact,” Kane announced, “Brace for impact!”

  The surface rushed up on the main screen—

  And then the ship hit hard.

  The impact stunned Brattain, even though she was secured to her seat.

  Smoke filled the air. From somewhere to the front of the bridge there was an explosion, and bits of shrapnel ricocheted around the room.

  The main viewscreen display flashed out of existence—

  —and then the front wall crumbled. Reynard’s chair was uprooted and went flying through the air.

  Brattain caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

  She looked up.

  The bulkhead to her right was buckling. There was a horrible screeching, wrenching noise—

  —and then everything went black.

  #

  Stefan Sivarek had done all that he could.

  The cylindrical silo of Main Engineering was covered in a criss-crossing web of wires, and access panels were open everywhere. Somehow he’d done it—he’d been able to weave his web, and invert the gravity spike.

  Now, he was pinned to the ceiling of engineering, gravity still inverted as they came down.

  Nothing to do but wait and hope.

  He’d hacked into a holo-display of an exterior view. He watched as the ship slid along, plowing through dirt and water.

  It hit a low outcropping of rock, and the whole ship shook. Then it skidded into a formation of the needle-like rocky spires, shattering them.

  The impact from hitting the spires was enough to bring the ship to a sudden halt—

  —and at that moment, the negative gravity gave out.

  As always, Sivarek thought, I forgot to account for something: myself.

  He fell screaming, waving his arms—

  Only to be caught in his rewiring net. The wires stretched and bounced, breaking his fall.

  You saved me, Ship, he thought.

  If only I could do the same for you…

  #

  Cruz had expected to be dead.

  That was her old fighter pilot’s sense of cynicism working, the fatalism that was a part of their tradition.

  But yet—she wasn’t.

  She wasn’t really even hurt, as far as she could tell.

  There was smoke all around her, though. Coughing, moans…

  Damn it, people were hurt around her. Other people. Friends. Casualties and stuff. She didn’t know how she could deal with that. If it was her ass on the line, fine, but…

  She looked to Reynard. His chair was down on the floor, and he was on his back—his shoulder impaled by a thin hydraulic strut that had fallen.

  She hit her chair release and stood. “Jesus,” she said. “Shit, you look bad. Gotta get you out—”

  “No, Xue,” he said. “It’s just pierced muscle. There’s others… worse.”

  She glanced around. A sensor tech fell out of his chair, moaning.

  The Comm Officer was sprawled over her console, pinned by a section of bulkhead. Dead.

  But there was no sign of Brattain, and Cruz felt a strange feeling of panic in her stomach…

  She’d been so aware of the Commander, ever since the shuttle flight and when she’d come on board… Those intense green eyes staring out of her freckled face, always watching Cruz. Assessing her. Seeming to bore into her soul.

  It practically gave Cruz chills, although that wasn’t something she wanted to admit. Romanticism, love at first sight… and all that crap. Not something that would apply to her, with the wild life and all the lovers she’d had, right?

  But to think that her stern, red-headed Commander might be gone, snuffed out just like that—

  Maybe ‘cause of me, she thought. Maybe if I’d kept the bow up a little bit more when we came down or something?

  She searched around the smoke-filled bridge for any sign of Brattain.

  “There!” she said, spotting a pale, freckled hand sticking out from underneath a shattered console.

  “Commander?” Cruz asked, doing her best to pull the console aside.

  She was answered by a deep, feminine groan.

  She struggled with the console, trying to get it off of Brattain.

  She’s alive under there, she thought.

  There was someone else beside her, helping to lift the debris off.

  It was Captain Kane. He looked shaken, suddenly much older than he had before. But with his help, working together, they were able to move the debris aside.

  Brattain moaned. She seemed intact, anyway. But then, when she turned her head to the right—

  Oh balls, Cruz thought. That’s bad.

  Half of her face was covered in bloody gashes. There was a piece of jagged metal where her right eye should be.

  “Xon, what’s your status!” Kane shouted.

  He doesn’t even know if the comm works, Cruz thought. Don’t know if anything works. The ship smashed up bad.

  There were a few seconds of silence, then the Doctor’s voice came back over the comm. “We’re alright, Captain, but the wounded are all over the decks.”

  “Do what you can, Golan. We’ve got some more to bring down.”

  Brattain moaned again, staring up at Cruz with her one good eye.

  Cruz wasn’t sure what to do. I could make a little quip, tell the Commander I’m glad her firm ass survived intact?

  But even I know that’s not appropriate in these circumstances, she thought.

  Instead, she reached down with one slim hand and stroked the Commander’s bloodied, freckled forehead.

  “It’s alright,” she said. “You gonna be okay.”

  23

  It was dark in the crowded sickbay. Even darker for Brattain, since her vision was restricted to her left eye.

  Nurses rushed around, tending to the wounded in triage. Seutter still rested, unmoving, on a bed in the back.

  Jeremy sat in a chair nearby, drawing with his crayons. From what Brattain could see, it looked like the picture was one of their foes: the giants in the bony, organic armor—who’d seemed impervious to everything that they could throw at them.

  The emergency lights flickered; they’d been doing that for a while.

  Doctor Xon reached out, applying a patch of neuroplast material to Brattain’s right eye. He ran some instruments around the edge of it to secure the patch.

  “I’m afraid I can’t stimulate growth with the nanos until we get computers back online,” he said apologetically.

  The doctor seemed shaken, and shocked. He did not hesitate in performing his duties—and yet that grandfatherly persona of wisdom and confidence seemed to be gone.

  “Thanks, Doctor,” Brattain said. “There are others worse off. I was lucky.”

  On a nearby bed, Lieutenant Reynard stretched out. “You’re not the only one who was lucky, Commander. A couple more inches to the left, and I might not be here. I thought these old ships were supposed to be sturdy. I think I still have pieces in me…”

  He was naked from the waist up, and his shoulder area had been bandaged and patched.

  “Hey!” Cruz said, walking up to him, “Could’ve been worse, Jesus. Your right arm’s just gonna be sore for a bit, right?”

  The petite pilot turned to Brattain and gave her a smile. The smile was weaker than normal; less cocky… But somehow warmer, too, more authentic under the circumstances.

  Does she feel like she’s responsible somehow? Brattain thought. I know that feeling.

  Part of her wanted to summon Cruz over, to ask her sit on the bed beside her… Maybe rest her little head with the cobalt locks on Brattain’s shoulder.

  It would make me feel better, anyway, Brattain thought, but I have to maintain some level of composure.

  Captain Kane entered, looking somber
. Brattain thought that there were new lines on his face. If he’d looked old before, now he looked positively ancient. He wore some kind of blocky, holstered pistol on his right hip, and a sheathed sword on his left.

  “What’s the situation, Captain?” Brattain asked.

  He shook his head. “We’re not going anywhere soon. I started scouting for a good site to set up the shelters. The crew’s quarters were badly damaged in the crash.”

  He turned to Xon. “What are the casualties so far?”

  Xon sighed and responded slowly. “Six dead, twenty-one wounded. Any sign of the Valorians?”

  Kane shook his head. “Not yet.”

  Xon sighed again. “That’s not surprising. They’re savoring the moment. The Templars are… ascetics. Most pleasures are forbidden to them. But the anticipation of the execution of an enemy? The drama and the build up to that? They’re enjoying every moment of anticipation.”

  “Anticipation of what?” Brattain asked.

  “Executions,” Xon replied somberly. “They’ll make a show of it, a ceremony. They believe their faith drives them to do it.”

  Kane nodded. “In ancient times, religious fanatics often turned executions into drama. Crucifixions, beheadings, burnings at the stake…”

  “They’re gonna burn us?” Cruz asked, suddenly looking terrified.

  “Not with actual fire,” Xon replied. “But they can burn your mind. That’s their most potent weapon… But they have to get close.”

  Brattain thought of what she’d seen of the Valorians when they’d come on board. The two marines, clutching their heads, screaming, paralyzed by pain and unable to act…

  Attacked by psionicists, she thought. And I thought Seutter was the only possible threat on that account.

  Just then, coincidentally, Seutter bolted upright in his bed with a cry.

  Xon moved to him.

  As he reached for him, however, the Psionicist recoiled. “Don’t touch me,” Seutter snarled, “Valorian.”

  “Alright,” Xon said, raising his hands and backing off as the others approached.

  Seutter was shaking, gasping for breath, but he closed his eyes, pursed his lips… and seemed to make an effort to compose himself.

  “Golan,” Captain Kane asked Xon. “Is he talking about what happened up there?”

  “Captain,” Brattain said, “I doubt Seutter’s stable at the moment. I don’t think he knows what he’s saying.”

  Xon raised one hand and shook his head. “No, it’s true. I’m a Valorian by birth, sent to spy, long ago. But Harry, I broke contact with them years before we ever met. I never—”

  Brattain was stunned.

  How could what he was saying be true? That this shaggy old man was somehow akin to those inhuman things in the bone armor—that was ludicrous, wasn’t it?

  “How’s that possible?” She asked. “Your service records! And the Valorians are—”

  “As human as you are,” Xon replied. “Well… mostly. Evolved in zero G, but genetically human. Pure human, they claim. Original earth DNA. ‘Pure in God’s eyes.’ That’s what’s most important to them. There were some of us, chosen children, raised in planetary gravity. I was chosen, one of the best and brightest. Sent to the Colonies with forged records. And from there to the Republic.”

  “You’re a psionicist?” Brattain asked. “But Seutter didn’t know? No one else knew?”

  “No.” Xon shook his head. “I wasn’t trained that way. They thought it would be too much of a risk. A psionicist could be detected, subject to scrutiny. No, I was only to be used as a sort of sensor. A passive probe. And then they could scan my thoughts. But years ago, I inserted a neuro-block surgically into myself. Surprisingly easy.” He tapped his forehead. “Black market Corporate Worlds tech. I thought that it was my guarantee that they’d never be able to sense me, or find me. But when they got close, it seems to have failed me.”

  “Golan,” the Captain said. He placed his hand on the Doctor’s shoulder. “We’ll discuss this later. I want to you to know I trust you. I’ve always advocated for you. But are you with us?”

  “Yes,” Xon said. “Yes. I’ve always been with you. But Harry, I fear what we have to face. They’re only giving us time to compose ourselves so they can terrorize—”

  Suddenly, Sergeant Molokos burst into the room. The muscular, blue-skinned marine bellowed, “They’re coming down!”

  Xon turned to Kane. “I see you’re wearing your autopistol. Do we have other projectile weapons on board?”

  “The slugthrowers are in storage,” Molokos replied.

  “I suggest you use them,” Xon said. “Valorians can absorb and redirect energy weapons, but not projectiles.”

  Studying Xon for a moment, Kane nodded and turned to Molokos. “Get them. We’ll try the bullets.”

  “Right, Sir,” Molokos said, expressionless, and ran from the room.

  #

  The other officers went to tend to their various tasks—with an increased sense of urgency, now that the enemy was on the way.

  Xon was left with his nurses, the wounded and dying on the beds—and Jeremy and Seutter.

  Seutter was still sitting on his bed, glaring at Xon as if his eyes were lasers that could bore into his soul and burn out the truth.

  Xon opened his mouth to apologize, explain…

  But he didn’t know what he meant to say, and the words wouldn’t come.

  Seutter stood up. “Traitor,” he said. “You…” He grabbed his head and moaned. “Pain… death… fear… The crew, damn it! I can hear them all. Suffering. I can’t…”

  “I’ll get you a suppressant,” Xon replied. “I’m sorry, Graham.”

  “No,” the Psionicist said, shaking his head firmly. “I want to feel it. I want to know what you did to them, traitor! You’re no better than Griffin. All my life, feeling that hurt… The pain of others. Any time that I start to think that I’ve found a better place…”

  Tears began to rush down Seutter’s face. He slid to the floor and buried his face in his arms.

  Xon just stood there watching him; unable to approach, unable to console him… Knowing it would only make things worse.

  #

  Molokos and his marines jogged down the emergency ramp from the ship onto the black surface of the rocky moon, strewn with gravel and loose red chunks of iron ore.

  There were only six of the marines left, counting Molokos. Brattain knew that when the grazer turrets had been taken out, the Drones had been hit hard.

  Kane followed them down the ramp, walking slowly. Brattain walked alongside him. Xon was there, too, still holding the hand of the boy Jeremy.

  Is it wise to bring the kid out here? She wondered.

  But Xon had explained that, of all of them, Jeremy might be the most resistant to the Valorians’ psychic attacks due to his neurological makeup. And was it better to be outside than to end up dying inside the crumpled, wrecked hull of the ship?

  In the distance, the black ship descended. The Valorian vessel was still in the winged configuration reminiscent of a manta ray…

  But suddenly, it began to change shape. It coalesced into a domed shape, sprouting stubby legs like landing gear.

  The enemy vessel drifted down toward the landing trench that the Musashi had cut into the landscape as it had skidded to its final resting place.

  “Why come down?” Brattain asked. “They could just blast us from the air.”

  “This is all part of the drama,” Xon replied. “Their psionic powers are much more effective at close range… and they probably wanted to be sure of getting me. The Betrayer.”

  “Immature strategy is a sure cause of grief,” Kane recited.

  More of his ancient philosophy, Brattain thought. Would that help in their current situation? Would anything?

  Molokos brought over a thick plasteel case. He opened it, revealing five blocky rifles with square barrels and shoulder straps.

  “Here’s the slugthrowers,” Molokos said. “Asi
de from what my squad is equipped with, there’s only these five.”

  Kane nodded. “It’ll do. Your men know the plan?”

  Molokos nodded.

  Kane removed one of the slugthrowers from the case, walked over, and handed it to Brattain.

  “You ever use one of these, Commander?” he asked.

  Brattain nodded. “At the Academy. A long time ago.”

  “They have quite a kick,” Kane said. “Basic principles of this kind of weapon haven’t changed in a thousand years. But it’s the best chance we have. You’re in charge of defending the wounded and protecting the ship. Pick four able bodies, and make sure everyone else is inside.”

  Brattain was confused. “But Sir, regulations specify your place in a battle of this type…” He couldn’t be meaning to do what she thought he was?

  Kane shook his head. “Leaders don’t command from behind.”

  She’d expected that would be his response, particularly considering the weapons— the autopistol and the katana—that were holstered at his hips.

  The Engineer, Sivarek, emerged from the ship.

  Xon turned to him. “Stefan, take the boy, please. I think he’ll be comfortable with you, at least for the moment.”

  Sivarek nodded. “There’s not much more I can do now. I’m… I’m pretty useless in a fight, sorry.”

  Brattain turned to him and nodded, and forced a smile. “Mister Sivarek, we’d all be nothing more than a smear on the surface of this moon if it wasn’t for you reversing the gravity spike. You’ve done well.”

  “Thank you, Commander,” he replied, smiling. “Thank you. I, uh, I really appreciate that, I do. Thanks.”

  He took the boy and they headed back up the ramp.

  Meanwhile, Xon approached Kane. “Harry, be careful. They get inside your mind. Fool it into feeling pain that isn’t there.”

  Kane nodded. “It’s alright, Golan, I wish there was another way, too.” He turned to Molokos. “Let’s move into position.”