War Fleet: Resistance

by Joshua James

  He kept his hand clenched around the control stick as he flitted his gaze between the Marines and the button to close the cargo bay doors. Meanwhile, he kept muttering “Hurry up” under his breath.

  Kota appeared at the cargo bay entrance first, followed by Singh, who pushed the Arstan inside. Redrock let out a tightly-held breath, and then he closed the cargo bay doors. “Does he have mag-boots?” he asked.

  The crocodile-man shook his head before anyone else could answer. “Do I look like I came equipped for interstellar travel? You woke me up from my afternoon nap and didn’t even give me time to put my slippers on.”

  “Pin him down, damn it,” Redrock shouted back to the Marines. “We don’t want to have come this far and lose him to a bang on the head.”

  He waited until Riley and Turgin, the two strongest men, rushed forward and locked their arms around the Arstan, then wrestled him to the floor. Redrock ramped up the dial for the under-ship thrusters, and the ship shook to life. He flipped out the wings that he’d put in to keep the ship concealed. And as it rose, the branches and leaves that he and Riley had secured for cover were sent scattering around the terrain.

  “Brace yourselves,” he said. “This is going to make all of us want to puke.” He lifted a metal hatch underneath the throttle and turned a dial underneath from zero to a hundred. He wasn’t meant to use the afterburners unless in an absolute emergency. Burn them for too long, and the ship could become liquid metal.

  But right now they didn’t have a choice.

  The inside of the ship heated up to the temperature of a mid-afternoon desert. Redrock took hold of some water from the cooler underneath the dash and threw back some bottles. “Use these to stay cool,” he said, and poured some liquid down his throat himself.

  Then he turned the thrusters around and screamed out — and he wasn’t sure if it was in pain or ecstasy — as the acceleration pushed him hard against the back of his seat. “Captain, I’m running the afterburners,” he shouted over the comms channel. He hoped that he’d be coherent amidst the heat and the feeling of restricted air. “How long we got?”

  “Four minutes. Dammit, Redrock, do you think you can make it? I wish we could cancel, but if this station gets another hit on us, we’re shrapnel.”

  “I’m going to damn well try.”

  He looked back at the Marines, all of them crouched down on the floor. Kota looked at him with wide eyes. She was worried — he could see that — and she never got worried.

  “Captain,” he said over the comms channel, “I want to say you should go. But we’ve got the Arstan, and I know a lot more is at stake.”

  “Just stop talking and start focusing, Redrock. Get that ship here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Redrock said.

  He’d never seen a planet spin away so fast. Even in training, he’d not been allowed to use a ship’s emergency controls — only in computer simulations, which couldn’t quite emulate the real thing. The whole ship was creaking, and by the way it shook, even in space, it felt that if Redrock veered it too sharply to one side, the whole thing would fall apart.

  As the atmosphere thinned, two specks of light in the sky began to take form. The brightest of these was a space station — although, on closer inspection, it was now a detached mass of Arstan modules, all of them deployed in position to destroy the Tapper.

  The other was so much smaller that it remained a speck of light for several more moments before it also took form. After a while, Redrock could see that it had indeed taken a beating. And the station had its guns firing up, glowing in colors that Redrock had learned to fear — the colors of annihilation.

  “Three minutes,” Olsen said. “I’ll keep you updated by the minute. Don’t say a word, just focus.”

  He cut out again. Olsen, wisely, hadn’t kept what was happening on the ship on the channel. Redrock imagined they were flailing around, shouting orders out, Olsen frantically trying to get as much data as possible.

  The Tapper was dipping down into the atmosphere, trying to scoop up the shuttle; but at that position she was terribly exposed to the enemy station, and must be straining to hold steady.

  As the shuttle approached, Redrock could see the shuttle bay. It wasn’t facing them. Given the way that the Tapper’s engine looked on his side, he doubted there was any way that the Tapper would be able to turn it to face him. Hell, it was even turning away from him a little.

  Yet with the turbos running, Redrock knew turning too sharply would break them. Even here, at the very edge of the atmosphere, there would be too much drag.

  “Two minutes,” Olsen said, and cut out once again.

  No choice. Redrock pulled right on the flight stick and squinted a moment as the ship let out a massive creak. Above him, one of the panels on the ship began to move, and it popped out at the corner, sending a rivet ricocheting across the cockpit.

  “Everything okay back there?” he tried shouting. But there was so much blood rushing to his face that his words came out inaudible.

  Instead of doing a sharp left, he’d decided to fly around in an omega shape, so that he could approach the shuttle at a better angle. He hadn’t the time to make calculations, but his instinct told him he could do this. He just hoped for everyone’s sake that he was right.

  The inside of the ship had heated up so much now that his skin had started to itch against the sweat. Any more of this and they might be burned alive, but there was no way they’d make it without the extra thrust.

  “One minute, Redrock. Santiago has made some calculations, and she thinks you’ll make it.”

  “Sir,” Schmidt’s voice came in the background. “The enemy laser—” And on that note, the channel cut off once more.

  Redrock looked over his cockpit at the weapons module behind him, and he could see that indeed it had a beam of red light about to fire. Then, he noticed he was right in the line of sight between it and the shuttle bay. The bay doors were open in front of him now, only at a slight angle away. But if he didn’t do a barrel roll, it would annihilate them.

  He swallowed bile and then turned off one of the thrusters for a brief moment, to send the ship spinning. He couldn’t veer off course now.

  Pain seared against his face, and he wasn’t sure what from. Maybe g-force. Maybe increased heat. Maybe the laser cannon had hit him, maybe from the Extractor tearing apart.

  The ship hit something, and Redrock’s head was knocked forward hard. For a moment, everything went white. Momentarily, Redrock blacked out.

  25

  Captain Olsen waited several moments before he opened his eyes. He had his fingers crossed behind his back, the muscles between his index and middle fingers so clenched that they burned.

  He saw flashing red lights wavering in and out, the klaxons sounding all over the ship, the weary eyes of his crew looking back at him, bruised foreheads that officers had hit against their computers. But amidst all that, they seemed to be alive.

  It had all happened at once. An Arstan module had moved aside to reveal a fired-up laser cannon. The torpedo launcher had launched another missile. Meanwhile, the Extractor had rammed into the shuttle bay, knocking out the camera down there. The laser cannon had also fired into the open shuttle bay, and Olsen had no idea how much damage that had wrought.

  Then they’d jumped, and Olsen had feared they’d explode in FTL-warp, spreading their remains across the galaxy. But they’d gotten here, wherever ‘here’ was, and the Tapper seemed to be in one piece. Now he had to come to his senses.

  “Chang, wherever you are,” he said over the intercom, “get down to the shuttle bay now and check it out.”

  “Sir, the hull has taken breaching damage in the weapons bay, and requires urgent repair.”

  “Dammit, Chang, just do it. Assess the situation in the shuttle bay, and make sure you work on the area of highest risk first.” This had to be the first time in Olsen’s service on the Tapper that he wished he had more than one engineer.

  “Yes, sir.”
r />   “Santiago, start working out where we’ve landed ourselves. I want a report ASAP.”

  “Yes sir,” the navigator replied as she swiveled towards her screen.

  “Schmidt, make sure there’s no energy leaking out of the weapons. Cadinouche, keep the ship on the same trajectory, avoiding all sharp motions to facilitate repairs.”

  Both officers gave their affirmatives.

  “Redrock? Kota? Are any of you conscious down there? Frega? Is he alive?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kota said. Her voice sounded strained. “Redrock’s out cold, but his pulse is beating. With your request, sir, I want to accompany him to sickbay. The rest of the Marines can handle the fleet admiral. Just tell them where to send him.”

  “To the vid-con room, and keep him guarded. And yes, you have permission. Of course.”

  “Thank you, sir,” and he heard Kota give orders to her squad, then cut off the comms channel.

  Olsen turned to Novak — the only human crew member who didn’t seem shaken. “Novak, come with me. For situations like this, I need my second in command.” He sped towards the door. But before he left, he paused for a moment’s consideration. “Rob, accompany me too. And both of you aren’t to say anything down there unless I ask for advice. Is that understood?”

  Rob and Novak stopped in front of him, standing side-by-side. “Yes sir,” they said, and neither of them showed a flicker of emotion. That was to be expected with a cyborg, but Olsen found it somewhat unnerving in Novak.

  After many years in the military, he’d learned that even the most straight-faced soldier would display micro-expressions that could give the skilled commander an insight into what they were thinking. But with this executive officer, they just weren’t there.

  Olsen nodded and then rushed down towards the vid-con room, not forgetting to turn his mag-boots on en route.

  Two of Kota’s Marines stood guard outside the door while one stood inside, his rifle held loosely in his hands. The long-snouted aged Arstan sat at the table, his scaly and clawed hands folded neatly in front of him. Olsen walked in, dismissed the Marine, and then sat down opposite the Arstan. Olsen indicated for Novak to sit down to his right, and Rob to his left.

  Before Olsen said a word, he stared hard at the Arstan’s side-loaded bulbous eyes to try and read him, to find out if he’d have to torture him, or if the retired fleet admiral would cooperate.

  But instead of getting intimidated, Frega spoke in a calm, chittering voice. “Captain Olsen. It’s an honor.”

  Olsen shook his head. “Let’s skip the dance,” he said. “We have reason to believe you have information we need.”

  “What kind of information could I possibly have that’s up to date? Like most military officials anywhere in the galaxy, I was phased out slowly as they replaced me with someone younger and more capable.” He glanced at the stars and stripes on Novak’s shoulder. “Much as, I can see, might be happening to you, Olsen.”

  Olsen fought the urge to slam his hands down on the table. He glared at Frega. It really had been a long day, and he didn’t have time for any meandering. “We need to know the location of the spatial detonator, Frega. Create any bullshit, and I will cause you pain.”

  “The what?”

  Olsen took a deep breath. It didn’t help his mood that klaxons were still sounding outside.

  “Just hours ago, we uncovered an unknown weapon in the Hardy-Myers sector. We were apprehended by an alien that called itself a Tauian, from another galaxy. It claimed the weapon was a bomb capable of turning a star into a supernova and destroying a system. Then, the Okranti — one of your ships — FTL-warped and stole the weapon from us. I’ve been assigned the task of getting it back.”

  “Well, well,” Frega said. “I can see why that would be quite unnerving. I know nothing of such a weapon. You know, I left the military to be done of such stuff. But the Okranti, I know of that.”

  “Tell me.”

  “My niece works there. She contacted her parents a while back, told me they were going to the Ripley sector. I guess that with such a weapon, they aim to destroy it.”

  Olsen’s heart skipped a beat. “Ripley.”

  Thirty billion colonists.

  This was bigger than he’d feared. Everyone knew that the super-dreadnoughts currently under construction in that sector could turn the tides of the war, so it made sense to destroy them. The Arstans had little chance of successfully attacking the URSA Providence shipyard station directly, but a need had never arisen to defend the sun. The Okranti could easily turn up, assemble a warhead, launch it into the sun, and cause it to go supernova. The whole solar system would get wiped out before anyone knew what was happening.

  Frega watched him for a moment. Despite being an Arstan, he looked like he somehow experienced empathy for the captain’s pain. “For the record,” he said, “I don’t subscribe to the views of most Arstans. But I said the wrong things at the wrong times, and my retirement quickly became a lavish house arrest. And it seems something has changed recently, and they decided they wanted to move me somewhere else. But I do feel that this galaxy would be better if the three civilizations that inhabit it try to work together. It took me a long time to realize that, and admittedly, my views aren’t favorable amongst those in power.”

  Olsen never thought he’d meet an Arstan so calm and so agreeable. “I feel much the same way, Frega.” He stood up. “Novak, Rob, let’s give the Arstan some peace.”

  As soon as he was out of the room, he got on the comms channel to the CIC. “Santiago,” he said. “As soon as the ship is in decent shape, plot a course to the Ripley sector, but not to the Providence. We’re going straight to the sun.”

  There was a pause, and Olsen could just imagine the surprise painted on Santiago’s face. “Yes, sir,” she said after a moment.

  Olsen suddenly realized how drained he felt. He turned to his XO, and decided it was the first time that she could come in useful. “Novak,” he said. “Look after the repairs for a while, make sure everything’s running smoothly. I’m going to have an hour’s nap.”

  26

  The shuttle bay reeked of rocket fuel, making Olsen feel slightly nauseous. He stood next to Frega and Novak, just outside the starboard escape hatch. The nose of the Extractor rose above them, the whole shuttle even more charred and beaten than the Tapper from afterburner use.

  Riley had just shifted one of the eight escape pods over on rails, and it produced the sound of metal grating against metal as he pushed it into the hatch. He was the only Marine who hadn’t engaged in battle, and moving one of those pods required quite some muscle. Chang stood a little back from the Marine, overseeing the operation to ensure the warp pod was in working order and could survive passage through a thick atmosphere.

  The screen, above the open airlock doors leading to the ship, displayed the desert planet of Gastor: a trading post for scumbags and scoundrels, but also an easy place for a retired Arstan fleet admiral to hide. This was the only livable planet in the vicinity — a hard place, but workable for a man with connections. Both Olsen and Frega knew that the Arstan official would be under much more risk onboard a human military vessel, where the Admiralty could order him handed over at any moment, than he would on such a planet.

  “Are you sure that you can handle it?” Olsen asked. “We could always attempt to drop you off in another sector.”

  Frega shrugged his huge shoulders. “It’s not as if I have a choice,” he replied. “You need to get straight to the Ripley sector and stop Captain Kraic in his tracks.” They’d already both discussed at length how they thought no race in the galaxy should have access to such weapons. This would increase paranoia and worsen enmity from civilians towards other races, feeding the war effort rather than helping establish peace.

  Olsen nodded. There was nothing he could say that would make it any easier for Frega, who was definitely the most genial Arstan he had ever met. From what Frega had explained, he’d be awaiting a public execution if he return
ed into Arstan hands. His family was probably already dead.

  “Then I wish you the best,” Olsen said. “And I hope you can make a life for yourself down there.”

  “You too,” Frega replied. “Let’s work to keep this galaxy safe.” And he stepped into the pod.

  The Tapper had eight escape pods in total, and only two of them had warp-speed capability. This wasn’t one of those. Frega took one of the central frontmost of the sixteen seats in the pod and fastened his seatbelt. He didn’t turn around before Riley closed the door and rotated the airlock valve to seal him in.

  Olsen stepped forwards and pushed the button to open the escape hatch. Then he watched through the screen above as the pod flared its blue automatic thrusters and jetted towards the planet.

  The captain turned back to the crew. They had things to do, and they wanted to get to warp speed as soon as possible, before the Okranti deployed the weapon and took out the Ripley sector.

  “Back to business,” he said. “Chang, how soon do you feel this ship will be safe to fly to the Ripley sector?”

  Chang’s wide eyes didn’t do a very good job of hiding his fear of going there. “Sir, if we’re going to engage the enemy there, we should make sure the ship’s in tip-top shape. That could take another seven hours, at least.”

  “Dammit, Chang, we don’t have seven hours. How soon until we can get it there in an operable condition?”

  “We can fly it now, sir, but—”

  “No time for buts, Chang. Work on powering up the shield and weapon systems as much as possible. The engines only need to get us to the Ripley sector. We can work out the rest later.”

  Chang saluted. “Very well, sir.” He hurried out the door.

  Though the Marine stood upright like a true soldier, Olsen could see the strain in the features of his face and the huge bags under his eyes. “Riley, you look exhausted,” he said. “Get some shuteye. I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “Yes, sir,” the Marine said with a salute. He marched out of the room and slumped a little as he turned the corner, right before he passed out of view.