At least his family wasn’t on board. With that thought, Hoff’s eyes scanned the grid for one ship in particular—the Last Chance. He found it trailing safely behind the Tauron, the corvette’s own shields recovering at 65%. Good, Hoff thought. He’d had a bad scare when he’d found the ship flying around with its shields in the red, but the cease-fire seemed to have come in the nick of time for them, and at least for now they were safe. Hopefully flying in the Tauron’s shadow would keep them that way.
Twenty seconds passed in the blink of an eye, and now the enemy was in range. Hundreds of Sythian missiles appeared on the grid, flashing out from the enemy formation in a continuous stream. Most of them arced toward the Valiant and her escorting ships, but a good number spun toward the Tauron. Hoff gritted his teeth, watching as those missiles approached in a deadly wave. They couldn’t be shot down, and a target the size of the Tauron wouldn’t be able to evade them either. “Shields to double front!” Hoff ordered.
“Vectors isolated!” the gravidar officer announced.
The vast majority of yellow vectors on his grid disappear, but a few hundred remained. Now, all of the vectors pointed in the same direction. “I want to know where the remaining vectors intersect. Get me coordinates, Lieutenant—as accurate as possible!” Hoff felt a brief surge of hope. If this worked . . .
“Brace!” the lieutenant called back as the wave of enemy missiles drew near.
A siren screamed and a few people buckled their seat restraints. Hoff stayed where he was, but kept a hand on his grav gun just in case the IMS failed and he floated free of the deck.
The Tauron’s sound in space simulator (SISS) began roaring with the distant and not-so-distant booms of enemy missiles impacting along the battleship’s bow. The deck shuddered and rumbled underfoot. Hoff squinted against the blinding glare to see the prow of his ship now wreathed in flames, as if diving nose first into a supernova. Gradually the explosions faded, along with the sound, and there was a brief respite before the next wave hit them.
“Damage report!” Hoff demanded.
“Forward shields equalizing at 105%. No major damage. Several minor hull fractures in forward sections along with one electrical fire.”
“Evacuate and seal off those sections,” Hoff ordered. “Gravidar where are those coordinates I asked for?”
“Coming now, sir . . . K-34-79-50—within a two klick margin of error. Roughly to our ten o’clock and up twenty six degrees.”
Hoff eyed the point which had appeared on the grid. It was an empty space all right, and it was just over one hundred klicks away. “Helm, set course for those coordinates! Gravidar, keep track of that intersect as best you can, and let me know each time it moves.”
“Yes, sir.”
I’ve got you, Hoff thought wonderingly. Maybe the Gors had been telling the truth after all.
* * *
Angel heard the explosions rumbling in the distance and felt the subtle vibrations of cannons and beams firing back at whatever was shooting them. She stood gazing out the small viewport in her room at the chaos of blooming explosions and flashing lasers. The only ship she could see clearly was one of Brondi’s baron-class cruisers flying in formation alongside the Valiant. Boxy and rectangular, it looked like a smaller, truncated version of a venture-class. As she watched, that cruiser got hit by a flurry of bright purple projectiles. Explosions roared across its hull, and then it flew apart in a spectacular burst of light.
She gasped and turned away from the glare, shielding her eyes with her hands. When she opened her eyes once more, they darted around her room—from bed to bathroom and back again. The walls were too close. She imagined what would happen if some jagged piece of debris slammed into her viewport and shattered the transpiranium. Would she be sucked out into space or get stuck halfway in and halfway out? Would the force be enough to crush all of her bones and force her through that tiny hole?
Angel shuddered with those thoughts. She didn’t want to find out. Brondi had confined her to this room because he thought it would keep her safe, but that wasn’t true anymore.
She had to get out.
Angel went straight up to the door and began banging on it with both hands. “Let me out!” she screamed. A moment later the door opened, and a short, pudgy man poked his head in. He wore a leering grin that Angel was all too familiar with.
“Hoi, there . . . what’s the matter, girlie?”
“I need to get out,” she said.
“Just gotta scratch that itch, is it?”
“It’s not safe in here.”
“Tell ya what. You do somethin’ for me and I’ll see what I can do for you.”
Angel smiled demurely at the man, giving the offer some thought. She couldn’t afford to stay in her quarters any longer. The whole point was to get out. If that was the price she had to pay . . . but he was such an ugly man—with a lumpy face and crooked yellow teeth. An odd light shone in his small, squinty eyes, and she realized that he could be dangerous if she gave him what he wanted.
She turned to the other guard and noticed that he looked at her with a hesitant, almost apologetic smile. Here was a shy man, inexperienced with women.
“What would you like me to do for you?” she asked, turning back to the first.
“You got a perty mouth. Maybe ya can show me what ya do with it.”
“Tagard, you know what Brondi said. . . .” the other guard warned.
“Shut the frek up, Dofan. She’s not gonna tell, are ya, girlie?”
Angel shook her head. “Our little secret,” she said.
“Besides, you heard what’s goin’ on out there,” squinty eyes said. “We’re all goin’ to the nethers anyway. Question is, how’d ya rather go? Ima go with a smile on my face.”
“Mmmm, you’re a very bad boy,” Angel purred.
“You have no idea . . .” he said, stepping inside her quarters.
Alara didn’t back away, and when he grabbed her roughly by the wrists, she didn’t resist. Brondi had taught his playgirls how to handle the dangerous ones. Alara nodded to the bed. “Why don’t you go lie down, soldier boy,” she said.
Tagard grinned nastily at her. “Kavaar, you’re a dirty little sclut!” He chuckled softly. “I jus’ knew it.” He did as she asked and she followed him there, already unbuttoning her blouse. She began to dance lithely as she undressed, giving him a proper tease. He watched from the bed, mesmerized as she drew near. When she reached the bed, now dressed only in tight-fitting pants and bra, she climbed on top of him and leaned down close to his face to tantalize him with her cleavage. The scent of her warm breath momentarily lulled him, while her hands strayed down to his waist to fumble with his gun belt. The door swished shut, and they both turned to look. “I guess he didn’t want to join us . . .” she said in a sultry whisper, pretending to be distracted by the noise.
“That’s his problem,” Tagard said, watching the door with a thoughtful frown. Maybe he was worried that his buddy had gone to report him.
Whatever the case, Angel turned back to him with a smile, and said, “Now it’s your problem.” Her hand came up from his belt holding his sidearm.
“The frek! I’m gonna—”
She shot him in the face before he could say another word. His body convulsed and his limbs jittered. Angel frowned, thinking it was unfortunate that the man had his weapon set to stun. She didn’t mind her job and she didn’t usually hate her clients, but some men brought out another side of her. If they wanted to hurt her, she’d hurt them first. Guess you were just a lucky skriff, hoi? Alara thought.
Angel climbed off the unconscious guard and hurried back to the door. This time as she banged on it, she affected a tortured wail. “Help me! Ahh! He’s going to kill me!” The other man had already shown his softer side by trying to dissuade his friend from taking advantage of her, so she wasn’t surprised when he came rushing in to save the day. She shot him, too, but this time she was glad the pistol was set to stun. “I’m sorry,” she whispered a
s she stepped over him. “I might have enjoyed working with you, but there’s no time for that now.”
She had to get to the bridge and find Brondi. It had to be safer there than where she was now, and if not, at least she wouldn’t die alone. She’d die standing beside the only father she’d ever known.
* * *
Brondi stood at the captain’s table, watching the Valiant’s shields drop one percentile at a time. The deck shuddered underfoot. Lights periodically dimmed as the carrier fired her main beam cannons at nearby Sythian ships, cracking them open with just one or two shots. Brondi looked up and out over the mighty top side of the carrier to see literally hundreds of Sythian missiles impacting one after another in tiny flares of light. They weren’t even halfway through the enemy formation and their shields were already down to 69%. They stood a good chance of escaping, but it would be very close. The admiral’s ship, on the other hand, was down below 50% shields. Granted, the Tauron had started out with partially depleted shields in the first place, but their chances of escape were slim to doubtful. Ordinarily Brondi would have been happy about that, but Hoff was the only one who knew where they could go after this. Without the admiral and his enclave, Brondi and his men would be doomed to wander Sythian space until they were found and obliterated by another Sythian armada.
“Incoming message from the Tauron!” Brondi heard his comms officer say.
“Patch it through,” Brondi replied. Speak of the skriff, he thought.
A holo of Hoff’s age-lined face appeared overlaid on the main viewport. He looked grim, but his gray eyes burned with fire. “Brondi.”
“Admiral, make it quick please. Your head is blocking my view.”
“Shut up and listen, Brondi. I’ve just discovered something critical about the enemy formation.”
“Oh? Do tell.”
“I can’t be sure the Sythians aren’t listening to this channel right now, so I need you to trust me.”
“With what?”
“Follow us, and stand by for further orders.”
Brondi couldn’t help the laughter which bubbled from his lips. “You want me to follow you and take your orders without asking any questions? You really are an old skriff. Forget it. We’re almost clear. See you at the rendezvous . . . if you make it, that is.”
“Brondi! We have a chance of winning this fight!”
“Yea, like you thought you were going to beat me? You seem prone to delusional thinking, admiral.”
Brondi watched with a gaping smile as Hoff’s face turned a bright shade of red.
“I had a cloaked ship bursting with sentinels, just waiting to slip on board the Valiant. You would have lost, Brondi!”
“That does sound like a potent weapon. Of course, it’s convenient that your story is impossible to prove. Well, if you do have a cloaked ship around here somewhere, maybe you should ask them to follow you blindly into battle. I’m sure they won’t mind. Best of luck, skriffo.” Brondi gave a mocking salute and killed the comm feed. A moment later he saw the admiral’s battleship change course, peeling away from the Valiant.
Good riddance, he thought. “Comms! Have our ships spread out to fill the gap along our port side. We’re parting ways with the admiral. If he wants to go off on his own and get himself killed, then he’s welcome to do so, but we’re not following him to the netherworld just yet.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brondi turned back to the grid and watched as Hoff’s battleship now came under fire from all sides. Its shields began dropping fast. That’s what you get, he thought.
“Sir!” Brondi looked up to see who had addressed him. The voice was familiar. He turned to see Sergeant Gibbs from his security detail come striding down the gangway. “We have a visitor outside the bridge,” Gibbs said. “It’s Angel. She wants to see you.”
“She got out?”
Gibbs nodded. “Do you want me to take her back to her quarters, sir?”
There was an eager gleam in the sergeant’s eyes which told Brondi exactly what would happen if he sent Gibbs and Alara back alone. “No,” he decided. “Bring her in.”
“Yes, sir.”
If we do manage to escape, Brondi thought. I could use the distraction of some female companionship myself. He’d never been very good at sharing.
* * *
Ethan watched as his son followed the Tauron on a new heading, breaking off from Brondi’s fleet. “What’s going on?” he asked.
Atton shook his head. “They’re splitting up.”
“Why would they do that?” Hoff asked, leaning forward against his seat restraints to peer at the star map over Atton’s shoulder.
Ethan gestured warningly with the sidearm Atton had given him, but the admiral didn’t appear interested in taking control of the ship—he’d been remarkably subdued ever since he’d realized that his actions had exposed Dark Space to the coming slaughter.
The comms beeped with an incoming message, but Atton ignored it.
“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Hoff asked.
“It’s from the Tauron. I don’t want your illegitimate twin to realize I’m the one flying this ship.”
“At least play the message. You don’t have to respond.”
Atton sighed and stabbed the transmit button. The admiral’s voice hissed through the comm speakers in an angry whisper. “Last Chance, stay with Brondi! His formation will protect you better than ours. The Tauron has a new mission.” The next part of the message was so soft that they had to strain hard to hear it over the distant sounds of battle echoing through the corvette’s speakers. “It’s a one way trip. Make sure my family is safe, and say goodbye to them for me. Admiral Heston out.”
“He knows he’s about to die. . . .” Atton whispered. “What is he planning to do?”
Ethan heard a rustle of noise and turned to see the cloned admiral suddenly leap out of his chair.
“Atton!” Ethan warned as he squeezed off a quick shot. The stun bolt missed, and glanced off the transpiranium viewport before slamming into the bulkhead beside his own head. Ethan belatedly flinched away from the light and sound before taking aim again, but his hand shivered and shook. His condition was deteriorating rapidly, and he could barely keep his eyes open, let alone aim.
Atton ducked away from the admiral’s grasping hands, but Hoff hadn’t been reaching for him, he’d been reaching for the comm controls, and now he stabbed the transmit/reply button and screamed into the audio pick up, “Admiral, they’re not on board!”
Atton recovered and shoved Hoff away from the controls. He bounced off the bulkhead and went sprawling to the deck.
Ethan took aim once more, but Hoff raised his hands. “I surrender! There’s no need to stun me. You can strap me down in the back again if you want.”
Atton whirled on Hoff after he ended the comm connection. “What the frek was that about?”
“He doesn’t know our family is still on board the Tauron, Atton. He deserves to know who will be going down with him, don’t you think?”
Atton gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Sit down and buckle up! We have enough to worry about without you trying to mutiny.”
“I won’t give you any more trouble. I promise.”
“Good!”
“What are you going to do?” Hoff asked.
“We’re going to follow the Tauron. Slim chance of survival or not, she’s still our best shot. I don’t trust Brondi not to turn on us as soon as we’re away.”
Ethan shot a quick glance out the forward viewport to see a quartet of approaching missiles. “Look out!” he yelled just as the missile lock alarm screamed at them.
Atton sat down in a hurry and began an evasive pattern which sent them barrel rolling over top of the approaching alien missiles. They couldn’t be shot down, but at least they could be dodged.
“Atton,” Ethan croaked. “Alara is on board the Valiant. We can’t leave her there.”
Atton shook his head. “I’m sorry. If we all make it to the
rendezvous, maybe we can find a way to get aboard and rescue her.”
“The admiral isn’t headed for the rendezvous, Atton,” Hoff’s clone replied. “Whatever he’s planning, it’s no longer to escape. We’re going deeper into the Sythian formation now.”
* * *
Atta screamed as the lights flickered. Another boom rumbled through the walls and floor. Destra hugged her daughter tight as they sat on the living room couch, listening to dishes rattling in their racks. A foot stool which wasn’t bolted to the deck shifted a few inches to the right.
“Oh, no!” they heard HTX4 say from the kitchen, followed by the sound of something falling to the floor with a crash. “I’m so sorry, madam! I’ll clean it up at once.”
Destra nodded distractedly and said, “Don’t worry about it, HTX.”
They heard him sweeping shattered fragments of something into a collection tray.
“I’m scared, Mommy,” Atta said, squeezing Mr. Tibbins so tight that she’d be strangling the life out the diger if it were real.
“It’s all right, darling. Shhh,” Destra cooed. “It’s just thunder.”
“What’s th-under?” Atta asked, her tongue tripping over the unfamiliar word.
Destra smiled bitterly. Atta had never known what it was like to live on a real planet. “It’s something normal that we don’t need to be afraid of,” she said, meanwhile, her eyes darted nervously around the room, as if expecting the walls to cave in on them at any moment. Her gaze fell on the nearby viewport, and suddenly she worried that something might break it, but then she remembered that it was only a simulated viewport—like the dark sky in the garden outside.
Destra saw the endless wall of Sythian ships they faced, and she tried not think about how badly outmatched they were. Out-going comms were still restricted from the admiral’s quarters, but that hadn’t stopped Destra from listening in to the open-channel commcasts. She’d overheard enough to know about the Sythian ambush and the cease-fire between Brondi and Hoff. She knew how bad things were out there. And she knew what the odds were that they’d make it out alive.
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