A Fiery Sunset

by Chris Kennedy

  Rick did his best to ignore it, sweeping the gun up. There was the dark figure again, eyes fixing on him even as its gun fired past Rick and hit where he would’ve been if he’d kept going. Like before, the crosshair wavered in the red-eyed demonic stare. He brought the gun up the rest of the way and sighted through the backup manual sights, stroking the trigger several times.

  The Grimm moved incredibly fast. Faster than a living creature should have been able to move. Rick tracked it, looking for a shot, only it didn’t come toward him. It leaped at one of the bridge panels. The schematic layouts of Détente in his mind told him it was the engineering controls even as the Grimm reached them. Oh no, thought.

  “LT, get out of there!” he yelled into the radio, as the engineering section and the rest of his squad disappeared in a titanic explosion.

  The blast imparted a brief, intense acceleration to the remains of Détente, sending Rick and the Grimm tumbling. An instant later, the rear of the ship effectively gone, the rest of the vessel experienced explosive decompression.

  Rick and the Grimm hurtled to the rear of the bridge. The ship’s air was expelled before they could be pulled through the hatch, but not before they were piled into each other. Rick’s armor sounded a dozen alarms on integrity, the worst being his mangled left arm. It sealed all of them, with various levels of success.

  The Grimm wasn’t wearing a spacesuit. To Rick’s fascination, it didn’t seem to care. The alien brought its pistol—a large hand weapon of unknown manufacture—around and tried to point it at Rick’s head. Rick responded by swinging his gun hand across, clubbing the Grimm’s weapon with his own. The Grimm’s gun flew away, and the alien responded by producing a knife from somewhere and stabbing Rick in the chest.

  The blade slid between two armor segments with almost uncanny accuracy, and into his body. He gasped from the pain, and the alien twisted the blade. Rick’s vision swam. The Grimm’s face came close to his helmet, its glowing red eyes studying him as the life went out of his body. There was no sound in the vacuum of the bridge, so Rick didn’t hear when the gun went off; he just saw the Grimm’s head explode.

  Rick floated away from the dead alien. He didn’t try to control his spin; he didn’t think he could if he wanted to. As he spun, he got a brief view of Johansson. She was halfway through the hatch, covered in vacuum-dried gore, her suit spewing atmosphere from a dozen breaches. Half the plumes were tinged red.

  “Thanks,” he said in a softer voice than he’d intended.

  “Least I could do,” she replied, barely a whisper. The gun floated from her hand as the leaks slowed and stopped.

  “Corporal Culper to James Armistead Lafayette,” he transmitted.

  “Corporal, we were afraid your team was taken out in that blast,” Captain Crispin replied.

  “Most of them were,” he said. “I think I’m the only one left alive. How’s your ship?”

  “We took some moderate damage,” she said, “but the blast wasn’t that bad from our position. Looks like a bad attempt at a fusion overload. How are you?”

  “Alive,” he said quietly, “for now.”

  “We’re sending over a rescue team.” Rick nodded, not aware she couldn’t see the motion.

  “Reporting the Grimm is dead. Inform Commander Cromwell the leak is dealt with.”

  “Well done, Corporal. You hang on, help is on the way.”

  “Can you patch me through to the Bucephalus, please, Captain?”

  “Sure, just a second.” As Rick waited, he remembered the time Jim had gotten around the school’s lockouts on adult sites, and the two 13-year-olds spent a glorious lunchtime studying the female anatomy. He smiled. He was tired. So very tired.

  * * *

  Jim hadn’t taken his eyes from the Tri-V tactical feed since the Hussars’ boarding team went onto the courier. Bucephalus had cut power after Détente was disabled and drifting. He’d watched and listened to what the James Armistead Lafayette relayed as the ambush was sprung, and the first marine died. My best friend who doesn’t remember me is over there fighting, he thought helplessly.

  Then, the entire rear of the courier exploded into a million pieces. It was still moored to the James Armistead Lafayette, and it sent both ships spinning. Captain Crispin got the two mated ships back under control, and everyone waited for the marines to check in.

  “Commander Cartwright,” the comms officer said, “I have a patch through to the boarding team.

  “Put it on,” he said, temporarily forgetting he wasn’t in charge. Captain Su didn’t say anything.

  “This is Commander Cartwright,” he said.

  “Jim,” a weak voice said. The sound of hissing was audible in the background. “Jimbo, is that you?”

  “Rick?” Jim gasped. “Rick, are you okay?”

  “Could be better. But I remember, Jim. I remember it all.” Jim felt his eyes glazing over with tears. In zero gravity, they didn’t fall away, he had to wipe them.

  “I was afraid you’d forgotten,” Jim said.

  “I had,” Rick said, “but it started coming back a bit ago. I guess the surgery by Nemo helped after all.” Rick gave a wheezing cough. On one of the CIC screens, Jim could see a team of spacesuited personnel pushing off from James Armistead Lafayette to float toward the ruined Détente. The docking collar must’ve been damaged in the explosion.

  “Hang on, Rick,” Jim begged, “help’s almost there.”

  “It’s okay, Jimbo,” he said, almost too quiet to hear now. “I’m just sorry I never got to be a Cavalier.”

  “You still can be,” Jim said. “I’ll buy out your contract after you’re better.” He waited for Rick to reply, but the line remained silent. “Rick, do you hear that? You hang in there, damn you. Don’t give up!” A full five minutes later, Captain Crispin came back on.

  “The rescue team reached the bridge,” she said. “I’m sorry, there were no survivors.”

  Sometime during the encounter Splunk had made her way to the CIC and was clinging to his uniform shoulder. The gentle sting of her claws was the only reassuring thing that kept him together. That and the knowledge that he was the Cartwright of Cartwright’s Cavaliers, on the CIC of his ship, in an alien star system, at war.

  “Commander,” Captain Su said, “I’m truly sorry for your loss. I understand he was your friend?”

  “My friend,” he agreed. My only friend. Splunk’s grip reminded him that wasn’t quite true. He somehow summoned enough self-control to speak again. “I’ll be in my cabin.” He pushed out of the CIC. The minute the door closed in his tiny cabin, he fell apart. He slid into the zero-gravity hammock and cried. It was all gone. What did he have left from before? Everyone was dead or gone. He was dimly aware of a delicate hand touching his pinplants, and then he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.

  * * * * *

  Chapter Fourteen

  EMS Pegasus, 2nd Level Hyperspace

  The porter finished delivering food to the command staff in Pegasus’ CIC, then left with the empty containers. The armored cocoon was a constant buzz of operations, now with the added sounds of the crew eating and drinking. Done in zero gravity, this took some extra management. Food was kept in containers, revealing bites only as they were taken. Drinks were taken from closed containers, sipped via a straw. Alexis gave her meal only cursory attention.

  “Routine update arriving,” Hoot announced.

  “Let’s see it,” Alexis said.

  During the first trip to 2nd Level Hyperspace, it was discovered that radio only carried a few kilometers. To get around the communications problem, Sato recommended using drones outfitted as messengers. Every four hours, a drone would be sent by each of the six shuttles reporting their progress. Once the messenger drones were within range, they broadcast the shuttles’ status updates.

  Because some of the teams had travelled further than others, the reports were spaced out over several minutes. It gave Alexis time to sort through them as they came in. Of the six teams, two were aboa
rd ships and working to bring them sufficiently online to maneuver and dock with Pegasus. Both ships were Izlian cruisers, although there was insufficient data to identify the specific types.

  Three other teams reported their search patterns were taking them near each other, and they were attempting to get better images of a cluster of ships. By the time she’d read those five reports, the last one had yet to come in. It was beyond the expected window.

  “Possibly a drone failure,” Hoot suggested.

  “Possibly,” Alexis agree. “Drone Control, send another messenger on an intercept trajectory for Shuttle 3’s search pattern.”

  “Launching,” came the reply.

  Half an hour passed with no response.

  “”

  “Send drones to all the other shuttles,” Alexis ordered. “Tell them we’re moving Pegasus closer to Shuttles 4 and 6 to assist with their salvage efforts if necessary.”

  “That will take us further from Shuttle 3,” Chug, reminded her.

  “Understood. As soon as the drones are away, begin the move.”

  Alexis stuffed the food into her mouth and washed it down with some lukewarm tea before stuffing the trash in a holding bag by her command station. There was a growing feeling of unease as time went by. Something was wrong, and they were in danger. Her instincts had saved the day many times in the past; she’d learned to honor them.

  “Set Condition One,” she ordered Paka, who looked over in concern. “I’ve got a bad feeling.” Her Veetanho XO nodded and gave the order. With a slight rumble of near-frictionless bearings, the armored door on the CIC rotated closed and locked tight.

  “Drones away; we’re maneuvering,” Chug said.

  The maneuvering alarm sounded through the ship; a second later, they felt Pegasus’ massive bulk begin to turn and accelerate. They only boosted at one-half gravity, at her instructions. No matter how many times Sato said there was no ill effect from allowing the strange physics to stop them, Alexis didn’t trust it. She’d gotten stuck once in the middle of her wardroom when she’d leaped toward the door, only to come to a stop halfway across the space.

  Time ticked by slowly, like it always did when the ship was at battle stations. Alexis watched the status board and monitored the constantly-updating feeds through her pinplants. More than half the crew had been aboard when Pegasus first visited 2nd Level Hyperspace. That seemed to have reduced the instances of injury. It was something to give her solace.

  They passed relatively close to quite a few ships. The problem was, they were either of unrecognizable design, or were of unsuitable class. Sato was at wits’ end, wanting to board all of them to investigate.

  “We have a sensor return from the rear quarter,” Flipper said. In the center of the spherical CIC, the main Tri-V status board showed near space, or near hyperspace in this case. A tiny little red Pegasus flew in the center, its aft glowing to represent the ship being under thrust. A little blue blip was flashing, marked at bearing 199 mark 205. Range was displayed as “XXX,” as the sensor returns couldn’t estimate range properly.

  “Not any of our shuttles?” Alexis asked.

  “Shuttle 3 departed in that rough direction,” Flipper said, eyes closed and using his pinplants to control the data stream. “However, they’d have needed to reverse their search course and come back at a different vector for this to be them.”

  “Opinion?” she asked Ghost.

  “” Alexis ground her teeth together. She wanted to send some drones to investigate, but she had a limited number of drones at her disposal. Almost half their complement was off being messengers or working with the salvage teams. If she launched a full combat group, that would leave Pegasus with almost none left in reserve. To make it worse, Ghost didn’t have confidence the drones would perform optimally in a combat situation here.

  “Monitor the target,” she said finally. “Maintain course.”

  After a time, it became increasingly obvious they were being followed. The sensor reading seemed to maintain the same distance despite Pegasus’ acceleration.

  “We’re entering the sensor range of the area Shuttles 4 and 6 are operating in,” Flipper reported. The big Tri-V showed first one shuttle, then the other, as well as the ships they were moored to. Their screen of defensive drones made contact a short time later and relay was established.

  “Pegasus, this is Shuttle 4. We got your message and were expecting you,” the shuttle’s team leader called.

  “What’s your situation?” Paka asked. “Any sign of other moving contacts?”

  “Moving contacts? Negative, Pegasus.”

  “You and Shuttle 6 be aware, we have a skulker tailing us,” Paka told them. “Intent unknown. We’ve also had no contact with Shuttle 3. It’s now two hours past contact time, and a second messenger drone we sent out hasn’t returned. We’re going to stop abreast of your location.”

  “Thank you for the update, Pegasus. Our engineering team wanted to pass along that we’ve identified these two ships. They’re both Izlian designs. Shuttle 6 has a Tesha-class battlecruiser, and we’re on a Kosha-class heavy cruiser. We’ll have the Kosha powered up any minute, and the other team says the Tesha won’t be far behind.”

  “Excellent,” Paka said. “As soon as you can maneuver, bring them alongside so we can begin docking operations.” Alexis and her XO shared a smile. The Kosha and the Tesha were both excellent warships. Their only downside was their age; neither were in common use much anymore. They were front line ships…5,000 years ago. She’d only seen a Tesha once before, as the core of a dilapidated system’s defense squadron. She accessed the data on the Kosha through her pinplants. A heavy cruiser. Nobody was using them anymore, preferring the better speed and versatility of battlecruisers. Still, she’d take it.

  Alexis waited impatiently, considering sending more drones back for her missing shuttle. She decided to hold off until they could recover the two groups with Shuttles 4 and 6. As promised, the Kosha was soon moving. The big Tri-V relabeled Shuttle 4 as “Prize 1.” When the Tesha ponderously began to move, it became “Prize 2.”

  The prize crews continued to report. As she’d suspected, both ships had serious damage. One to its hyperspace nodes, the other to its fusion plants. Like the ship Culper and his team had boarded the last time they were on 2nd Level, there was no sign of any crew. Neither alive nor dead. It was as if the ship had been meticulously cleaned of any biological material.

  Of course neither design sported hyperspace shunts. Even if the crew had known how to get out of that level, without the shunts there was no way to escape. She was examining the damage reports on what would become the two newest Hussars capital ships when Hoot announced the messenger drones from Shuttles 1, 2, and 5 were in range.

  “Queue the data, I’ll look in a minute,” she said, busily running a tactical assessment with the newest ships based on their standard fleet arrangements.

  “” Ghost said. Alexis instantly shelved her assessment and accessed the comms data.

  Shuttles 1 and 5 had found a grouping of six ships which had apparently joined together after they’d arrived on the 2nd level, and Shuttle 2 had joined the other shuttles to help investigate them. The grouping was of interest as it was the first time they’d seen any signs of work carried out in that realm. The first middle range radar profile scan popped up in her mind and she gasped.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he asked Ghost.

  “”

  The imagery was just coming up on one of the smaller Tri-Vs. Someone exclaimed in surprise and all heads turned to look at it. Those with Human-style mouth parts gaped.

  “Change of priorities,” Alexis snapped, “Prize 1 and Prize 2, you’re to stick together and make best speed for the rendezvous coordinates we’ll be transmitting. Combine dr
one forces and task for rear defense. Chug, cancel previous waypoint. Set course for Shuttle 1, best possible speed.”

  “What about the inertial effect, and the rule you established to keep speeds down?” the helmsman asked. One of his eyes was on his instruments, but the other two were staring at her. The Bakulu were notorious for rules and keeping to them.

  “Belay it,” she said. “Four Gs acceleration as soon as it’s ready.”

  High-G Acceleration Stations sounded, and the crew scrambled. None of them expected that kind of maneuver on the second level. Many only barely made it to a safe position when Pegasus’ three powerful fusion torches flared to life, and the ancient warship rapidly accelerated.

  The transmissions from the shuttles were more than an hour old when the drones relayed them to Pegasus. Alexis had to stop herself from ordering five Gs more than once as the ship raced ever faster in the strange realm. Far faster than it had ever gone before. In just 20 minutes Chug announced they needed to flip over to slow.

  “Continue at speed.” Every eye in the CIC looked at her, though many still stared at the images transmitted by the drones from their search. Then their destination was updated onto the big CIC as they came within range.

  “I hope we can stop,” Paka said. In the 1,800 seconds, Pegasus had accelerated to more than 230 kilometers per second.

  “Range?” Alexis asked.

  “About 5,000 kilometers,” Flipper said, “best guess.” In 20 seconds, they’d be on top of the shuttles. The seconds ticked by one after another. Every instinct of the command crew cried out in panic as the sensors showed the shuttles and ships they’d found racing at them at insane speed. It was only their faith in Alexis Cromwell that forestalled complete panic.