by Finn Gray
The woman gazed at them, shock filling her hazel eyes. Her full lips were pursed on the edge of speech. Lines creased her brown face and her silver-streaked black hair was pulled back in a bun. Even in her surprised state, she had a dignified, almost regal air about her.
Rory guessed she was about fifty cycles old. He glanced down at her name badge. It read, Rebecca Link.
“Oh my gods,” she whispered. “Cap? Is it really you?”
“Becca.” Oates voice was a like a caress. It was hard to believe the gruff man was capable of speaking in such a gentle tone. “I didn’t dare hope…” His words dissolved into a groan as she ran to him and locked him in a tight embrace.
Rory glanced at Marson. “Looks like we’ve found our doc. Let’s give them a moment.”
They dragged the body of the fallen guard into the lab and left it in the corner. Marson took up her rifle and her post.
One of the patients, or subjects, depending on one’s point of view, opened his eyes. He saw the dead guard and gasped.
“What in the hells is going on?” He didn’t seem afraid. He was a solid type, clearly military, with a muscular build and light brown skin, scarred all over. There was no fear in his slightly tilted brown eyes, but interest and intensity.
Rory glanced at him, then along the rows of beds, where others were now stirring. He couldn’t leave them behind.
“The Memnons have begun an uprising. They’ve nuked the major cities, taken over military installations. We’re getting you out of here.”
“We can’t leave,” one woman protested. “We’re sick. If we leave the treatment facility…”
“You aren’t sick,” Rory said. “You’re all immune to the effects of radiation. The Memnons have been using you to create a gene therapy that will allow them to continue to live on Hyperion and Thetis now that they’ve been nuked.” He could tell by the looks in the eyes of several patients that they didn’t quite believe him.
“I think he’s telling the truth,” said a frail man with a heavy Koruzan accent that reminded him of home. “I’ve heard the docs say a few things that jibe with what the kid is saying.”
“He is telling the truth.” Becca spoke loudly, though her voice trembled. She and Oates still held one another.
“Then that makes you one of them! A Memnon!” a man at the far end of the room shouted. Angry voices filled the room.
Rory knew he had to take control of the situation. “She’s one of us!” he shouted in his best imitation of Sergeant Clancy. “She’s been working on the inside, trying to keep you alive and protect you from the Memnons who wanted to dissect each and every one of you.” He was inventing wildly, but it seemed to work. The patients settled down. “Anyone who wants out of here has to give me their word they won’t lay a hand on her. Anyone who tries will be shot.”
“You’d shoot innocent people?” an attractive young woman with brown eyes and long, blonde hair asked.
“Aquaria is burning, and it’s because of the Memnons. The same Memnons who are holding you captive. We’re getting our asses off of this planet as soon as we can locate a shuttle and find someone to fly it. If you attempt to interfere with me or any of those under my protection, I’ll assume you’re a Memnon and I’ll decorate the wall with your brain matter. Understood?”
One by one, the patients nodded.
The man who had first spotted the dead guard spoke up again. “I’m a pilot. The name is Park.”
“I’m Rory Waring, but everyone calls me Plowboy.” Marson was going to do everything in his power to keep the nickname alive. Might as well embrace it.
“That’s Peyton. She’s a pilot, too.” Park inclined his head toward the pretty blonde. “We brought supplies in from Thetis about a week ago. At least, I think that’s how long ago it was. They brought us to what they called ‘sick bay’ immediately. If our cargo ship is still in the hangar, it can carry everyone here with ease.”
“The two of you are a blessing from the gods,” Rory said.
“But where will we go?” Peyton asked.
Rory explained about the shuttle crash, his injured friends, and the plan to try and reach one of the battlecruisers.
Becca had already set about freeing the patients, who took it upon themselves to remove the tubes and sensors from their bodies. As she worked, Oates sidled up to Rory.
“You realize this is going to make it a thousand times more difficult to get to the hangar without being noticed?”
“You weren’t really planning on leaving them to the Memnons, were you?” Rory asked.
“You’re gods damned right I was. But what’s done is done. I suppose they’ll make decent meat shields.”
Park, freed from his bed, had already helped himself to the dead guard’s sidearm and bloody uniform. Good thing she’d been a large woman.
“What’s the plan?” he asked.
Just then, a group of patients circled around Rory. One of them, a liver-spotted old man, all skin and bones, spoke up.
“A few of us are on our last legs,” he began. “The Memnons have used us up. No point in flying away. We’ll just take up valuable resources that could go to younger, healthier people who actually have a chance at survival.”
“We’re not leaving anyone behind,” Rory said automatically.
“Try and stop us, son,” the man said.
Oates put a hand on Rory’s arm. “They’re free men and they know their own minds. They have the right to choose.”
Rory knew he was right. “Fair enough.”
“We want to help. If you’ll give us those grenades, we’ll create a diversion for you as far from the hangar as possible. Maybe we can send a few Memnon bastards to the great beyond while we’re at it.”
Rory handed them his grenades. “Thank you,” he said thickly. He couldn’t believe these men whom he’d never met were willing to sacrifice their lives for the sake of strangers. But he understood. He’d made the same commitment when he became a soldier.
The men nodded and hurried away.
Two men, broad-shouldered with brown skin, thick lips, flat noses, wide nostrils, and frizzy hair approached him.
“I’m Tama. This is Manuwa,” the larger man said in an accent so thick Rory could barely understand him. “Have you heard anything about the Peacock Islands?”
Rory saw no point in lying. “The word is the islands were washed away by a tsunami. I’m sorry.”
The men looked at one another, their expressions hard. “If the islands are gone, that means we’ve got nobody left. We’ll stay here and stick it right up the Memnon’s asses. What can we do to help?”
“Listen to me,” Becca snapped. She was scrolling furiously through her tablet. “I’m accessing the secure network. Hopefully they’ll be so distracted by the uprising that they won’t notice right away.” She bit her lip, kept scrolling. “It looks like both planets are being abandoned. There is an entire fleet of refugees gathering off-world. The Navy is protecting them.”
Rory felt dizzy. Did that mean the war was already lost?
“That’s where you’ll go then,” Oates said to Becca. “You and the patients. And don’t try to argue with me. Your research could be critical to the survival of our race.”
“There’s a problem,” Becca said. “This facility is also home to a weapon called Nyx. It’s specifically designed to create chain reaction that can take out an entire fleet if the ships are close enough together.”
“You think this civilian fleet could be its target?” Rory asked.
“What the hells do you think, boy?” Oates growled. “They’re trying to commit genocide.”
“In that case, we’ll have to take it out,” Rory said.
“That’s right up our alley,” Tama said. “We’ve been known to make a little mayhem from time to time.”
Their ranks quickly swelled. Several of the patients refused to evacuate.
“We’re going to get our revenge, with you or without,” one woman said.
Rory saw no point
in arguing.
Becca gave them what little information she could about the weapon called Nyx.
“The control room is here.” She showed them a spot on the floorplan. “You can try and seize control, but it’s heavily guarded. The best bet is to take out its core.”
While Becca downloaded as much of her research data as she could, Rory, Oates, and Marson divided up what weapons they had between their new recruits. The largest group would attack the control center. Rory and Marson would escort Becca and the captives down to the hangar and seize a ship. Meanwhile, Oates, Tama, and Manuwa would attempt to take out the Nyx.
“Better make it fast. We won’t wait all day,” Rory said with forced levity.
“You won’t wait at all. You find a gods-damned transport and you get the hells out of here while the Memnons are distracted.”
“We’re not going to leave you behind,” Marson said. “We’d be dead without you.”
“Well, not it’s time you learned to take care of yourselves.” Oates lowered his voice, glanced in Becca’s direction. “I’m not the man she loved. I can’t live among people anymore.”
“She won’t go without you,” Rory said.
“Then you make her go!” Oates seized him by the collar. “The only thing that matters is that you get Becca out of here. You’ve got to get her safely to the fleet. They need her data and they need what’s in her head.”
Rory met Oates’ stare, tried to come up with a way to dissuade him, but he knew it was no good.
“I need this. Even more than I want to be with Becca, I want revenge. Maybe that makes me a bastard but that’s just the way it is. What if it was your girl? What would you want?”
Rory knew he couldn’t argue with Oates.
“Promise me you’ll at least try to get away. Don’t go in with the idea it’s a suicide mission.”
Oates grinned. “Oh, it’ll be a suicide mission, but I promise to try.”
Chapter 31
Battlecruiser Dragonfly
“Commander, you should see this.” Patel gazed at the vid screen, unable to believe what she saw. The bridge was abuzz with activity. So far, only a single refugee ship had escaped Hyperion. From Thetis, Commander Sasaki reported that no ships had escaped the surface, but repairs to his ship’s drive were nearing completion. The moment was drawing near that they would evacuate.
“What is it?” Graves appeared at her side, his face a mask of calm.
“A research satellite sent back these pictures. It’s a science satellite, so the images went to some lab and remained unnoticed thanks to all the chaos, at least, until I had an idea and decided to go digging. These are shots of the Memnon fleet.
On the screen, a host of vessels filled the screen—dreadnoughts and pioneer ships. They were strikingly similar to older incarnations of their Aquarian counterparts, but with subtle differences—they were larger and bristled with added weaponry.
“I count twelve dreadnoughts, plus support ships,” Graves said. “That’s more than the fleet can handle in its current state.”
“What is that thing there?” Lina Navarre, the empress, had joined them. Patel liked the young woman and was pleased Graves continued to allow her on the bridge. Lina tapped a shape in the middle of the fleet.
Patel leaned in for a better look. The ship that had previously escaped her notice was brick-shaped. The image didn’t afford much detail, but she could tell it was like nothing she’d ever seen before.
“I have no idea,” Patel admitted.
“It’s the thing that tips the balance,” Graves said.
“Sir?” Patel asked.
“Imagine you’re the Memnons. You’ve spent the last hundred years preparing for this. It’s probably the unifying force in your society—the dream of returning home and reclaiming what is rightfully yours.”
“And getting revenge,” Patel added.
“If that’s your sole focus, maybe the one roll of the dice that your future depends on, wouldn’t you bring more than twelve dreadnoughts?”
“I’d bring enough to grind my enemy into dust beneath my heel,” Lina said. “I’d leave nothing to chance.”
“Even if we were at full strength, twelve dreadnoughts plus this kind of support would probably be too much for us,” Patel said. “But we’re a long way from our peak firepower. The uprising saw to that.”
“It leaves too much to chance,” Graves said. “Which means they believe they’re bringing enough military might to bear that they can do just what Her Majesty said.
“All their ships are better-armed than ours,” Patel said. “But that brick thing in the middle is… quite different. It’s got to be something special.”
“Mister Cassier,” Graves barked. “Get the admiral on the horn.”
Minutes later, they had shared their data and thoughts with Laws, who agreed with their assessment. “Any idea of when the Memnons will arrive?”
“Iku! I need that estimate,” Graves said to Sesay Iku, his science officer.
The skinny, dark-skinned scientist shook his head. “Sir, I’m working with such limited data that my estimate could vary as much as three hours one way or the other.”
“That’s fine. What’s your estimate?”
Iku turned to look the commander in the eye. “I estimate the Memnons will arrive in three hours.”
“Gods damn it!” Laws cursed. “We can’t wait. I’m issuing the order to evacuate.”
“This is not a purely military decision,” Lina said. “This affects the civilian fleet, too.”
Patel winced. This was not the time for a power struggle; especially one the empress had no hope of winning.
“Commander Sasaki is not prepared to evacuate, Captain Hunt is still out there, we’ve taken in almost no new refugees. Why can’t we wait a bit longer, and jump when the Memnons arrive.”
“It takes time to spool up the QE drives,” Patel explained hurriedly, seeing the thundercloud brewing on Graves’ face. “And that is when a ship is most vulnerable. It takes almost all the power the ship can muster, leaving enough for critical systems and not much for shields. It’s best if we are gone before the Memnons arrive.”
“Understood. In that case, I agree with the order.”
“Where do we jump, Admiral?” Graves asked.
“That is the question, isn’t it?” Laws replied. “I confess I haven’t come up with a single location the Memnons might not know of.”
“What about Gamus 3? The planet is uninhabitable and the star it orbits interferes with RADS. It’s as safe a place as any rendezvous with the fleet from Thetis and plan our next move.”
“Issue the order,” Laws said, “jump coordinates to be transmitted on an encrypted channel.”
The orders went out and jump preparations began immediately.
“Sir, what about Hunter?” Patel asked.
“Hopefully he’ll get our encrypted message and join us there.” Their eyes locked. She knew what he was thinking. If Hunter isn’t dead.
They were two minutes into jump preparations when the first problem arose. A civilian transport ship carrying over a thousand people reported that its QE drive had failed.
“Nothing we can do for them at the moment,” Graves said. “Tell them to get to work on it and jump to the rendezvous ASAP.”
“We won’t leave them behind will we, Sir?” Patel asked.
“That will be the admiral’s decision.”
Six minutes in, Commander Scott reported that Harrier’s drive was being rebooted.
“Why is this happening?” Patel asked.
“Could be a lot of things,” Graves said. “Lack of regular use, shoddy maintenance. We’ve been the biggest bully on the block, hells the only bully, for so long that we got complacent. We needed somebody to come along and give us a punch in the mouth.”
“A punch in the mouth like this one?” Patel asked.
Graves grimaced, stared down at his vid, watching lines of data climb up the screen. The readouts
indicated an unidentified energy source emitting waves that could not be identified. Something very bad was happening.
“No. This is more like a kick in the nuts.”
“Commander!” Kelly Fisher, the helmsman, shouted. “Our QE drive is down!”
“That’s impossible!” Iku said. “Our drive is ship-shape.”
“It rebooted and now it’s just spinning,” Fisher said.
“Commander, we’re getting reports of QE drive failures all over the fleet,” Cassier said. “Everyone’s experiencing the same thing.”
“What the hells is going on?” Graves shouted.
Patel scanned her vids. RADS looked…odd. She saw no hits, but the display appeared cloudy, as if microscopic hits like dust specks swirled across its surface.
“Sir, something is wrong here.” And then the screen flickered and a line of bogeys filled the screen. “Oh my gods! The Memnons are here!”
“Admiral! The Memnons have arrived!” Zala turned around so fast that her braids slapped her in the face. “They just appeared on RADS with no warning. A massive fleet”
“The gods be damned,” Xenia Laws whispered. That strange ship Graves spotted. Perhaps it’s a cloaking device. Or maybe it’s what’s killing our QE drives. Or both.
“I count ten dreadnoughts and twice as many smaller ships, plus the brick-shaped vessel,” Zala said.
“Get me on the horn with all the commanders!” Moments later, she was barking orders. “Scramble all alert fighters. Form a defensive shield around the civilian fleet.”
“What about our QE drives?” Vatcher asked.
“I think the Memnons have something to do with that, too, and I think that flying brick is the cause. Let’s work up a strategy for dealing with it.”
“Admiral,” Zala said, “the Memnons are launching fighters.”
Laws bit her lip, turned her eyes to the screen. “And so it begins.”
On the vid above the bridge, Laws watched as the Memnon fighters swarmed from the dreadnoughts and closed in on the fleet. They were sleek, with low profiles, curved, wing-shaped crafts tapered at the back. They reminded Laws a bit of old-fashioned scythe blades. The Aquarian fighters flew out to meet them, their numbers small by comparison, especially after the toll taken by the uprising.