by Nick Webb
“What the hell is your buddy doing up there?” she yelled at Ben, pointing in the general direction of the bridge.
He winced, holding his head as he tried to stand up straight. “You know, I’d like to ask the man myself.”
***
When the sound of grinding metal died down, Jake released his held breath, unstrapped his restraint and dashed towards the wall near the helm where the helmsman had fallen, apparently having forgotten to buckle his harness.
“Po? Damage report. How many people did we lose?”
Megan Po’s fingers raced across her board, scanning the forward decks for life signs. She drew in a quick breath. “Scanners indicate twelve deceased crew members, though its not clear if they had died during the collision or the battle. I’m picking up faint life signs from ten more, with another handful in decent shape.”
Twelve. At least twelve people just died because of his decision. Twelve people with mothers and fathers, wives and husbands, maybe kids, who would always look for their loved one to suddenly come walking through the front door. Jake felt sick, and bent down to help the helmsman get to his feet. Twelve people. He couldn’t shake the number from his mind.
“Engineering, bridge. Bernoulli where the hell are my engines?”
The voice responded in an impatient, almost slurred tone, thick with the Italian accent that always crept into Alessandro’s speech when agitated or excited. “If you would stop bothering me maybe I could find the time to actually get something done! Look, friend, gravitic field realignments don’t just happen overnight—usually they take weeks. And I’m doing it in less than two hours!”
“So … you’re saying you’re almost done?”
“Yes! Yes, almost. Almost, friend, just let me work and you’ll have your engines within twenty minutes. Just be careful with them—don’t shift too far. I can’t guarantee flawless results, but we’ll get there in one piece. Probably.”
“Fine. Mercer out.” He looked back at Po. “Megan, we’ve got to squeeze twenty more minutes out of this situation. What’s the status of the Caligula?”
Her hair had fallen back out of the bun again, revealing a far younger-looking woman—Jake sometimes had to remind himself that she was in her thirties and not her fifties. She pushed it out of her face and looked up. “We hit her good, sir. All their systems are fluctuating wildly. Weapons are out. Gravitics are still out, main power is out.”
“Best news I’ve heard all day,” he said.
Something on her console caught her eye. “Captain, I’m reading new life signs in the forward section.” She looked back up. “Soldiers from the Caligula. They’re just walking right on.” She hit a few keys. “I’m getting reports of weapons fire, and more hull breaches. Jake, they’re blasting their way through the emergency bulkheads that dropped from the decompression. They’ll suck the air out of the whole ship if they keep on going.”
Damn.
Jake hit his comm switch. “Sergeant Pearson, Captain Mercer. What’s your status? Is the flight deck secure?”
No answer. Jake sat back down in his chair wondering what pieces he had left when the speaker came on.
“Jake, it’s Ben. Sergeant Pearson is dead.”
***
Ben looked down at the dead form of the Sergeant. He’d died well, charging the last group of invaders, pushing them out of cover so that Ben and Nivens could get a clear shot, but it was his final act of heroism.
Jake’s voice came back over the speaker. “Who else have you got? Ben, I need twenty minutes before the engines are fixed, and now I’ve got all of the Caligula’s ground forces surging into the forward section of the ship and blasting through our emergency bulkheads.”
Ben steeled his jaw. “I’ll handle it, Captain. You focus on getting us out of here. I’m going to need every available marine. Send word out through the ship to have them meet me in the common area on deck ten. We’ll branch out from there and move forward.”
Jake breathed hard into the speaker, and Ben couldn’t tell if it was relief or tension. “Ok, Commander. Godspeed. Mercer out.”
Anya ran after Ben as he sprinted through the door into the flamed-out anteroom and conference room, jumping over the bodies of invaders and flight deck crew and pilots alike. “Grace, stay here. Get the flight deck up and running.”
She hollered back, “Screw that. I’m not done killing Imperials today.”
“Lieutenant, that’s an order!” He didn’t even stop to look at her, but ran down the hall, passing the surviving marines who had just mopped up the remnant of Imperial soldiers holed up in one of the storage rooms.
“What are you going to do, court martial me? Fuck it, Jemez, I’m coming along. You’ll need me.”
He swore under his breath and shook his head as he opened up the arms locked in one of the storage rooms off the flight deck corridor. “You’re a stubborn one, you know that?”
“You figured that out after our first night in that cheap motel in Destin, remember?”
He’d hoped she’d forgotten. He’d tried, not wanting to dwell on the bleak days after Dallas when he wandered aimlessly, willing to do just about anything to help him forget the annihilation of his hometown. He’d lost everything. His parents. Everyone he’d ever known.
Heaving an ASA suit out at her, he turned to reply, putting on what he hoped was a sneer. “Believe me, I’d forgotten.” He threw the helmet as well, then grabbed a suit for himself, stripping down to his underwear so that he’d fit into the suit.
“Disrobing even faster than last time. Can’t wait to get back into these?” She pulled her pants off and dangled them in front of him before tossing them aside and wiggling into the armor he’d thrown at her.
“Don’t flatter yourself, Anya, it suits you worse than the overblown bravado you throw up like an overused cliché.” He zipped the front of the suit and clicked the button that would create the seal, and he felt the material suck itself to his body like a second skin, becoming his protective shell, and yet leaving him almost completely mobile.
“You know you love it.” She zipped her own armor and shoved the helmet over her head.
“Ready?” he said, picking up an assault rifle, a sidearm, and a plasma-rpg launcher, which he strapped to his back.
“Whenever you are, sir.”
“Bridge, Commander Jemez. Is my team ready yet?”
Po’s voice answered over the comm. “All available marines are heading for the common area on deck ten, Ben. I’ve instructed them to be fully suited up and armed to the teeth.”
“Thank you, Po. Jemez out.” He nodded to Anya once. “Let’s go, Lieutenant.”
***
Jake leaned over Po’s shoulder. “How many soldiers have jumped the gap?”
She pointed to a section of her board that displayed a list of individuals in the forward section. “I’m reading over fifty now, Shotgun. They’re just streaming right through.”
“We need a way to stop the flow. Even if we can shift out of here, they’ll kill us all with rifles. Do we still have lateral thruster power?”
She nodded. “What, twist the knife?”
“Exactly. Maybe disrupt whatever pathway they’re using to board us. It’s all we’ve got, short of backing away, but the Caligula is our hostage—we can’t give her up or we’re dead.”
Po looked at him, marveling that just a few weeks before they were hanging out in a bar in Fort Walton. Her, Ben, and Jake. He seemed so young then. He still did now, but the day’s events seemed to have aged him by several years. “Sounds good to me.”
He turned back to the helm. “Ensign, fire the starboard dorsal and the port ventral thrusters simultaneously. Hold them for a few seconds, then reverse them. Give us a nice twist.”
“Aye, Captain. Power?”
“Fifty percent.”
The Ensign keyed in the commands and engaged the thrusters, and they all wobbled on their feet as the ship lurched and bucked as steel girders snapped and caught on eac
h other at the union point between the two ships. After a few seconds, the motion stopped, only to resume as the ship began twisting the in the opposite direction.
“Keep it up, Ensign. Give it a few more twists.”
Po glanced at her screen, scanning the section where the Phoenix had plunged into the Caligula. “It’s working, Captain. We’re stirring up quite a bit of wreckage. I don’t think anyone else is getting through. And, it looks like we took out the squad that was still navigating the passage. Ground them to a bloody pulp, most likely.”
Ensign Ayala’s high voice called out to Jake. “Captain, we’re being hailed by the Caligula.”
“Reduce the jamming signal again, Ensign, and put it through.”
Admiral Trajan’s now too-familiar voice sounded distorted and faint through the jamming static, but Po could hear the menace in his voice. “Commander, I see you are still not surrendering, but rather, you’ve chosen to ram my ship. An unfortunate choice, Mercer. My men have now boarded the Phoenix and are advancing on the bridge. Also, I’ve ordered the Severus, the Parma, and the Chimaera to open fire on your ship in the event that the boarding parties fail to take the bridge. It’s over, Commander. You’ve lost. Give up before more good people die.”
Jake nearly spit into the comm speaker. “Don’t you talk to me about the people who’ve died today, you monster. I’ll see you burn for the atrocities you’ve committed.”
“Come now, Commander, such ugly language from a fellow officer. I assure you, turn yourself in, and, yes, you will be court-martialed for your role in today’s events, but you will live, as will your crew—those who are still alive after your antics.”
Po watched Jake fume. The look on his face would dissuade a grizzly bear. He yelled into the comm, “Admiral, if your men step foot on this bridge, I’ll order a gravitic shift and take you out with me. We know what you did to the gravitic drives of the Nine, and I think it would be a wonderful form of justice to see you die by your own hand.”
“So be it, Commander Mercer. I’m willing to die today. Are you?” The Admiral paused and Jake almost answered when the man continued. “Or, to phrase it another way, are you willing to throw away the lives of your crew, as well as the crews of the Heron, and the Roc? You may be interested to know that my boarding parties have reached the bridge of the Roc and have detained the senior staff. I believe you have friends there, do you not?”
Po saw Jake stand up slowly, and tense his neck. “What of it?”
“I have a young commander over there who goes by the name of Crash. Crash Jackson. His captain unfortunately perished in the aftermath of your attack, and he was up until a few moments ago commanding the Roc in his absence.”
Jake glanced back at Po. She felt a knot form in her stomach. What would he do now, knowing his best friend was still alive on that ship?
Admiral Trajan continued. “There is now a gun pointed at his head, and whether the trigger is pulled depends on your actions in the next few minutes. So I order you again: pull your ship away from the Caligula, board a shuttle, present yourself in our fighter deck for arrest, and spare both your life, and Crash’s.”
“Jake,” Po said, keeping her voice steady and level. “If he’s even telling the truth about the Roc, there is no way Crash lives through this, regardless of what you do or tell him. Jake, Crash is dead. Don’t let him get to you.”
Jake didn’t look at her, but maintained his gaze at the front viewscreen, which showed the three capital ships the Admiral had named as they moved into position around them. The Severus faced their stern, while the Parma and the Chimaera flanked them to the right and left. Below them, the Earth turned slowly on its axis, oblivious to the battle still raging above it.
“Commander, I await your response,” said Trajan.
“Admiral,” Jake began, with a slow sigh. “You leave me no choice but to make a gravitic shift. I hope you’ve made peace with whatever pagan Roman gods you hold dear.”
Silence greeted them, except for the static generated by the Phoenix’s jamming. The jamming …
“Jake,” Po said, “remember our jamming. How likely is it that he’s spoken with anyone on the Roc or the Heron recently?”
He finally turned to her. “I know, Po. The Admiral’s lying. Crash might be alive, and he might be dead, just like thousands of other good people today.” He glanced at his console, “Bernoulli’s got three minutes. I’m just trying to buy him as much time as I can, and maybe even get these soldiers off our backs.”
The Admiral’s voice rang out, nearly at a yell—the loudest he’d raised it so far. “Captain, before you do so, I’ll have you know I’ve given the order to shoot your friend. Do you hear me? Your friend will die unless—”
“Save it, Admiral. Save it for someone who cares. Mercer out.” He motioned to Ayala, who cut the channel.
A flashing section of her display caught Po’s eye. “Captain, the other ships are firing at us. All three of them.” As she spoke, the deckplate began rumbling and thrashing about. “I don’t know how much more of this we can take, Jake. Our hull is buckling, our life-support is—”
The comm crackled to life. “Bernoulli to bridge. Let her rip, friend!”
“Alessandro, you glorious bastard,” he muttered before shouting at the helmsman. “Ensign Tate, go!”
The young Ensign scrambled to make the shift. “Where to, sir?”
“Anywhere. Alpha Centauri. Barnard’s Star. Anywhere. Just GO!”
Several agonizing seconds later, during which they heard at least a dozen more explosions, the image on the viewport changed. Rather than three Imperial capital battleships raining down railgun fire, a red dwarf star shone brightly, almost eerily complacent. The ship rocked as secondary explosions continued throughout the outer hull.
“Ensign,” Jake began, “where are we?”
“Laland 21185, sir. Just a few lightyears from Earth. I knew there was no settlement anywhere in the system. Thought it would give us a breather.”
Jake stepped forward and slapped the Ensign on the shoulder. “Good thinking, Tate.” He turned back to Po and let out a long sigh. Po noticed his shoulders seem to slump. “Now, let’s go see what we’ve lost. Megan, you’ve got the bridge. I’ll be in sick bay.”
CHAPTER TEN
PO CLEARED HER THROAT. “CAPTAIN, we’ve still got people fighting in the forward section.”
She noticed his eyes narrow, and he set his jaw. She didn’t envy his position. He’d still have to make decisions that day that would result in more deaths. She knew that would weigh on him. It would weigh on her—Po didn’t know if she could handle something like that. Goodness knows she’d handled plenty of death since she joined the Resistance, but she’d never been responsible for any of them. Except for the enemy’s, of course.
“How are they doing?” he asked, walking over to her tactical station.
“I’m counting thirty enemy troops still active. Ben’s got about twenty marines with him,” she looked closely at her screen, “and, apparently, Lieutenant Grace.”
“She sure gets around, doesn’t she?” He studied the readout. “Can we decompress the decks? Blast them out into space?”
Po shook her head. “Remember, sir, they’re already fighting in a decompressed space. Each time the enemy blasts through an emergency bulkhead, it sucks out the air until the next emergency bulkhead falls into place. It looks like our people have halted the advance, though.”
He pointed at Ensign Ayala. “See if you can patch me through to all ASA suit headsets down there.”
Ayala, the blood on her bleach white hair now dried and crusted over, hunched over her console and pressed a few buttons. “I think I’ve got them, sir.”
“Imperial marines, this is Captain Jacob Mercer. The Phoenix has now shifted to a safe location, far away from any Imperial installations. You are surrounded, outnumbered, and furthermore,” he paused, “I think you should know that while you were aboard my ship, the Caligula and other Imperial v
essels began firing on the ship with the intent to destroy us. With you aboard,” he emphasized.
“I want to make it clear to each of you that you were nothing but pawns to Admiral Trajan. He was willing to piss away your lives in a vain attempt to stop our retreat. The Phoenix, on the other hand, welcomes your presence. We honor you, and salute you as fellow brothers in arms. And I promise you, on all that I hold dear, that if you lay down your arms, I will see that you are transported safely to whatever location you choose. On my honor.”
***
Ben swore. “What the hell is he thinking, offering them amnesty?” He glanced over at Anya, who shrugged, apparently as clueless as he. The Captain had just finished his speech to the enemy, and for the moment it hadn’t seemed to have any affect. Gunfire streamed down the hallway that Ben and his marines had holed up in while they figured out a strategy to advance.
“Bridge, this is Jemez. What’s going on, Jake, why are we letting them give up? They’ve taken out a dozen good men already. We can’t just let them get away with that.”
Jake’s voice came over his headset loud and clear. “Ben, we’ve already won. We escaped, at least, and in my book, that’s a win. Let’s not ruin it by losing any more people. There’s been enough death today. On both sides.”
“But Mercer, we’ve got them pinned down. We can take them out. All of them. We can’t let them go off scott-free.” He wanted nothing less than death for every last one of the soldiers still firing at him. Death for every last one of those responsible for Sergeant Pearson, and for half the flight deck crew and pilots. And for Dallas, and his parents. He wanted blood.