Hell's Razer

by S. F. Edwards

  “Then how do you explain your involvement with the Electrolyte assault back in 1001?”

  Blazer felt taken aback. “Is that what this is all about? That we executed that mission.”

  “Isn’t that enough?”

  “No. And for the record, we were assigned that mission because I was specifically called out by the Electrolytes. They had my sister hostage and my team had trained how to fight Energy Gatherers.”

  “My team had as well,” he said, keeping his voice even. “We had four Energy Gatherers among us. Had we gotten the call; we could have been there two hects earlier.”

  “And you still would have had to wait for us. Command and the ASF made the call on who to send in. Not me. Take it up with them.”

  “We did. It’s been a thorn in my craw ever since. That you brought down the Electrolytes. It should have been us,” his anger began to seep through his facade.

  “What was your stake in it?”

  “My Uncle. He got suckered in. Then when he tried to get out, Krain killed him and his family. She couldn’t afford to let what he knew get out,” he explained, his reins on his anger slipping.

  Blazer shot a look to Arion. Arion gave him a barely perceptible headshake.

  Before Blazer could respond, Zanreb continued. “I just wish I could have been there to bring everything she’d created down. And yes, I know your grandfather killed the critch. Maybe that’s why your family was targeted. But I wish I could make everyone and everything she touched suffer the way my family has.”

  Exhaustion taking hold, Blazer sat down beside the podium. “Zanreb, I need to know that after what I tell you, that you’ll have my back, and the backs of everyone on this team.”

  For the first time, Blazer felt he’d caught the man unawares as he raised a curious look. “I’ll do my job, sir.”

  “Not good enough. You will have three cycles to make your decision. If you decide you can’t, then there are many displaced pilots and medics who can fill your slot.”

  “You keep going through medics and you won’t get any more.”

  Blazer shrugged. “If they can keep my wing, and watch my back, instead of putting a knife in it, I won’t care.”

  “So what’s this shattering revelation?” he sneered.

  “Kamden Krain’s cultists didn’t come after us because my grandfather killed her, but because they wanted her heirs to lead them.” Blazer waited as that sank in.

  Recognition filled Zanreb’s tired eyes. “What?” he asked, his fists balling and un-balling, tiny sparks flicking between them. “You’re…”

  “Yes, I am. And I hate that part of myself. And Marda, my wife, the woman you replaced in this unit, she’s the one who sealed Kamden’s orb. We, this team, brought everything that critch made down. Now, can I trust you to have my back? Or are you so incensed against her, and those that have tried to distance themselves, that you would come after me and mine?”

  Zanreb leaned forwards; ran his hands through his hair. He looked up, hands on the back of his neck. “I will have your back. Doesn’t mean I like you. But I won’t betray you.”

  “You had best mean that. Because if you ever leave a member of this team hanging again, I will have the team rub you down with wolfsbane pollen and chuck you in a locked room with Zithe.”

  “You wouldn’t face me like a real Energy Gatherer?”

  Blazer rubbed his eyes. “If you want to have it out with me, then we will. Two cycles from now, gym, we face off and you can get it all out. Is that what you want?”

  Zanreb lurched back as if he hadn’t expected that response. He looked Blazer up and down, re-evaluating him. “No sir. I’ll do my job. Understand, we’re not friends, and neither am I here to make them. I have friends, had more, don’t want or need others. So, what I do in my off hects is mine alone.”

  Blazer shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it. You’re dismissed.”

  Zanreb stood, snapped off a quick salute Blazer didn’t feel like returning and stormed out of the room. Blazer sat there in silence for a moment, Arion still waiting. “Did I just make a huge mistake telling him that, or was I right to put all the cards in play?”

  “Yes.” Arion replied.

  “You are so helpful.”

  “Yes.”

  “Should I ask Zithe to have security keep tabs on him?”

  “Yes,” Arion replied with some more authority.

  “Do you want to get out of here and micomm screw your wife?”

  “Yes,” Arion replied with a low growl of pleasure.

  “Then get out of here.” Blazer leaned forward and pulled up his micomm link to Marda.

 

  Blazer chuckled.

  Blazer just sat for a moment, took in the emptiness of the room, let it absorb his fatigue. He set up a private channel to Zithe and Tadeh Qudas.

  Tadeh Qudas responded.

  Blazer realized that to be true. He hadn’t welcomed Zanreb to the team in the way he had in the past. He’d been too busy with his duties and family, in his off hects, to really engage with the man.

 

  Tadeh Qudas responded.

 

  Tadeh Qudas replied with a hint of appreciation in his tone.

  UCSB Date: 1005.383

  Stealth Sloop Night Walker-9, Ketig Nebula

  Lieutenant Anthony Nerant’s suit stunk. It stunk worse than anything he could describe or imagine after spending the last five days trapped inside it. Bred and raised to be a pilot, he didn’t have much in the way of flowery language to describe the stink. He imagined it was what a rotting corpse smelt like. Still, he counted himself lucky. He was at least alive, not drifting in the void in a vain attempt to escape the Conts.

  He wasn’t sure what was worse, the smell or his hunger. Forced to rely on only the emergency rations in his pack, which he’d failed to properly conserve, he hadn’t eaten in three days. The taste of his recycled water was no better. The crew of the Sloop did their best to remind him that he was an unwelcome addition to their compliment.

  He looked out of the tiny supply alcove the crew of the Sloop had stuffed him into during their hasty retreat from the Inferno’s destruction in Drobile. Tony cursed that he’d had to leave his fighter behind, but his F/A-229 Wildcat couldn’t traverse the rigors of hyperspace. He stretched his back. The alcove had minimal acceleration protection and the last burn that had set their course back to the Barker had twisted his neck. He floated out and looked back, and the reason he was alive sat there; his flight data recorder.

  That computer contained a full record of the battle, including his six kills. He smiled at that. The way that final Splicer-2000 had crumbled under the assault of his six MP-90-3-A plasers and twin MM-120-G Thrasher cannons filled him with glee. There was no way the two spiteful Lodrans within had escaped.

  All the Stealth Sloop crew wanted was his computer. Hidden as they had been in the shadow of the gas giant, their own recordings didn’t have the cleanest data. Other pilots who’d escaped had transmitted their logs without question. Tony had known better. To hand over his data would mean his death. So, he negotiated.

  They could have the computer, data and all. They just had to bring him too. They almost didn’t. If his fighter hadn’t featured a command and control package that his squadron’s telemetry fed into, they would have left him behind. The sheer amount of data had saved his life.

  The irony was that he shouldn’t have been there in the first place. A clerical err
or had put him in command of the Inferno’s Wildcat squadron, the VF-13 Black Cats. Two days before the Inferno had deployed, the Squadron Commander had suffered an accident with a cargo loader. His Second-in-Command, Lt Commander Andoni Currant, a high-born, whose serial number was only one digit off from Tony’s own, should have commanded the unit. Instead, Tony had been given the command. He’d failed miserably at it. None of the humans, or aliens under his command had listened. Instead they referred always to Lt Commander Currant. He understood, of course, but still landed himself in the cockpit of the Squadron Commander’s fighter.

  And what a fighter it was. Tony’s own Wildcat was a hand-me-down from VX-11 and their approval trials. The Black Cat fighters were all fresh from the factory. Opening the canopy, he could still smell the scent of Beta Station’s factory, of home. The fighter handled like a dream. Its SIS was factory fresh and polished. It didn’t have the nicks in the wraparound displays where tools had fallen or boot scuffs. It saddened him that he’d been left no choice but to scuttle it when he’d escaped. At least he had escaped.

  “What’s our ETA?” he asked the crew.

  No one responded and he pressed the stud on his wrist to tap into the comm net. The crew never let him forget that he was an unwanted passenger. “What’s our ETA?”

  The navigator looked over his shoulder in the cramped cockpit past the relief crew dozing in the makeshift bunks between Tony’s alcove and them. “Thirty-five minutes. Our dark matter drive is acting up.”

  Tony checked his life-support display. He had a little over forty minutes of clean air left in his tank. His recycler had broken down the day before. It had been a fight just to get them to grant him access to the ship’s air. Even then, they’d forced him to use his emergency filtration packs well past their limits. He wondered if that was why his suit stunk so badly. That or he was rotting away within it. “Do we have comms with the Barker yet?”

  The navigator nodded.

  “Good, get me a secure line with VFA-143’s Squadron Leader.”

  “The Admiral wants a report first.”

  Tony wasn’t looking forward to delivering that report himself, and especially not by himself. He’d have no choice as the surviving officer of rank from the battle, unless another ship had escaped. “It’s not about that. Just get me a secure line.”

  It took a few minutes but the line, static-filled, and with the tell-tale hum of a recorder, clicked to life. “Tony, is that you? What are you doing back?”

  Tony slid back into his alcove and took a deep breath, nearly gagged on the taste of the air. “Sir, it went, poorly,” he began trying not to give much away. “I will be the ranking officer to debrief the Admiral.”

  Commander Hernandez let out a low whistle. “I’ll be there by your side. How bad?”

  Tony chose his words carefully as, secure line or not, someone might be listening in. “The flame was extinguished but not before it burned the canine.”

  “How badly was the pup hurt?”

  “It’ll need to see a vet, despite all the fleas we killed.”

  “Good to hear. Will the dog be a threat to a bigger howler?”

  Tony had to think of that for a moment. He’d never actually seen a dog before in the flesh, only holos and images. They made a great many sounds, was one a howl? Yes, it was. The answer came. “The dog would never have lived against the bigger howl. Now, I doubt it could limp close.”

  “Good, what about the dog’s friends?”

  “Hurt, bad. The sharks will smell only their blood for a long time. And the squids are being served up for dinner.”

  “Good to hear. Get home safe. I’ll stand beside you.”

  The line went dead and Tony leaned back as best he could in zero-g. With his Commander beside him, he could face the Admiral, no matter how grim the news. Though the fact that they’d hurt the Wolfsbane bad enough to send her limping home did return a smile to his lips. Weakened as the ship was, now might be the best time to strike.

  Bridge, GFS Barker

  Tony waited in nervous anticipation as Admiral Kimmet read through Tony’s report several hours later. Dressed in a clean uniform with brand new LT Commander bars on his shoulder and a fresh VFA-259 patch on his chest, he stood beside Commander Hernandez while the Admiral swiped her way through the report. He hadn’t expected the promotion, much less the transfer. He thought he’d be sent back to his old squadron, not given the honor of a transfer to the carrier’s premiere unit, the Hellraisers, named for Admiral Barker himself. “Do you know why we’ll win this war LT Commander?” the Admiral asked, making Tony jump.

  “We are the superior force, ma’am?” Tony stammered.

  “That we are,” the Admiral continued and motioned towards the viewport overlooking one of the possible locations the Powell may have escaped to. She held up the handcomm and its report. “The Inferno, despite all her advances and improvements, was still a shell of a ship,” she turned to smile at Tony, an almost matronly gesture. “And, she managed to cripple the great and powerful Wolfsbane.”

  “But at what cost?” Tony asked, and immediately regretted it.

  The Admiral chuckled. “Don’t be so nervous son. The Captain’s not here. I’ll temper his wrath with hard truth when he reads the report.”

  That made Tony relax and he approached the Admiral at the viewport. The scene before him was stunning, like someone had thrown a green filter over a summer storm. Not that Tony had ever seen one outside of simulations. The Admiral pointed out a ship in the distance as it broke through the clouds. Its mottled brown skin, patterned after a snake, was immediately familiar, yet the planform was all wrong. “Is that a new model Raatler, ma’am?”

  “Correct, and that is why we will win. Look at the Cont fleet, it’s old. They’ve been relying on the same ships for decades, centuries in some cases. Sure, they upgrade with new tech, but we, we build new ships, the likes of which they’ve never seen with improvements they’ll never expect.”

  Tony watched a quartet of Wildcat fighters come into formation around the corvette. Even from this distance he recognized them as belonging to the Hellraisers, his new squadron. That filled him with pride.

  “The old Raatler was our first foray into a cooperative arrangement with the Thals,” the Admiral explained. “We’ve been making them for centuries, and why? Because they’re simple, reliable old ships, the best of Sirian tech and human ingenuity. And they’ve always been outclassed by what the Conts throw at us. So, we designed new ships to replace them, and you’ll be hard pressed to find an original Raatler in the frontline main fleets for much longer. They’ll serve as picket ships in safe systems from now on. But, the Thals have always had a soft spot for them, and so do many in Overcommand. I’d take an Earth-built Armond over a trio of Raatlers any day.” She motioned towards the new craft as it moved into docking formation.

  The design shared only a few cues with its older sibling. The saucer-shaped hull, with its anti-matter collider ring, still bore the coiled snake texture that gave the class its name, but it was slimmer and wider. Twin hyperplaser mounts still graced the top and bottom, but that was it. The hammerhead forward bridge was gone, replaced with a far sleeker module jutting out ahead of the anti-matter ring. The pathetic defensive turret mounts to the sides had been replaced by four medium turrets and ten lighter, anti-fighter emplacements scattered about the craft. Then there were the new weapons modules flanking the craft - torpedo launchers and beam turret emitters on either end.

  It outclassed its older counterpart in more than just armament. To the rear, the pulse drive that blended with the contour of the hull was gone, replaced by a massive engine block that jutted out from the rear. The ship looked truly formidable, fast and maneuverable, the better of any Confed corvette. “That beauty could fly rings around a Cont corvette.”

  The Admiral’s smile grew approvingly. “That it could.” She motioned towards the escorts as they broke away. “Your squadron’s own fighters, they also show how far we’ve co
me. Yes, they still share the same fuselage as the old Tigercats, but they’re so much more. And, in a year, maybe two, we’ll have replaced those plasma drives with Particle Ducts.”

  That made Tony do a double-take. “Ma’am?”

  “You saw the Sloops. They’re just the test beds. Soon we’ll have fighters that travel the space lanes without reaction mass. That alone will bring the Conts to their knees. They’ve spent centuries trying to figure out the secret, and we’re about there. A few more successful trials and our fighters will be unstoppable. Evolution will win us this war, our ability to evolve and adapt.”

  Evolution had never been a subject Tony had ever paid that much mind to. But from what he could remember, humanity had once believed the they’d evolved from the Thal’s ancestors, the Neanderthal. Then they believed that their ancient ancestors had merely out-competed them. To an extent both were true, but the actual truth was far more mundane. The Sirians saw the Neanderthal as better slave stock and had kidnapped as many of them as they could, leaving their numbers too scarce to compete. Humanity was proving its ability to overcome and adapt its cousin race once again.

  The Tigercat was born out of the same design competition as the Solaar Interceptor. But the Tigercat was a far more adaptable platform and now the Wildcat that had ‘evolved’ from it put both to shame. The more Terran influenced Raatler-II and its fully Terran cousin ships were just another example.

  Tony looked over to the Admiral, found her all but polishing the rail looking over the forward take-off and landing deck, a note of sadness in her eyes. “Ma’am, is there a problem?”

  “No, just thinking. Evolution always leaves something behind,” she went on, patting the rail. “Even the Barker will be left in its dust. Carriers began on the oceans of Earth, ferrying fighters and bombers to their targets. They changed the way we wage war. Siege Carriers, like the Barker, continue that tradition. We bring our fighters to the front and when we take a planet, we take it, landing in their oceans to act as garrisons. The next generation of carriers will do no such thing.”