by AJ Vega
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The Martian sky was a light rust color and thick with orange clouds. Three small ships, bearing Martian Confederacy markings, chased their tail into the cloud cover. Flashes of light reflected across the clouds around them as the pursuing ships fired their weapons.
Beams of accelerated protons streaked above the escaping ship, igniting the dorsal portion of its shields, reacting against it and producing a colorful array of electrical charges followed by a small, fiery explosion. The escaping ship stopped its climb and dove down, avoiding a second volley of protons fired at it.
“You sure picked a nice piece of shit to fly, Reece,” Tash said. “No weapons, and an active transponder we can’t shut off.”
“Shut up, Tash. He’s concentrating on flying,” Eddie said.
Reece sat in the pilot’s chair of the small shuttle, trying to climb out of Mars’ atmosphere and at the same time trying to avoid the volley of fire coming from the Martian security forces.
“Maybe if we divert some power, you can move out of range of their cannons,” Tash said.
“Aye, we could,” Mac said. “But then you’d be in range of their missiles, and those, laddy, we can’t dodge.”
The ship suddenly shook hard. The pilots nearly lost their balance.
“What the hell was that?” Tash said.
“Looks like we got another ship chasing us,” Cronin said from the co-pilot seat. “I think he’s trying to get a tow beam on us.”
“I’m trying to shake it,” Reece said through gritted teeth.
The ship shook again hard as the tow beam tried to lock on. Flashes lit up the cockpit from cannon fire shooting ahead of their position.
“They’re trying to keep us from dodging the tow,” Cronin said. “They must want us alive; they could have killed us by now.”
“Aye, probably the trinket we’re carrying,” Mac said.
“What kind of range do you think that tow has, Cronin?” Reece said.
Cronin typed on a computer console before answering. “Too long a range. If you try to get too far, they’ll be in range to shoot their missiles.”
“But you said they want us alive, so they won’t shoot us, will they?” Tash asked.
“They might have EMP missiles,” Taffy said. “They could cripple us and take us alive.”
“Not happening,” Reece said. “Cronin, divert all available power to the engines, take some off the shields if you have to.”
“What’re you going to do?” Tash asked.
“I have an idea,” Reece said.
In a sudden burst of speed, Reece accelerated ahead of the pursuing ships. The security ships tried to match their velocity, but the distance gap between them slowly grew.
“We’re outrunning them,” Cronin said. “But the tow beam is still trying to lock.”
“How much time before they can fire missiles?” Reece said.
Cronin looked at his computer display. “Twelve seconds.”
Light from cannon fire flashed ahead of them, but the shots were well off target as they were beyond effective range. After a moment, the shots stopped.
“They’re firing missiles,” Cronin said.
“Good,” Reece said. “Cronin, all power to engines. Turn off shields.”
“No shields?” Tash said, voice rising.
The missiles from the pursuers streaked ahead toward the stolen ship. Their silver-tipped warheads pierced the clouds and raced ahead with a single-minded purpose. The rogue ship suddenly made a dive, doing a reverse loop. The missiles matched their move and continued to close in. The rogue ship finished its loop and shot itself toward the pursuing ships.
“Which one has the tow?” Reece said.
“Middle one,” Cronin said.
The rogue ship, with missiles close behind, climbed into the belly of the ship formation. The three ships tried to maneuver away, but the momentum was too great. As the stolen ship got close, it jerked straight down and turned its engines off. The missiles, forced by their own momentum and the force of the tow beam, collided with the middle ship. A white flash of light encased the three security ships and all three began to fall.
The rogue ship’s engines turned back on in freefall and came out of its dive, climbing for the Martian sky.
“Nice one,” Cronin said.
“What happened?” Tash asked.
“He used their tow beam against them,” Eddie said. “By heading toward them, and turning off his engines, he confused the missiles; at the same time, the tow beam pulled the missiles toward the middle ship before the missiles could reacquire their lock on us.”
“Did they live?” Reece asked Cronin, his voice quiet.
“I see ejection signatures,” Cronin said. “I think they made it.”
“Who cares? We made it,” Tash said.
The ship carrying the rogue pilots left the Martian atmosphere and emerged into space. Deimos-1 was visible, orbiting the red planet, as was a small fleet of ships that moved quickly to intercept the rogue ship as it came out. Three of the ships were capital ships; the other five were smaller scout craft.
The capital ships were of a relatively flat, wing-shaped design with various weapon emplacements along the wing. Their underbellies bulged out where the main hull housed their crew. The scout craft were essentially miniature versions of the capital ships, with only a single missile and cannon emplacement for weapons.
“Those are Martian Civic Guardians,” Eddie said from the cockpit.
“Yes,” Cronin said. “Three destroyers and five scouts.”
There was a chime from Cronin’s station. “They’re asking for our surrender.”
“They’d have blown us up by now if it wasn’t for the cargo,” Taffy said.
“They’re surrounding us,” Cronin said. “Two destroyers in the front, one in the aft with the scouts covering the other escape routes.”
“I’m stopping,” Reece said, his voice thick with anger.
“Maybe we can negotiate with the trinket we carry,” Tash said.
“They never negotiate,” Eddie said. “I can tell you that from experience.”
“Well,” Mac said. “I guess we’ve had it, lads.”