by Will Crudge
If we’re lucky, then they’ll have an automated damage control protocol. This means that the ship will slam all bulkhead doors shut, and compartmentalize their occupants movements. This can be overridden, but only in two places. Engineering, and the CIC. But both would have to be overridden manually, and at the same time.
In short. Target engineering. Target CIC. Isolate the baddies. Then board Chris, and kill the crew. Excellent plan.
It fails.
The LRF dodges turret fire all too easily. We are forced to go into a DECEL maneuver, and rotate one hundred and eighty degrees at full burn. We slow down significantly, but we’re still too fast for them to formulate a firing solution. They do try, though.
The SK’s we’ve launched previously, have now passed us by. But all of the Chris’s defensive efforts have been devoted toward disabling us, and the projectiles careen through open space unopposed... Undetected… Unstoppable!
Until one of them gets hit by a stray beam… Like shooting a tiny needle in a stack of needles, a beam cannon makes a desperate attempt at targeting our thrusters while they are exposed to us. We’ve effectively won the lottery in reverse.
Shit! I gasp in my own mind. But that was just enough for the Rage to spark into my awareness. Not now, dick! I scoff to myself.
But my knee-jerk reaction only bolsters it. Within a split second, I manage to undermine hours of Onslaught’s lectures about controlling the Rage! Chief rule being, ‘don’t offer any aggression towards it’.
Now I give rise to mental friction, and it ignites a proverbial flame inside me. So, now I’m back tracking. Soft, Rage! Warm, Rage! Little ball of fur! I’m feebly singing to my Rage, and it isn’t happy about my lack of sincerity.
My eyes are aglow. My palms are sweaty. Knees weak, arms are heavy. Vomit on my sweater already. Mom’s spaghetti.
I just breathe. He nuzzles my arm, and the Rage recedes. I take a deep soothing breath, and release it slowly. I don’t even remember closing my eyes, but I do remember the moment that I open them. The view struck at my very core.
Chris was massive. Perhaps not by warship standards, but massive by mine. I didn’t even realize one of the SK’s had successfully impacted. It had bloodied the nose of the cruiser, and there isn’t any sign of an energy shield lingering. Not that energy shields are visible, unless they’re agitated, or designed to be, but I can still follow the streams of venting atmosphere with my eyes. The streams were steady, and unhindered. No shields.
“Opening fire. Wish me luck.” Throat says casually. But I sense he’s secretly elated. He’s spent decades being hooked up to the mainframe of the temple just to stay busy. He and Slasher helped the AI’s run the temple’s systems, and made needed repairs. But now he wasn’t programming nano-bots to replace rusty door hinges… He was taking aim at living beings!
The view from the cockpit is almost too much for my eyes to track. My decades of sword play are helping out a lot, but it’s not like I have to block slashes that are moving ten percent of light speed, either.
Chris’s hull now appears as if it were the surface of a planet. We fly over the port-side hull section with our canopy oriented directly away from it. I can’t audibly hear the weapons come to life... Not directly... The vacuum of space makes things boring, in that respect. But I can feel the vibrations that the mechanical parts are giving off, as they cycle ammo, and spin clusters of gun barrels. I feel the vibrations below my feet, and it’s freakishly soothing.
The hull of the ship disappears beneath us. It didn’t move or blow up, we just buzzed right past it. Just as I check to see how much distance we’ve covered on our first attack run, I see the warning indicator on the tactical display light up.
Fighters. Six in all. Not being too familiar with space craft, all I see are letters, numbers, and little three dimensional depictions of the hull types. There’s a mix of fighter types. None of which I’m familiar with.
“That’s what I wanted to see!” Throat rasps with enthusiasm. He’s loving being chased by fighters. I’m loving just not peeing on myself, as of yet.
“Do you think that’s all the fighters they have on board?” I ask.
“Not even close. But that’s probably all we can expect to see them launch.” He replies.
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I dropped a hack-bot on their sensor array during our attack run. I’m already knee deep in their mainframe. Poor ship’s AI has been shackled, so he can’t do much to chase me off.”
I gasp. “You’re inside their systems as we speak?”
“Kinda. I was for a few seconds. I had to pull out before we got too far from signal range. Can’t risk fragmenting my consciousness.” He says.
“Won’t they just un-hack everything?”
“Nah. I have Tootles handling things until I double back.” He says with a chuckle.
“Do I want to know who Tootles is?” I ask.
“He’s an NSAI. Espionage spec. He’ll have it all under control while we lose these fighters.”
I just shake my head. None of what has been discussed about the plan included any of this. With the exception of luring the fighters out into open space, it seems the entire plan has changed, and I can’t keep up with what’s going on. It’s not that I’m ignorant to adaptation. But it’s not like I can meld my mind into a machine to see what’s going on in his head… chip… core thingy, either.
But as I calm my thoughts, everything is clear. Every maneuver. Every pattern. Throat isn’t just a mindless NSAI that’s following an algorithm. He’s rapidly adapting. He’s thinking like a master chess player, but doing it millions of times per second. There’s something about his movements... His decision making... He’s not following any kind of protocol. It’s as if he has natural biological-based instincts, but on some kind of digital level.
I have to remind myself that he’s been around for two thousand years, and he has probably killed more people than Hillary Clinton… Or was that Hitler? Meh, I always get my fascists mixed up.
“I’m modifying my portion of the plan, yet again. I’m not going to bother losing these guys. I’m just going to take out five of them, and cripple the sixth.” Throat declares.
It makes perfect sense. I don’t have to meld with the NAV to understand his tactics. With energy shields down, and their defensive firepower all but hacked out of play, all that’s left for us to do is board the enemy vessel. Why shoot your way in, when you can just follow in a crippled fighter with tokens for the hangar doors? We’ll be onboard the ship without giving them any advanced warning.
“I like it.” I say with a smile.
“Excellent plan, Throat.” Onslaught says. “You can fire an implosive warhead into the open blast door as the fighter returns. With no armor penetration capability, the missile can detonate inside the fighter hanger, and take out the main reactor unhindered.”
Well, I guess I’m wrong. Damn.
“Oh, I didn’t think of that. I figured you wanted me to drop you off in a place full of nothing but lightly armed pilots. Most fighter jocks don’t have the cockpit space for heavy weapons.” Throat surmised.
Well, maybe I wasn’t.
“But I like your idea better, old friend. No need in putting you meat-sacks at risk if we don’t have to.” Throat goes on to say.
Back to being wrong.
Coincidentally, there are only five short-range anti-fighter missiles in the weapons cradles. I watch as they streak outward, and then arc around behind us. They’ve already got their firing solutions set, and while most missiles in space aren’t very maneuverable, these specially designed fuckers will be a huge surprise to our unsuspecting pirate buddies. They’ve been firing beams, bullets, and kitchen sinks at us.
I have no idea what kind of material that LRF-90’s are made of, but it must be some potent stuff. A few fragments of shrapnel from a proximity missile managed to sneak past the shielding w
hen it powered down some to launch ours. Not a scratch. Not even a sputter from the thruster array. Nothing. Something strikes me as odd about how this ship was built… And why are there no other ships this tough?
I shake it off, and notice that the tactical display is beginning to register hits. Within a few short seconds, five fighters are no more. They had no time to react. I suppose they were being piloted by humans with neural interfaces, and not by NSAI’s. NSAI’s would have at least attempted to evade them.
The last fight breaks off. It cut some hard g’s, and then banked back towards Chris the cruiser. That kind of has a ring to it, don’t you think?
“Do you want to take the controls, and follow the last victim in? I’ll even take out one of his thrusters to make it easier on you!” Throat says.
“Sorry. I’ll pass.” I say.
“Why not?”
“I’ve never flown a ship before. I wouldn’t even know how to use manual controls if I did. What gives with this wooden stick, anyway?”
“Oh that? Yeah, that comes from a time when humans still did things without a neural interface. It’s handy to have. Especially when your kind can’t have neural interfaces.” Throat kindly explains as he scores a direct hit on the last fighter’s thrusters.
“Makes sense.” I reply. “So, what now? Are we just going to follow this thing in, or something?”
“Didn’t you pay any attention?” He scolds.
“I did. But you’ve made so many changes to the plan that I wanted to double check.” I say plainly.
“Is that a burn?” Throat asks.
“Definitely a burn!” Kyle shouts from back in the berthing area.
“I’ll inform the burn unit.” Onslaught chimes in. First joke I’ve heard him participate in. He doesn’t disappoint.
“Damn! Now you’ve got Slasher agreeing with you!” Throat grumbles.
“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Slasher.” I say. I had wondered if he was even listening, or could listen, to anything we’ve been saying. Now I have my confirmation.
“I was going to wait until we got onboard Chris before I marked my territory in triumph. However, since that’s not the case, I need to ask you, Throat…” Onslaught spoke.
“The answer is yes. The toilet has a removable sleeve adapter for Zodiacs.” Throat replies.
“Excellent. Now I don’t have to flood the deck. Poor Candidate Kyle has a few holes in his shoes. I’d hate to have to do that to him.”
BEST LAID PLANS
As to be expected, the last surviving fighter slipped into the massive hangar door unopposed. And as expected, our implosive war headed missile thingy followed immediately after. We banked hard, and then burned at max throttle. The implosion warhead, as Throat explained to me, was relatively low yield, but was more than enough to crush the main reactor. What we couldn’t predict, was exactly how close to the reactor core the missile detonation would occur. For all we knew, the hangar was either empty, or slap full of fighter hulls awaiting their pilots to get their heads out of their asses.
We weren’t going to stick around to find out. I see nothing but the blackness of space in front of me, as we speed away from the doomed vessel. Farewell, Mighty Chris! I can see the reflection of blinding light reflecting off of the highly polished nose section of the fighter. It’s luminous and beautiful.
“Mission success. Plotting intercept for the Mercy.” Throat says.
“You mean, ‘steering towards the Mercy’?” I ask. “What’s there to plot? Just point your nose at it and fly!”
“And to think I was beginning to like you!” Throat jibes. “Be grateful for my sense of restraint. My peers are far more – vulgar – than I am, dearie!”
“Whatever.” I say under my breath. I can’t help but be trifling. My bloated body is writhing with PMS rage. The Primal Rage will have to wait its turn.
“Woohoo! New contact!” Throat cheers. “UAHC IDENT code. Looks like a frigate. She just transitioned out of slip space, and is hailing the Mercy.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Now our mission is effectively done. If any UAHC, or Unum forces were bold enough to jump a frigate into cruiser infested space, then they must have a larger force in-system. That means, the pirates should be all jumping in about three… two… aaaaand fuck! Time dilation. Well, they’ll be gone before we can take any more heroic actions. Now all we can do is see if this nice frigate has any space in their docking bay for an LRF-90.
I haven’t been to Unum since I was a child. I miss it. At least there I can train at the main temple, and still complete my training on time, and in relative safety. Unum planetoid is in the Celeste System, and it butts up against UAHC controlled space. Not too many pirates operate there. The Crimson won’t go there at all.
It’s all done. I’m safe.
“The UAHC Nova is hailing us. Would you like to do the honors?” Throat asks.
“Uh, sure. I guess.” I say. Did I mention I don’t do spaceship stuff? I thought I did. Let’s see how badly I fuck this up, shall we?
The line was cut. I’m sweating bullets. I hope my semi-bare ass doesn’t make me look fat with all my bloating. Now I get to meet professional Soldiers for the first time. Even with my impressive sewing skills, my clothes are barely hanging on to me. I look like a porno version of the Bride of Frankenstein.
“Well, how did I do?” I ask Throat.
“About as well as expected.”
“That being?” I press.
“About as well as a human nuclear weapon dressed like a 1970’s sexploitation flick could hope to achieve.”
“Bite me.”
ALWAYS SOMETHING
“New contact!” Throat shouts. “Gunship of unknown hull type.” I check the tactical display. Not that I know much about ships, but if an LRF-90 NAV says it’s an ‘unknown hull type’ then I have no choice but to concur.
“Disposition?” I ask.
“You choose now to get your fighter pilot brevity right?” Throat jibes. “In any case, it has just transitioned into normal space. One thousand clicks off of the Mercy’s main thruster array, and closing fast.”
“They aren’t pirates.” Onslaught adds.
“Agreed.” Throat replies. “If they were, they would never have gotten a hold of an unknown hull type. That thing is straight out of someone’s military industrial complex. It’s likely a prototype.”
Believe it or not, I thought the same thing. Yay me. I have no time to pat myself on the back, however. “Does the Nova know about the contact?”
“I’m sure they do. At this range, even a bargain brand sensor suite could pick them up.” Throat says.
“COA?” Kyle asks. I’m still a novice, so I’m not sure if ‘Course of Action’ is a term used in space combat, but I’m sure a two thousand year old NAV knows ground-pounder terminology.
“I’m on the tactical net for the Nova. They’re just as confused as we are, as far as what that ship is. They’re prepping a boarding team to gather Intel.” Throat replied.
“And that leaves us?” I ask.
“We need to be on that strike team too.” Onslaught says. “If there are new players involved in attacking Guild outposts, then we need first-hand knowledge of it.”
“I’ve already sent the req
uest to assist. Standby for a reply.” Throat says.
After a few minutes of waiting, we watch in horror as the new gunship deploys armed shuttles. The shuttles are a common hull type that are deployed by dozens of military and law enforcement entities. Their presence gives us nothing new to go on, but at least we can estimate their combat effectiveness. The gunship itself hasn’t fired a shot. Smart.
Being an unknown hull type with no IDENT codes, it’s impossible to consider it an imminent threat. At least from a legal standpoint. Deploying shuttles isn’t necessarily a universally recognized threat posture unless they attempt to fire upon, or cut their way through the Mercy’s hull. Basically, we would be violating the law by taking any offensive action.
“They’re ignoring our hails. The Nova’s as well. Unless those shuttles do anything shady, we’re powerless.” Onslaught states the obvious. I’m not a spacefarer, but I have received intensive training on the rules of war, and the associated laws. Even I know that they’re manipulating legalities to achieve an edge.
“Do you have a firing solution?” I ask.
“Officially, no. Effectively, yes.” Throat replies. It makes sense. There’s no telling what this unknown craft is capable of detecting. If we get weapons lock, then it would have a loose, but valid argument to declare us hostile and engage. Then we would be held responsible for whatever happens afterwards. But that doesn’t mean we can’t generate a simulated lock for training purposes. It only uses approximated data derived from raw sensor readings, and doesn’t actively send the data to any live ordinance. But the data can be switched to a live status, and be converted to a firing solution in a few milliseconds.
I reply.