by Allen Stroud
‘He’ll fire in a moment,’ Renner snarled. ‘A chance shot, hoping our shields will give out!’
‘We can jump with this!’ Pietro said.
‘No, we won’t get far enough!’
Below, the sun surface rippled, a sea of boiling death, the only thing keeping them out of it, the weakening shields and superheated hull. Pietro stared in horror; he’d never seen anything like it.
‘Fuel level!’ Renner shouted.
Pietro wiped his soaking forehead and tried to focus on the numbers. ‘Sixty-five percent!’ He’d seen old films of Earth’s oceans, newsreels showing huge tides during the twenty-third century, before the Environmental Recovery Programme, but they were nothing compared to this. The Gallant remained hundreds of thousands of miles from the star, the boiling waves filling the screens and the scanner.
Then an alert went off. Maximum temperature! ‘We can’t stay here!’ Pietro yelled.
Renner nodded and pulled hard on the flight control, the Gallant shook and bucked, but as he added more power, she began to pull away from destruction.
Something slammed into the hull from above. Immediately, the proximity alarm went off. Pietro shouted a warning then ducked as the comms unit exploded in a shower of metal and sparks.
He found himself on the floor on his knees. He pulled himself to his feet and glanced at Renner.
‘You all right? I—’
Renner coughed weakly, a stream of bright red blood and drool escaping in the air. Shards of reinforced glass skewered him into his chair. ‘You do it ...’ he mumbled.
Pietro nodded and without hesitation grabbed two handfuls of the man’s pressure suit. Renner screamed as he lifted him out of the seat, leaving him hanging weightless and then took his place. The viewscreen had disappeared. He keyed it back up and sucked in air through his teeth at the sight.
No wonder he didn’t fire again ...
They’d been knocked off course by the blast. The Gallant was flying straight into the star.
* * *
Gebrial woke up and knew something was wrong.
The heat was unbearable. For the last day she’d done nothing but lay on Pietro’s sweaty bed. No point in complaining, no point in doing anything, it was all too exhausting.
She pulled herself up, detached the tether and floated out to the door, grabbing it with slimy fingers. The Gallant only had two sets of magboots onboard, so she’d been left without. Around her, the ship creaked and groaned. Everything felt warm, a sign that the super temperatures outside were overloading the ship’s cooling systems.
Then the Cobra rocked and she heard a shout and a scream. She recognised the signs from before.
We’re under attack!
Hand over hand brought her down the narrow corridor to the cockpit doors. She pressed the button and the panel shuddered away, plainly damaged, but she ignored it. What lay inside was much worse.
Renner half stood in zero gravity, his boots locked on the deck. Tendrils of bright red blood snaked out of his wounds; glass shards had sliced through his pressure suit at the shoulder, neck and stomach.
‘The controls aren’t responding!’ Pietro was hunched over the console, his fingers a blur as he fought to correct their course. She looked up.
And stared at an exorable ball of fire.
They were so close! She could see the ripples and waves of molten plasma, the star hung in space, threatening to roll over them, squash them flat at any moment—
‘I need your help!’ Pietro shouted at her. She dragged her eyes away from the sight to his stern face.
‘What can I do?’
‘Grab him and stop the bleeding,’ Pietro said, pointing at Renner. ‘Get his boots off and put pressure on his neck, if we’re lucky, he’ll live!’
Gebrial floated towards him and got a handful of his torn suit. It was soaked with sweat. She clenched her teeth, climbed down, released the boot locks and pulled him free.
Renner groaned weakly in her arms. She pushed his limp body towards the back of the cockpit, jammed her feet into the boots, locked them on and clumped after him, catching him before he bounced off the cockpit wall. She eased him gently to the metal before jamming her hand over the gash in his throat. His blood and her sweat made a slippery mess. The bleeding wouldn’t quit, without gravity it came in waves, each beat of Renner’s heart filling the wound and pumping out a cloud of spidery red lines.
‘I can’t stop the blood!’ she shouted.
‘Panel!’ Pietro replied and pointed. Gebrial opened the hatch he’d identified. Squares of thin rubber in plastic floated out along with memories of her childhood and cut knees on the steps to the spaceport building – synth skin! She grabbed one, pulled away the wrapper and slapped it on to the wound. A second one went onto his stomach and a third on his shoulder. As she reached the tear near his collar bone, she felt splinters of glass in the flesh, but she had no time to get them out and no idea how.
The Gallant shivered again under laser fire and Gebrial stumbled, but the boots held her up. Renner was out cold, but the wounds were dressed. She moved across the room pulling herself into the co-pilot’s chair. ‘Who’s shooting at us?’ she asked.
‘An old friend!’ Pietro replied. The ship lurched and flipped. Slowly, the orb of fire dropped to the left, tendrils of plasma reaching out for them as they fled its grasp. Then it disappeared from the main screen and rapid acceleration pushed Gebrial back in the chair. She glanced back at Renner, pressed against the metal panels, with no inertia absorbance and already wounded. If Pietro turned hard, he could die, but if he didn’t, they all would.
‘What can I do to help?’ she asked.
‘Give me the proximity reading,’ Pietro said. ‘As soon as we’re clear, activate the hyperdrive.’
‘Which button?’
‘That one!’
Gebrial looked at the numbers; they were increasing rapidly as they pulled away from the star. Her finger hovered over the jump indicator. ‘How will I know?’
‘If it’s still working, the green light will flash, if not, we die.’
Another impact and sparks flew from the viewscreen. For a second, the display disappeared then reappeared. ‘The main controls aren’t responding,’ Pietro said. ‘Hold on to something!’
Gebrial didn’t need to be told, her left hand gripped the chair like a vice as she stared at the increasing numbers. Each kilometre was one further away from oblivion, but made them a more tempting target for their pursuer.
The Gallant’s speed increased and the engines started to whine. The console sparked and the whole ship began to vibrate as Pietro pushed the power to maximum. Another light flashed red.
‘What’s that?’ Gebrial asked.
‘The shields are gone,’ Pietro said. ‘We’re not going to make it.’
‘Then what do we do?’
‘Try something else!’ Pietro licked his lips, his fingers flew across the keyboard and the whining stopped, gas vented as the manoeuvring jets fired and Gebrial was almost thrown from her seat as the ship came to a dead stop.
Laser bolts shot past the viewscreen, followed by the pursuing Asp, taken by surprise, the other pilot had overshot.
Pietro bared his teeth in a wide grin. ‘Our turn.’
* * *
Prey became predator.
The Asp banked right as Pietro restarted the engines and angled to follow. The Gallant couldn’t match the larger ship for anything, speed, agility or weapons, but so long as he stayed on its tail, the Asp couldn’t fire back.
But they wouldn’t be safe for long, soon as there was enough distance, Pietro knew their enemy would turn, charge and everything would end.
He had to make a break, just at the right time.
‘Keep your eyes on the proximity reading.’
‘Aren’t you going to—’
‘Don’t worry about what I’m doing,’ Pietro snapped. ‘Soon as we’re clear, push the button!’
Ahead, the Asp jinked and pulled h
ard to the left. Pietro matched the move as best he could. He saw the scarred hull plating on the fuselage, evidence of their last encounter. The targeter pinged and he snapped off a shot, watching the shields crackle. The Gallant’s mining laser wasn’t powerful enough to do much damage, but might keep him guessing.
The Asp pilot ignored the hit and kept turning, jinking as he went. Pietro tried to stay with him, but without main controls he couldn’t manoeuvre as quickly. Only a matter of time before the ship got behind them and then it would be all over.
He switched and went right pushing the engines as much as he dared.
‘Green!’ Gebrial shouted and pulled his arm. ‘Green!’
‘Punch it!’ Pietro replied.
Gebrial pressed the button and everything disappeared.
Chapter 15: The Getaway
At 0200 hours, when minimal staff remained in Ashoria’s administration building, Bertrum Kowl put down his stylus and permitted himself the one moment of hubris he indulged in at work.
A short assisted walk returned him to the elevator. Once inside, he pushed the button for the roof access and swiped his ident card. The panel pinged a confirmation and powered up the remaining forty floors, then the doors opened to a chilly outdoor breeze. Bertrum shivered, but pushed himself forward, out into the cold night air and towards the edge. When he got there, he rested his hands on the low wall and just stared.
All this ...
The lights of the city below bore witness to its industry. Lave might well be in decline, but Ashoria remained a hive of industry and a testimony to its people. Both Capitol and Earth were older, Alioth of comparable age. Bertrum had seen pictures and video from each. Nothing compared with the cities of Earth for history or size. The great sweeping architecture of Capitol was humanity’s definition of beauty and elegance, but on Lave, there was a purity of purpose still seen amidst the decline. A planet trying to find its own way and succeeding for hundreds of years, leading the largest organisation of humanity ever conceived; the Galactic Co-operative, but ambition outgrew ability. Now Lave remained trapped in the past. Still, here in Ashoria, there were marvellous feats of engineering: The hyperrail, connecting the city to the hydroelectric factories on the coast; the constant stream of personal shuttles and transports; the tall corporation towers and the administration building, frowning down on everything else.
Only Lave Station had a better view of the planet. I am here and Walden is there. The symbolism wasn’t lost on Bertrum.
Occasionally he came to the rooftop to remind himself of what it all meant. Thousands of people, eking out their lives in the shadow of the prefect and the Good Doctor, cogs in the wheel, turning in an ever decreasing circle.
Bertrum peered at the base of the tower. In the darkness, he could still see the wall around the Interstellar community. Three generations of settlers, who’d fled their colonies in the Galactic Co-operative and ended up amidst the chaos of its capital, a society apart, their privilege secured by Walden’s propaganda. The Colonials beyond the barrier, remained ignorant, the truth kept from them.
The galaxy has forgotten us.
He felt a flash of guilt at that. Day after day he did everything possible to maintain the illusion, to preserve the blindfold over the eyes of the majority. If they realised the sacrifices made were just to keep the Interstellar minority pampered, they would rebel. All disseminated information from outside Lave was controlled. Newcasts checked, even papers and historical archives vetted. Travel off-world remained strictly regulated, by permit only with no Colonial family ever likely to get one.
Which is why I know everything I say and do will be monitored and checked as well.
Martha Godwina had signed her own death warrant when she’d assumed her ‘offer’ would be worth more to Walden than his need to preserve Lave’s sense of itself. Bertrum had no idea how serious she had been with her threat, but the minute she’d uttered it, he knew she was dead.
Which leaves me with an opportunity ...
He walked stiffly to the elevator, headed back down to the office floor and the sanctuary of his desk. He powered up a screen and filed an immediate off-world visitation request.
I’ll travel to the Empire, negotiate and return with a new ambassador, he thought. In the aftermath of one accident, a second cannot go missing without rousing undue suspicion. He glanced down at the powered articulated chains attached to his legs. I’ll get that operation ...
Finally!
For the first time in a long time, Bertrum Kowl allowed himself a moment to look forward to something.
* * *
The hyperspace streams faded and the Gallant trembled as she returned to normal space. Pietro reduced power to the engines, locked the controls and silently counted to ten.
Nothing appeared on the scanner.
Pietro sighed with relief and turned around to Gebrial and Renner. The girl was holding it together, but the injured space pilot had lapsed into unconsciousness. ‘Come on, we need to get him out of here,’ Pietro said.
They got Renner through the malfunctioning doors to the cabin. Pietro activated the magnetic strips in the bed and secured him to it with light straps.
‘Is that necessary?’ Gebrial asked.
‘Don’t want him to float around or damage himself again if we have to start pulling turns,’ he explained.
‘Will he be okay?’
‘He lost a lot of blood,’ Pietro said. ‘The synth skin should knit the wounds well enough, but we’ll want to get him looked at.’ He sighed. ‘Trouble is, I don’t know if we can stop.’
They returned to the cockpit and Pietro brought up the star chart.
‘Where are we?’ Gebrial asked.
‘Andancan,’ he replied and noticed the information wasn’t updating. ‘Least we don’t need to worry about being discovered.’
‘Why?’
‘Because the system’s virtually lawless, everyone here is on the run from something,’ Pietro put a little power into the engines, guiding the ship towards the inner planets. ‘We can chance a space station, or an orbital platform, if we’re careful; also means they’re unlikely to care who we are.’
Gebrial nodded. ‘What about Renner?’
‘I’m not sure how to help him,’ Pietro admitted. ‘I’ve never been this far from the Core Worlds. I wouldn’t trust anyone out here.’
The next three hours were a quiet contrast to those before. Pietro put Gebrial to work, exploring the ship with a picturegraph, recording images of the damage, while he tried to work out repairs.
The Gallant’s computer remained intact and functioning correctly, but the transmitters had failed, meaning they weren’t receiving any information from the in-system network and they couldn’t use comms. The scanner, proximity and mass indicators still worked as did the hyperdrive, but the engines were damaged and the main controls were unresponsive. Pietro manoeuvred the Cobra by powering the different trim thrusters individually; hardly ideal and he didn’t fancy using them when trying to match the gravity spin rotation of a space station. None of the automated docking worked. He could barely trust the ship to idle in a straight line without manual control.
Of more concern was their ability to get through the system. The Gallant’s mining laser wouldn’t stand up to a concerted attack and the two remaining missiles would be little deterrent. The shields had begun recharging the moment the firing stopped, but they were slow to power up. The generators had been damaged as well. The ship was in no shape for another fuel scoop run into a star.
He checked the course Renner had plotted. A stop at a mining station called de Gaul, a jump to Quator, then Lave. Quator was similarly dangerous, if a little more populated. Both systems will hide us from the Federation and the Empire, but these aren’t places to stop for long.
Gebrial pushed her way through the damaged door and sat in the second chair. ‘I went everywhere apart from the cargo bay,’ she said. ‘You want me to do that too?’
Pietro frowned. ‘N
o, we’ll leave it, no essential systems there.’ The cargo bay held Finch’s corpse. It made no sense to subject Gebrial to any more trauma.
He plugged the camera into the computer and pulled up another viewscreen to check the damage. ‘Shame we can’t look outside,’ he said.
‘I’m not volunteering,’ Gebrial replied.
Pietro smiled. ‘No, I wasn’t suggesting it, this is fine, gives us an idea of what we’ve got.’
‘We could just turn around?’ Gebrial said. ‘Do we need to follow Renner’s plan?’
For a moment Pietro considered the option. He knew Federal space well. Even the further regions towards Alliance territory, near Alioth were places he had experience of, but these systems? They were old colonies, really old. He remembered some of his school history classes talking about this part of space being a major political power, centuries ago.
‘No, we stick with his plan,’ he decided. ‘If we go back, we’ll be hunted down. Our best chance is to follow Renner’s route and hand him over to his friends.’ Also means I get answers as to why my own people want me dead.
* * *
Another two hours and they arrived at de Gaul, a small mining outlet orbiting one of the larger rocks in the system’s asteroid belt. Pietro cut engine speed and approached at a crawl. The base had no induced rotation and airlock lane docking, which would make their arrival easier, but plenty of things might still go wrong.
The Gallant idled into the port lanes. The cargo bay entrance or roof airlock point would be the best bets for ‘joining’ with the station. Pietro chose the roof, which meant he could move forwards towards the berth and they wouldn’t have to walk past Finch’s body if anything went wrong.
‘Ready hatch clamps,’ he said to Gebrial, whose fingers crouched over the requisite buttons.
‘Okay.’
‘...Now!’
Deep metallic thumps echoed through the hull as the de Gaul grabbed the Gallant. The Cobra jerked to a stop. The clamps drew station and ship together in a cold embrace. Pietro let out a sigh of relief.