by Joshua James
41
Olsen took a moment to examine one of the Arstans on a lower bunk. He felt around the glands for any sign of air moving, while Kota kept her rifle trained on its head, just in case the beast was playing dead.
But it was dead, all right. He put his little finger to the white foam and raised it to his nose. The stuff smelled faintly of bitter almonds. “Cyanide,” he said. He turned the Arstan around a little and noticed the two stars and one stripe on its shoulder. This one was a lieutenant.
“Novak, help me check the ranks of the other Arstans,” he said. “I want to know if anyone here is below officer rank. Kota, get on it too.”
“Aye, sir,” both women said in unison.
Olsen raised himself up on the top bunk to find that the Arstan above was a commander. Over on the next bunk, there was another lieutenant, and a junior lieutenant. The next one had an ensign on the bottom and a junior commander on the top.
“Sir,” Novak said, “everyone I found is at least an ensign.”
“Same here,” Kota said. “Not a single non-commissioned crew member.”
“The privilege of being in the higher ranks,” Olsen said. “They take poison so they don’t have to feel the pain of being blasted apart by a supernova, no matter how short that pain might be.”
“So the rest of the crew is on the other modules?” Novak asked.
“Exactly,” Olsen said. “And so they’ll probably attack the CIC if they see us move against them.”
At the end of the long module, Chang was working away at the console, trying to get the door to open. He’d stopped the three remaining modules detaching between here and the CIC, but he’d still not worked out how to unlock the doors.
“Chang, how’s it going? We need to get to the CIC as soon as possible so we can take control of the ship.”
“Almost there, sir,” Chang said. He took a deep breath. “They’ve abandoned the ship, haven’t they? Left us to its devices.”
“Exactly,” Olsen said. “Which means they must be pretty confident we can’t stop them now.”
“I understand, sir,” Chang said. “And I’ve got them. All of them.” He pumped the air with his fist as the door slid open ahead of Olsen. Two other, more distant doors also slid open, creating a corridor leading to a room full of pulsing white light.
Kota sprang into action, signaled Riley and Turgin forward, and let them run ahead of her. They took the space quickly, scanning the bulkheads and any nooks and crannies for automatic turrets or the like. Olsen waited a moment, and then strode forward. Novak kept pace beside him.
The next room looked like a supply module, with cans of food and electronics stacked on the shelves around the wall. A few Arstans sat slumped against the shelves, with the same white foam spouting out of their mouths. Olsen passed them quickly and went into the next room — a weapon module with two half cylinders raised out of the floor, leading out to space from the sides. The next was a lavish bedroom with a square double bed in the center, velvet sheets, and a curved bookcase stacked against the wall.
This was presumably Captain Kraic’s bedroom, but no one had placed themselves on the bed. Probably no Arstan other than Kraic would dare take it as their deathbed.
Olsen and the crew passed around the bed and into the CIC. A good few dozen Arstans were here, slumped over their computer screens. Kraic sat lifeless in the chair at the center of the room, facing his bedroom. Unlike the rest of the crew, his eyes were open. Above him, the circular viewscreen displayed a message in English. “Welcome to death, Captain Olsen,” it said. “You are already too late.”
And below it, a rectangle on the screen displayed the view from the camera on the warhead. The sun was in the center of the view, growing larger all the time.
The Arstans had already launched the spatial detonator towards its target, and soon it would engulf the Ripley sector in flames.
42
One by one, the former crew of the Tapper filed into the room and gathered around Olsen, but what they saw on the viewscreen stopped them dead in their tracks. Olsen wasn’t sure what to do. He felt sick.
They’d come all this way, and now they only had a few minutes before their ultimate doom. The star would turn supernova, and the nascent fleet of human super-dreadnoughts, not to mention billions of innocent lives, would get wiped out.
At least none of them would live to see the humans lose the war.
“Sir,” Novak said, “we need to do something.”
“It’s lost,” Olsen murmured.
“No, sir. We still have a chance, as long as we’re alive.”
It seemed ludicrous that Novak, of all people—Novak—was calling him out. The shock of it was like a slap in the face. Olsen suddenly realized how stupid he was being.
“Damn it. You’re right,” he said.
He stepped towards the command chair and shoved Kraic out of the way. He was much heavier than he looked. Admittedly, Olsen had never tried to shift the weight of an Arstan before now, but he managed it.
He sat down, and the chair reclined immediately as he leaned back in it, so Olsen edged forward and perched his elbows on his knees. The room was much larger than any human CIC Olsen was used to, and it looked more like an earthbound air-traffic command or space-control center. As a result, it had dozens of consoles and scanning stations arranged in a conical pattern around the room. The chair rested on a raised platform, so the captain of the ship could monitor everything.
“Chang, you clearly know their systems. Work on the computers,” Olsen said. “We need to get this ship operational. Rob, tell me, how can we get that warhead?”
“Without Admiralty AI—”
“Just use your internal databanks!”
The cyborg cocked his head. “I’m sorry, Captain. I can’t see how we could override it from here.”
Of course not.
“Santiago, get to the navigation screen and see if you can work the sensors somehow. Maybe we can use something out there.”
Olsen turned to Novak, expecting a face devoid of expression. Instead, she wore a pensive look. It caught him up short. “You’re thinking something, Commander.”
“An idea.”
“Spit it out.”
“How about an FTL-warp module, sir?” she asked. “Assuming the Tapper explosion didn’t damage it.”
“A warp module?”
Her clear eyes bore right into Olsen’s. “It’s not my idea. It’s yours, sir. It just didn’t work before because we needed the Extractor to evacuate the crew. But now…”
It suddenly snapped into place for Olsen. “Now we can ram that warhead with their own damn module! Novak, you’re a genius!” He spun around. “Chang? What about it? Is that module still out there?”
“On the screen,” Chang said excitedly. “Just to the left.”
Olsen traced the path of his gaze, and he could indeed see the characteristic design of the FTL-warp module — a bulky cube with what looked like a funnel sticking out of the back. “Chang, can you get control of that module?”
“I think so.”
“Rob, help him out, use whatever hacks you can.”
Olsen felt his heart racing. If they could just start up the engine and point it in the right direction, the subsequent collision might just knock the warhead off course better than the Extractor ever could have.
“Sir, we have incoming,” Santiago said, and the message on the viewscreen flicked away to reveal a panoramic view of space. A flock of weapons modules had surrounded the Okranti’s CIC, and they now loomed as if closing in for the kill.
“They must know we’re here,” Novak said.
“Maybe, but all their officers are in here. I think they don’t know what the hell to do with us.”
“I’m not sure I want to rely on that confusion lasting too long.”
“I agree. Chang, you’ve got another task ahead of you. You need to hack those weapons modules as well. If we can get them on our side, then we can get them firing
upon each other.”
Chang sighed, but didn’t turn away from the computer screen that he sat behind, tapping frantically at the keyboard as foreign green text streamed across his black screen. “If push comes to shove,” he said while he typed away, “what’s the priority, sir?”
“To get that FTL-warp module under our control. Our lives are secondary. Stopping that supernova is primary.”
Olsen took a deep breath and returned his attention to the viewscreen. The tension of the inactive crew cut through the room, and he very much doubted Chang and Rob alone could turn things around.
“Sir, if I may,” Chang said. He’d turned his seat so he could address Olsen. His cheeks were ruddy, and he looked delighted about something.
“What is it, Chang?”
“We’ve found a way to control the warp module. There’s a failsafe mechanism that I’ve managed to hack that allows us to take control of any modules from any of the consoles here.”
“What’s the catch?”
“It will only work on modules not currently under control, so those weapons modules already surrounding us can’t be overridden. And it can only be done by one operator at one station.”
“So we take control of that FTL-warp as soon as possible and transfer it to one of the consoles here,” Olsen replied. “Rob, while Chang does that, get us as many shield modules and the most badass weapons modules you can acquire.” He looked around the room. “Enough for everyone here to man a station. We’re going to have to hold out long enough to get to that warhead.”
What was left unspoken was what would happen after that, but that didn’t need to be spelled out. As he spoke, Olsen could hear the faint groans of the surrounding crew. Only Redrock and Cadinouche were pilots. The rest wouldn’t be able to turn a ship without a little experimentation. Hell, Olsen wouldn’t know either, if put on the spot.
But that wasn’t important now. Taking action was what mattered. Novak was right. As long as they were alive, they had a chance.
He lifted himself up from his seat and coughed loudly, to draw everyone’s attention away from the screen.
“Chang, Rob,” he said, “keep your attention on your task, but lend an ear if you like. For everyone else, I want you to listen to what I have to say. I know that times seem dark and the battle seems lost, but while our limbs still work and our brains still work, we have a fighting chance.
“Some of you have families back home. Some of you”— Olsen glanced at Novak — “came here alone. But, we all have one thing in common in the fact that we’re human. We’ve come this far because we’re fighters, and as long as there’s a chance, we keep fighting. If we don’t stop this warhead, there won’t just be billions lost here. It will be a crippling blow to everything we love—to our entire race. Take a workstation, push the Arstans out of the way if you have to, and claim it as your own. This is one complete puzzle we can solve together, and we’ll try our hardest to get through until the very last breath. Because it might not be our last, and that’s worth fighting for. Is that understood?”
He paused a moment, and let the crew reply with a loud, “yes sir.”
“Are you going to fight?”
“Yes, sir!” The room reverberated with the sound.
“Then man your stations and get to work.”
43
Redrock had piloted some of the most advanced fighters known to man. But he’d admittedly never found himself at the controls of an Arstan vessel, and in particular an Arstan module. He’d always considered them as clunky, ugly, and probably unpleasant to fly, as if they were buildings in space. In fact, he’d go as far to say that flying one would be his personal vision of hell.
Still, they were all in this together. He sat down first in the high-backed leather seat in front of the computer desk that spanned a semi-circle around him. He looked at the screen, which was blank, a moment, and then he cast his eye over the foreign symbols on the keyboard and wondered how the hell he would pilot this thing.
“You got this,” Olsen said confidently. He stood over Redrock as he surveyed the console.
Redrock would pilot the FTL-warp module. He’d expected it, and hadn’t had to even lobby for it. The captain had simply made it so. “Flying an alien module into a moving warhead at high-speed with perfect precision? Sure, no problem.”
Olsen merely patted his shoulder and stepped away. He’d be manning another console. They all would be. They’d divvied up controls among the shield modules and the couple weapons modules that Rob had found.
Shortly after, his screen turned on, and a message popped up on it. “Redrock, the FTL-warp module is under your control. Chang,” it said, and his screen flicked on. A panel on the desk in front of his chair opened and something sprang out of it, letting out a loud twang: A yoke, as large as you’d see in the cockpits of Earth airplanes hundreds of years ago, before they’d invented auto-piloted intercontinental hoverbuses.
All the other crew had similar yokes, including Kota. She was sitting in front of Redrock and slightly to the right. Unsurprisingly, she was piloting one of the weapons modules, even though she had no experience with it. Olsen had made that call, too, and he was right to do it. She’d have killed him if he hadn’t.
Redrock chuckled to himself and then took hold of the two metal handholds at the sides of the yoke. Just to get a feel for the controls, he shifted the warp module until it was facing directly at the star, and began to warm the engines for a short burst of FTL power that would send it ramming into the warhead before careening off into the heart of the sun.
He’d made almost no fine adjustments when he suddenly felt an intense numbing sensation rush up his arms. His eyes went wide, as if they wanted to pop out of their sockets, and he started shaking, as if high on ten energy drinks.
“What the hell is happening, Chang?” he heard Olsen say from behind him. The voice sounded kind of muffled, with a hammering sensation beating against Redrock’s head. He yanked his hands free of the yoke.
In front of Redrock, Kota had spun around and stared at him with concern.
Redrock tried to shake off the pain. Part of it was just surprise. He’d never felt sustained energy shock like that before.
“Damn. I’m sorry, sir. It appears to be some kind of electrocution.”
“What the hell?” Olsen demanded. “Are the controls malfunctioning?”
“Sir, I didn’t predict this, but I’ve just dug out the instructions for the emergency override controls. Those joysticks distribute pain to punish any Arstans whose ships get destroyed while using it.”
“To discourage them from doing it,” Olsen said, shaking his head. “Sounds like a very Arstan thing.” He glanced at Redrock. “I’m guessing you powered up the warp module?”
Redrock nodded. “And pointed it vaguely in the direction of that sun. It didn’t go over well.” He shook his wrists, trying to get feeling back in them.
“To fire at that warhead will mean aiming at that star,” Olsen said flatly. “Which means the FTL-warp module, a very valuable module, will be destroyed.”
“Exactly, sir,” Chang said. “It’s working as intended, I suppose.”
“Sir,” Rob said. “The warhead is entering the coronal mass ejection field around the star. We don’t have much time.”
And, Redrock thought, there was almost no chance the module wouldn’t go careening into the star at this range, whether he was successful in ramming the warhead or not. “Can I survive the shock?” he said pointedly to Chang.
“At current levels, yes. But the shock level if their modules get destroyed registers at thousands of volts. It might only hurt an Arstan, but for a human…”
Olsen finished his thought. “It might be fatal.”
Chang shook his head. “More than likely.”
“See if you can find an override, Chang. I just can’t believe there isn’t one.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In the meantime, can we just start the module in the right direction,
then release the controls?”
Redrock knew the answer to that one. This required precision control. This was a galactic version of billiards. He needed to hit the warhead just exactly right to nudge it off its trajectory with the sun. It was far too reinforced with metrinium to be able to be destroyed by the warp modules, even if they wanted to try that. But that shielding did mean that the warhead absolutely had to make it deep into the star to be effective, which meant that the right shot could work. As crazy as it seemed, it really could work.
But only with control until the last second.
In theory, the moment after impact, the pilot could release the controls. But at that point, the module would almost surely be on a collision course with the sun. And by then, he suspected his muscles would clench and make it impossible to let go. Then he’d be cooked. Literally.
“Sir,” Rob said again.
“I know, dammit,” Olsen snapped.
Redrock could read the desperation in his face even as he refused to look him in the eye. Redrock could see on his own console where the warhead was located. He needed to do this quickly. It was now or never. He quietly began adjusting the controls, careful to avoid the yoke, just fine-tuning what he had on his screen. The actual firing of module would happen in moments, and it would be over just as fast. Whatever happened.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Kota looking at him. She knew exactly what he was doing. If she was in his position, she’d do the exact same thing.
“Sir, those weapons modules are showing energy signatures,” Santiago said. “They’re going to fire.”
Olsen spun around and began coordinating the movements of the shield and weapons modules. All the others turned to their own stations – even Kota, however reluctantly — grabbing their yokes and probably hoping they didn’t get themselves fried if their modules were destroyed.
Redrock made his decision in that moment. He slid his hands into the yoke ports and immediately angled the module to face the target he’d laid into the control board in front of him.