by Glen Zipper
JD and Julian stopped when they saw me reach down to help her.
“Go! I’ll catch up!” I yelled.
Both conceded, reluctantly dashing ahead.
“Heather, right?” I said, kneeling beside her. She nodded at me, terrified. “It’s okay. You got this.”
My heart was pounding like a jackhammer, but I didn’t want her to see I was probably just as afraid as she was. I tried to think of something to calm myself. The only thing that came to mind was a technique they taught us in boot camp—talk over the voice in your head.
Something really bad must be happening . . .
. . . but there are a thousand possible explanations, not all of them that scary.
Seriously, Nixon? You really think this is a systems malfunction? Or some kind of surprise, crazy-realistic drill?
Yes! Why not? It could totally be one of those things.
I wasn’t doing a particularly good job of convincing myself, but the thought process itself helped pull me out of my anxiety loop. Which was probably the whole point of the technique to begin with.
Lifting Heather up by the arm, I used my other hand to pull a compact jumper seat out from the wall. “Just like the drills,” I said. With a gentle motion, I guided her up into the seat. “Sit.” I quickly adjusted the length of her harness straps and then crisscrossed them over her chest. “Strap.” Lastly, I fastened each strap into buckles on either side of her lap. “Lock. SSL. All there is to it.”
I gently raised her chin so we were face-to-face. “Are you hurt?” I asked.
Her eyes shifted frantically with panic. “What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” I replied, doing my best to keep it together.
Beta Deck groaned as the California yawed hard to port. Heather’s anxiety reached a crescendo. “Isn’t someone going to do something?” she pleaded.
I rose to my feet, trying to push the chaos all around me into the background. I had to keep focused. “Yes,” I assured her. “Everything is going to be okay.”
Everything is going to be okay? You don’t believe that, do you?
I do. Even if this is something bad, that’s what we’re trained for. Cadets eat bad for breakfast.
“Cadets eat bad for breakfast”? What kind of boot camp rah-rah nonsense is that?
The same kind of boot camp rah-rah nonsense that got me through the Crucible!
I ran toward the central personnel lift. The other cadets and Julian were one hundred meters away down the straightaway. I sprinted to them. Ohno and Bix were frenetically fiddling with a control panel by the lift door. An error message repeatedly flashed on its display.
Ohno slammed her fist against the panel. “Lifts are down.”
“Access shaft,” said JD. “We can get to the bridge by access shaft.”
“They’re gonna be locked down, just like everything else.”
“I can manually override an access shaft,” Bix interjected. “I think.”
“Go,” I implored him. “Hurry.”
JD urged Bix ahead, and he led us through more chaos, around two corners to Junction 12—where a bulkhead-mounted ladder led up to an access shaft secured by a wheeled hatch.
Not waiting for anyone’s order, Bix climbed up and punched a very long, sequenced code into a control panel. A series of beeps sounded, followed by a hiss of compressed air evacuating from around the hatch’s pressurized seams. Bix tried to turn the wheel but wasn’t strong enough. He hopped down from the ladder. “A little help?”
JD climbed up and managed to open the hatch. “Bix, you first,” he said as he descended. “You’re going to need to override the lock on the other end. Ohno, you bring up the rear and resecure this hatch. I don’t want any panicked students getting into the shaft behind us.”
“Aye,” she confirmed.
JD followed Bix up through the entry. I climbed up after JD, and Anatoly followed me. Then came Julian and Ohno. I took long, slow breaths in rhythm to the climb. Despite the shaft’s insulation, I could still feel punishing concussions landing against the ship’s hull. The hits seemed to come at ten-second intervals. My palms drenched with sweat, I tried to time each impact so as to not lose my grip.
Frightened and disoriented, the only thing that kept me climbing was my survival instinct. Despite all the competing thoughts in my head, my gut was telling me one thing loud and clear. If we didn’t get to the bridge, we were all going to die.
CHAPTER 17
JD
THE ALARM CONTINUED BLARING THE ENTIRE CLIMB up the access shaft. Upon finally reaching bridge level, Bix typed another long sequence of code, and the hatch above us let out a hiss. Putting all of his weight into turning the wheel, he pushed the hatch upward and climbed out. I hoisted myself out right after him and pulled Viv up behind me. Then the rest of the cadets and Julian spilled out of the shaft one by one.
Bix ran to the keypad by the bridge’s rear entrance and entered the next access code. It didn’t work.
“Have to override this too,” he said, quickly getting to work.
I made eye contact with each of the other cadets. A trick I learned from my father. Let your officers see the confidence in you that they want for themselves. It felt as if every cell in my body was boiling in terror, but I tried to put on the bravest face possible. A second later, the door slid open.
We marched onto the bridge and into more chaos. Viv and I stood front and center. Straightening our backs, we brandished the same practiced, confident expressions. The rest of our group lined up in tight formation behind us, also exuding brave, albeit slightly less confident, demeanors. Julian lingered in the back, almost hiding behind us.
“Aft view!” Gentry shouted.
Lewis’s fingers trembled as he alternated the settings on his console.
We fixated on the Holoview. It revealed an ominous vessel lurking over Gallipoli. None of us could believe our eyes.
A Kastazi Destroyer.
It bombarded the station with round after round of plasma fire and pulse missiles like a fire-spitting beast. Three hundred meters long and one hundred meters wide, the closest approximation of its shape was a twisted, deformed submarine with sharp, rectangular edges. On either side it had evenly spaced vents protruding along its length, each fifteen meters higher up than the one before it. It appeared as though forged in a place resistant, if not immune, to the laws of physics and counterintuitive to every basic precept of interstellar dynamics—and it was coming at us business end first.
One of the incendiary pulse missiles soared toward the California’s docking platform. “Brace for impact!” Gentry yelled out, tightly gripping the arms of the captain’s chair.
The missile impacted, its blast rattling the ship hard. The consistent, buzzing hum of the ship’s defense grids weakened. We stumbled but quickly regained our footing.
Lewis feverishly checked his readout. “Defense grids critical!”
Gentry’s eyes turned glassy. “We’re going to die,” he softly muttered to himself.
“No!” Lewis screamed back at him. “You’ve got to do something!”
My adrenaline spiking to dizzying levels, I knew if we didn’t break free from Gallipoli, the shearing force of the shock waves would soon tear us apart. I stepped toward Gentry. “We’re sitting ducks! You’ve got to com the captain and get authorization for an emergency launch!”
Gentry swung around to face me. “What do you think you’re doing? All of you get out of here! This isn’t a drill! We’re under attack!”
“Com the captain!” I repeated, ignoring his admonishment.
“Don’t you think I’ve tried that? We’ve lost all communication with Gallipoli!”
I quickly surveyed the bridge. Station after station, I saw nothing but vacant consoles. “Where is the Emergency Synth support? Why hasn’t it been activated?”
“Disabled in the attack!” Gentry shouted back, stabbing his finger into my chest. “You get your people out of here now, cadet!”
I grit my teeth, pushing through a sharp wave of anxiety.
“We’re not going anywhere,” I replied defiantly. “You can’t do this alone.”
Turning my back to Gentry, I addressed the cadets. “Take your stations.”
Without hesitation, they hustled to obey my command.
Gentry blocked their paths. “You’ll do no such thing!”
None of us saw the next salvo hurtling toward us. The bridge shook violently as the California absorbed a direct hit.
“Do it!” I hollered at the cadets.
Viv, Anatoly, Ohno, and Bix scattered around Gentry and ran to their stations. Julian asked, “What can I do?”
I pushed Julian toward Weapons. “Go. Pull up targeting.”
“What are you doing? Weapons are still offline!” screamed Gentry.
“What? They should’ve been reenergized hours ago!”
“There was a malfunction with Gallipoli’s plasma injectors. We couldn’t initiate the infusion sequence. We were trying—”
“Forget it!” I said, cutting him off. “You’ve got to get us out of the line of fire. Start the launch sequence now!”
The California’s acting captain stood impotent and completely disoriented. Another blow rattled the ship. “I can’t,” he said in a quiet voice.
“Gentry, listen to me. Forget about waiting for authorization. If communication to Gallipoli is cut off, you’re never going to get authorization. We’ll die waiting for it.”
“No, that’s not what I mean,” he answered, his eyes chaotically darting back and forth in panic. “We’re locked into the station’s moorings. We can’t launch. It’s impossible.”
The Holoview lit up like a flame as the hostile showered Gallipoli with another epic barrage of plasma fire. An instant later, a huge explosion erupted from the upper quadrant of the station, likely killing almost everyone above Level 15. The aftershock powerfully jolted everything beneath the impact, including the California.
The cadets exchanged horrified glances—and then directed them at me. I felt frozen. Fear was beginning to consume me. Just like I was afraid it would if I ever had to face the specter of death again.
“JD!” Viv snapped at me.
I swallowed hard. “All right. There has to be a way . . . I want ideas. Now!”
“Bix, can you override the mooring locks?” Viv asked.
“They’re hardwired to Gallipoli. I’ve got no access.”
“Can we just launch? Will the force break us free?” Anatoly asked.
“Tug-of-war between us and Gallipoli, Gallipoli wins,” I replied.
“There’s a way,” Ohno shouted over us. “But you’re not gonna like it.”
“Tell us.”
“I can blow the moorings by overloading them. Just need to reroute enough power to do it.”
“And what’s the ‘not gonna like it’ part?”
“I can only get enough power by rerouting energy from one place—”
“Defense grids,” said Bix, finishing her sentence.
“Are you crazy?” Gentry hollered. “We’ll be completely defenseless!”
“For maybe ten seconds,” Ohno replied. “Probably not even that long.”
On the Holoview I saw the Destroyer pivoting in our direction. A moment later, a bombardment of phosphorescent projectiles smashed against our grids. With each collision there was a blinding flash, like lightning after thunder.
We looked on helplessly as another shower of hostile fire plunged toward the California, this time landing with a direct hit somewhere near the lower decks. The ship lurched and wailed as our defense grids labored to keep us together. Sparks flew from overhead and smoke began to pour into the compartment.
“Give me shipwide vitals!” Gentry demanded.
“Aye,” replied Lewis.
The dark glass panel lit up with the life signs of every soul on the ship. Last name first, first name last. Except now every name wasn’t bordered in green. Some were in yellow. Those were the injured. Far too many were in red. Those were the . . . dead. The readout was too small to see individual names, but the concentrated grouping of the red boxes told a horrific story.
“Gamma Deck. Starboard side. It’s gone,” said Lewis, swallowing tears. “They’re all dead.”
If Gentry had been teetering on the edge, Lewis’s report finally pushed him over it. “No, no, NO!” he shrieked.
I noticed Anatoly watching Gentry closely. No doubt he had concluded the same thing I had: Gentry was having a breakdown.
“Open a com to the Destroyer,” Gentry ordered, standing from his chair.
Lewis looked at him like he was crazy.
“I said open a com!”
“What are you doing?” I screamed at Gentry.
“Surrendering.”
“Are you out of your mind? Does it look like they want to take prisoners? Blow the moorings and get us out of here!”
Gentry pushed me. “I will not take orders from a cadet. Stand down!”
I felt a damp sweat pool around my neck as I watched the man controlling our fates breaking down in front of me.
Gentry glared at the hostile. “Is the com open?”
“Aye,” Lewis hesitantly confirmed. “Com open.”
“This is Acting Captain Evan Gentry of the UAS California,” he said, raising his chin with a practiced but false dignity. “We unconditionally surrender.”
With the California still helplessly tethered to Gallipoli, the Destroyer’s vents again glowed amber before releasing another, perhaps final, strike of brilliant, jagged energy bolts.
The first impact pushed the California nearly fifteen degrees sideways, dangerously straining its tether to Gallipoli’s moorings. Another two names on the vitals screen went from yellow to red. As the destruction of Gamma Deck had likely killed all the NCOs, the latest dead were almost certain to be students.
“I repeat: We surrender!” Gentry yelled at no one in particular.
The second impact sent the bridge circuitry into overload. Lewis’s station exploded in his face, launching him backward, unconscious. Anatoly rushed to the fallen ensign’s aid.
Gentry staggered back, collapsing into the captain’s chair.
Ohno yelled, “Defense grids losing integrity fast! There’s not going to be enough power left for me to overload the moorings!”
“We’ve got to act!” Bix shouted, matching her volume.
I looked at Gentry one last time. His eyes were vacant and glassy. He was broken. Gone. I knew we only had one option left.
Then, as if he had been reading my mind, Julian shouted at me, “If you’re going to do it, do it now!”
I looked to Viv for reassurance. With a slight nod of her head, she gave me what I needed.
“Mr. Gentry, you are relieved,” I asserted, barely believing the words were leaving my mouth.
Gentry didn’t move. “No, I am not,” he replied, not breaking from his distant stare.
“I will not ask you again. Get out of the chair. You are relieved!”
Gentry jumped up and throttled me. Struggling to breathe, I never did see Anatoly coming. I only saw his thick forearm wrap under Gentry’s neck, pulling him off me.
Regaining my bearings, I watched the consciousness draining from Gentry’s eyes. Anatoly wasn’t letting go. With a single word, any of us could’ve stopped it. But we didn’t.
A moment later our acting captain crumbled in Anatoly’s arms.
Another torrent of plasma fire rocked the California, and she shuddered as though she were about to snap in two. Adrenaline flooding my bloodstream, my thought processes seized, replaced by the basic instincts of fight or flight.
The same fear that had consumed Gentry was poised to devour me as well. I felt more than frightened. I felt helpless. Like a runaway train, my distress escalated to the precipice of hysteria and then peaked at the limit of my fortitude’s tolerance.
Then, suddenly, like a ghost whispering into my ear, I heard my father’s
voice.
Do you think I wasn’t afraid at Titan Moon? Fear never leaves you, John. Never.
I struggled to my feet, my mind scouring a landscape of painful memories. The shimmering daggers of fire that melted away my skin. My mother’s weak mouth trying to form words. Charlie cruelly twisting his blade in my gut. It was as if all that pollution was spiraling down the drain of my psyche, escaping to someplace else where it couldn’t touch me.
Fear is like a fever. It consumes you. Burns through your veins. Takes hold of all your faculties.
Viv watched as I steadied myself. My pulse slowed. My head cleared.
But if you can learn to trust yourself in the face of fear, the fever will break. And then you will feel . . .
Everyone waited expectantly as I settled myself into the captain’s chair. I sat up straight and rested my elbows on its armrests.
“Bix, intervals between plasma cannon fire?” I called out, my eyes fixed on the Holoview.
“Five, maybe six seconds,” he answered.
“Ohno, wait for the next hit and then reroute enough power to blow those moorings. You’ll have four seconds to get the grids back up.”
“I’ll do it in three.”
The Holoview lit up with another barrage of plasma fire.
“Brace for impact!” I shouted.
The ship quaked fiercely from the hit. In the corner of my eye, I saw another cluster of names on the vitals display go from green to yellow.
“Now, Ohno! Now!”
“Aye. Rerouting power!”
Instantly, I felt the popping jolt of four small explosions and a sudden, incremental drift of the California’s position.
“We’re free of the moorings!” Ohno hollered.
“Incoming!” yelled Viv as the Destroyer launched its next salvo at us.
I didn’t have time to ask about the grids as the flaming ribbons of plasma soared toward us.
The hostile strike landed, but we remained intact.
“Grids stabilized and holding at twenty percent,” Ohno confirmed.
“That last hit pierced our fuel cells. Containment field activated, but we’re still venting plasma from the aft turbines!” Bix cried out.