“...do your duty!“ Lieutenant Dann screams at him, as he aims his M16A4 electron rifle dead at the little prok—no more than six or seven—standing in front of him, its eyes saucer-wide, staring up at him, pleading for its life.
“'Evil sometimes wears a pleasing face,' soldier!“ Lieutenant Dann reminds him, the prok's pleading taking on a seductive tone, as it rubs up against Y'onn, the Landfleet recruit feeling something stirring within him, as he begins lowering his weapon.
Until he catches a glimpse of the vibroblade in its right hand, the Yazirian pushing the filthy prok away from him, firing pulse after pulse from his electron rifle, the degenerate thing screaming luridly, as it burns....
Aboard the United Planetary Federation Ship Strategos
In orbit, 1,000 kilometers from Hentz, Araks System
01/08/95, 02:22:18 Galactic Standard Time
“...live-fire exercise is about to commence,“ the voice over the intercom speakers drones, as the lid of Sergeant Y'onn Y'onzen's coldwire chamber hisses open, the machinery slowly bringing him back into the realm of the living and the harshly-lit reality of the training room floor, med techs removing electrodes and wires from him, as the Yazirian stretches himself, swinging his feet onto the deck, his every joint creaking, as he begins walking towards the chambers holding the remaining members of his squad.
All but one of whom are on their feet and standing at attention, Y'onn hearing the chamber holding Trooper Logan scream out warning, the medical technicans assigned to the maintenance of that chamber opening it up to remove the recruit's corpse—only the whites of his eyes are visible in their sockets—from the bundle of wires and electrodes maintaining his comatose state and the virtual reality enviroment in which they had all trained, the med techs laying him onto a gurney which a pair of maintenance bots trundle off to the biomass recyclers.
Y'onn feels nothing for the slain trooper, save contempt...after all, if he hadn't been morally inferior, he would have emerged from his induced coma, his death and reassignment in the life to come nothing more or less than the judgement meted out by the One for his sins.
The men under his command share his sentiment, Y'onn knows this without having to ask, just by looking into the hard, cold eyes of the four surviving members of his squad.
“Company,“ the voice of the first sergeant, Master Sergeant Corin James, snaps out,“atten-shut!“
Y'onn takes his place alongside his squad, snapping to attention, as James and Captain Bavla Oropoho slowly walk past the members of their company, formed up into their respective platoons and squads, both men speaking into their headset comps, holograms floating in front of each man's right eye scrolling lines of data.
“I see you're a man short, Sergeant,“ Captain Oropoho says, the red-furred Yazirian eyeing Y'onn as if he were creet on the soles of his boots.
“Coldwire failure, Master,“ Y'onn replies instantly, Oropoho remarking,“I see.“
“And,“ he then adds, consulting his headset comp,“according to the Lieutenant Dann AI program, you hesitated, for precisely 3.3 seconds, before prosecuting your last target.“
“Yes, Master,“ Y'onn says simply.
“What do you have to say for yourself, Sergeant?“ Oropoho then asks, Y'onn replying, his head bowed,“I make no excuse for either of the failures on my part, Master.“
The company commander nods his head, remarking,“a wise decision, Private. Your Morality Index is reduced to 25%. Corporal Bayless, you are now in charge of this squad, and your Morality Index is provisionally increased to 55%, pending the final decision of the ship's Morality Review Committee.“
“Yes, Master! Thank you, Master!“ both Y'onn and newly-elevated Sergeant Ansen Bayless both reply, before Master Sergeant James shouts out,“company to the drop ship!“
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
In orbit, 1,000 kilometers from Hentz, Araks System
01/08/95, 02:27:06 GST
Rear Admiral Jacob Maar sits back in his command chair, watching the activity on the Strategos' red-lit bridge, as the UPF training vessel eases into orbit around the Hentz Planetary Non-Citizen Containment Matrix, preparing itself to unleash its contingent of enlisted recruits and officer cadets on the proks incarcerated below.
It is the culimination of forty days of the most intense coldwire training, political indoctrination, live-fire exercises, physical and psychological conditioning in the New Frontier; at the end of this exercise those who were found worthy of serving the Great Cause would become the latest members of the Spacefleet, Landfleet and Special Security Division—each serving in the capacity determined by his Morality Index Number—while those found wanting would be reassigned.
“Planetary governor on line for you, Commandant,“ the comm tech on duty reports.
“Put him through,“ Maar replies.
“Good morning, Admiral,“ the repellent image of the Zuraqquor serving as the governor of this NOCCM clicks and buzzes.
“Governor,“ Maar replies, nodding his head slightly.
“You may proceed when you are ready, Admiral,“ the gnat informs him. “The guards, overseers, and the local garrison have all been instructed not to interfere in the graduation exercise and to otherwise extend you every courtesy.“
“Thank you, Master,“ Maar replies, swallowing down the bile which comes from having to extend to it the courtesy required from a citizen of the New Frontier to his moral superiors.
“We shall begin at once,“ he adds, “Strategos out.“
“Flight control,“ he barks into his headset comp, “bridge, launch all fighters, bombers and dropships; gunnery deck, initiate orbital bombar—“
“Admiral,“ the chief sensor technican screams hysterically,“ Star Forces Pugilist-class war cruiser at minus eight-five, eighteen-fifty Zulu, coming in fast at 15,000!“
“And, should that be a cause for concern?“ Maar rebukes the lesser man. “Defensive, raise the mag shielding, launch interceptors and anti-beam missiles; gunners, fire at—“
“Multiple torpedos inbound!“ the chief sensor tech continues his damnable screeching, the Strategos' executive officer barking out,“pilot, break orbit and initate evasive manuvers; flight control, proceed with the launch of all fighters, bombers and dro—“
The bridge trembles and goes dark, alarms howling, as explosions tear through the UPF training vessel.
Aboard the Free Alliance Ship Shadowboxer
12,120 kilometers from Hentz, Araks System
01/08/95, 02:33:11 GST
“Pilot, ready main beams,“ Captain Alissa Quin orders, as the side of the massive Leviathan erupts in hot gas and debris. “Gunnery deck, stand by to fire medium laser batteries.“
“Main beams, ready, aye, Captain,“ the Shadowboxer's pilot and second in command, Lieutenant Delia Cael, reports, at the same time the holo of Ensign Bloout, the war cruiser's gunnery officer, says,“medium las batteries standing by, ready to let 'em have it with another salvo.“
“Not yet, Bloout,“ Ali says to the Dral, at the same the sensor tech reports,“enemy vessel opening fire with seekers and electron batteries.“
“Evasive maneuvers, pilot,“ Ali orders.“Defensive, launch interceptors and anti-beam missiles; sensors, keep an eye out, just in case—“
The Shadowboxer's flight engineer, Ensign Atan, lets out a long, low whistle, as another explosion rips through the wounded side of the enemy Leviathan, as it plummets towards the surface of Hentz.
Ali can't let this distract her or her crew.
“Sensors—“ she starts to say, before the tech, Chief Petty Officer Karish Navaya, reports,“Fortress Hentz opening fire on us with missile and electron batteries; am reading fighter and large craft launches from both the orbital fortress and the planet's surface.“
Ali calls up the tactical display on her command station's holoprojector, the commander of the Shadowboxer glancing up at the master holoprojector—in front of the piloting and astrogation stations at the forward part of the Pugilist-class war cruiser's red-lit bridge—as it shows her the orbital fortress wreathed in the bluish-gold fog of detonating anti-beam ordinance, one of the numbers in white on either side of the image rolling rapidly backward, as the 605-ton cruiser continues closing with it at 2,880 kilometers per second.
“Fortress Hentz now 180 meters off our bow,“ the ship's astrogator, Ensign Star Forces Y'aken T'kk, reports a few moments later.
“Guns, pilot,“ Ali barks out,“target the fortress' airdock.“
Green crosshairs now appear over the looming image of the fortress, zeroing in on the brightly-lit chasm at the center of the cluster of platforms and modules comprising the orbital fortress, a tone humming in Ali's ears, as she snaps out:
“All beams, fire!“
blue-white shafts of light almost hurtful to the eye searing forth from the six heavy laser cannon in the war cruiser's nose, thinner beams of hot light hissing from the three medium laser cannon in turrets on top and to either side of the ship's diamond-shaped spaceframe, explosions erupting from the airdock, ripping through the orbital, as Dee jerks the ship down and sharply to the right.
Lightning shoots up from the planet's surface, and the missile alarm buzzes in Ali's ears, Dee wrenching the joystick in her left hand in every direction at once, crushing the firing button at the top of the stick, the main lasers sizzling forth to knock out planetary-defense batteries, as Shadowboxer skips across Hentz's upper atmosphere like a stone on the surface of a pond.
“Void speed achieved,“ T'kk reports,“Void field generator coming on line, engine computer answering astrocomp commands, Void entry in three, two, one—“
The starfield in the master holoprojector stretches like taffy, Shadowboxer entering that alternate reality poet and spacer alike have taken to calling the Void, the Void field generator allowing the war cruiser to achieve zero relativistic mass, before the Void engine's thrust grants it imaginary relativistic mass and, thus, faster-than-light travel.
The Free Alliance war cruiser takes just seconds to travel the five billion kilometers between Hentz and the nameless iceball world at the system's outer edge, Shadowboxer emerging from the Void high over its northern pole, Dee flipping the ship over, decelerating slightly, the ship neverthless leaving the planet behind, as continues moving at 2,600 kilometers per second.
“Astrogator,“ Ali orders, as Dee flips Shadowboxer back over, nose pointed in the general direction of the Wayland system twelve light years away,“plot a course back to Verdant.“
“All hands,“ she adds, ice-blue eyes fixed on the tactical display floating above her station,“remain at battle stations.“
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
1.5 kilometers over Hentz, Araks System
01/08/95, 02:32:58 GST
Maar almost imagines he hears his ship screaming, as it struggles against the gravity dragging it down to its impending death, the head of the UPF Military Training Command preferring that to survival, as the latter alternative would almost certainly lead to either demotion, or—True God forbid—reassignment.
Maar knows he deserves nothing less for his failure, for the loss of so many potential soldiers for the Great Cause...the casualty figures floating over his command station continue their steady climb upward, another holo showing the schematic of the Strategos, too many parts of it blood red, indicating systems destroyed by the explosions in the training vessel's hangar bay and the fire it had spawned.
A sudden jolt presses Maar into his chair, threatening to shake his bones loose, Strategos starting to climb, gradually pulling free of Hentz's gravity, the chief engineering officer's holo appearing in front of his right eye.
“Master,“ the gnat reports,“ Void engines are back on line at full power, and we have successfully extinguished the fire. All other systems are under repair.“
“Weapon status, XO?“ Maar barks out, Space Commander Braden Cotter replying,“main beams remain offline, Master, and only ten percent of the ship's battery weapons are available.“
“Missiles?“ Maar asks.
“Both ordinance bays have been destroyed, Master,“ Cotter replies,“ along with their seekers and torpedos. All drones are available, however.“
“Engineering,“ Maar orders, just as his fifty-seven million ton modified Leviathan-class dreadnaught completes its long climb back into space,“concentrate your efforts on restoring the primary beam weapons. Sensors, I want a subspace radar sweep of the entire system.“
“You are to find that Free Alliance ship,“ he adds, knowing this is the only way he can redeem himself.
“When you find it,“ he says,“you will upload the coordinates to the chief astrogator.“
“Yes, Master,“ the chief sensor tech replies.
“Master,“ the comm tech then reports,“Fortress Hentz on line, reporting severe damage to their airdock, weapons systems, command and crew decks.“
“They,“ he adds,“request a report on our status.“
“Our status,“ Maar tells the comm tech,“is we are currently engaged in the pursuit of the enemy craft which attacked us.“
“Tell them that,“ he says, his eyes fixed on the starfield in the master holoprojector.
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
In orbit, 2,100 kilometers over Hentz, Araks System
01/08/95, 02:37:11 GST
“Get up, damn you!“ Bayless spits out, kicking Y'onn a second time through the tears in his powered skeinsuit, the sharp pain of the kick getting through the dull haze brought on by all the other pain, the Yazirian struggling to his feet, the servos in his suit whining in protest as they help him to stand.
Y'onn consults his suit's computer to determine the extent of the damage to it and himself, the Landfleet private already tasting the salty metallic tang of his own blood, as it runs down his face into his mouth.
The suit's systems are not much better off, its sensors, radar, communications, and the camera built into his weapon are all offline, same with the enviromental control system.
It has to be malfunctioning, he concludes, after he dials the temp up even higher than his race could normally tolerate, and he's still shivering from the cold.
“Move!“ Bayless snaps at him, prodding him with a shock stick, Y'onn turning, noticing the SSD provost his squad leader had borrowed the shock stick from is dead, his neck broken, blood seeping slowly from the corner of his mouth.
It's then he realizes what a mess the dropship's troop bay is, how little of it remains intact...how many of his company are lying dead and broken all over the deck.
Y'onn remembers what happened now...the dropship had just lifted from the hangar bay, when the alarm had sounded, and the ship had just slammed itself into the deck...it had been between the ship crashing and the Yazirian losing consciousness when the restraints holding Y'onn in his seat had sheared themselves free of their mountings.
He shivers again, a dull aching throbbing up and down his body, two more prods from the shock stick in Bayless' hand convincing him to move towards the nearest exit.
That exit being a gaping hole near what remains of the dropship's tail section, a dozen more prods from the shock stick getting him to move through the hole, into the hangar bay itself.
True God in Heaven, what a mess, Y'onn woozily thinks to himself, taking in the carnage and ruin around him, watching maintenance bots dig out parts and pieces of bodies from the twisted, charred and broken remains of fighters, bombers and dropships, the stench of burnt flesh and machinery assaulting his nose through the filters of his helmet.
He joins two other survivors from his squad, what remains of his company forming ragged ranks along one end of the wrecked hangar bay, one of the junior lieutenants, a Human Y'onn doesn't recognize, walking with Master Sergeant James, as they inspect the survivors.
“You'll have to do,“ the junior lieutenant concludes, adding,“we've orders to report to the forward gunnery deck at once; those who are qualified will man weapons, while the rest assist the engineers in effecting repairs to the main beams.“
“Company,“ James snaps,“move out!“
Aboard the FAS Shadowboxer
15.5 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:21:08 GST
“Thank you,“ Ali says to the bot as it offers her a sandwich and a cup of hot, strong, black coffee from the tray in its hands.
“You're welcome, Captain,“ the bot replies, before moving to the rest of the bridge crew, who'd been at their stations since they'd left Verdant twelve days ago, and didn't dare leave them now, not with the thugs of the New Frontier bound to come gunning for them any time, especially just as they'd finished the calculations for the jump back to base.
“The Universe never waits for the right time to creet on you,“ runs the famous quote of Margaurite Dermond's through Ali's head, as she continues studying the tactical display...T'kk and the ship's astrocomp need another seven hours to finish their calculations, and, with Shadowboxer alternately maintaining near-Void speed and microjumping, variables continue changing, requiring the Vrusk female and the astrocomp to constantly recalculate.
But, she observes, taking a bite from the thick meat and cheese sandwich, if we slow down, so they can do it right, we'll be sitting waterfowl when the Spacefleet comes looking for our blood.
Or worse, she just has to add, the commander of the Shadowboxer cursing herself, both for letting the tight control she's held over the memories of Kdikit slip...and, for still remembering, twenty years after having found a way out of that hell.
Twenty years after her nightmare had consumed the entire gods-damned Frontier.
She sighs, nodding her head absently, as she sips at her coffee, wondering for the nth time precisely when in the Hells the closure everyone constantly rambled on about was supposed to take place, when she would come to the point in her life where she could move forward, because she was damned if she'd seen it yet, it was as if....
Tears run hot and wet down her cheeks, Ali cursing herself for that weakness, for now is not the time for it...later, when her crew was safe, and she could shut herself up in her quarters or in Shadowboxer's cubbyhole of a gym, just her and the heavy bag.
Dee doesn't need to know.
She can't possibly know, no matter how much she tries, her parents are both still alive on Gollywog, along with all her siblings, and the gods-damned voggin' planet had never been occupied by Streelies and their pet gods-damned worms....
A final sigh, Ali staring up at the star-shot black floating in the master holoprojector, as she takes another bite of her sandwich.
More memories better left where they were.
She can't afford the luxury of remembering right now.
Later.
Maybe.
...it actually thinks such a thing could move him.
He shows it just what happens to those who try to trick their superiors with fake tears, laying the electrowhip into it over and over, the prok's sobbing turning to screaming.
Screaming which only serves to egg him on....
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
3,000 kilometers from Hentz, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:26:11 GST
...the chime in his ears wakes Maar, the reader—images of proks doing what proks like doing best running across its flatscreen—falling from his lap onto the floor of his underway cabin, the master of the Strategos swallowing several times to moisten his throat before speaking into the mic of his headset comp:
“What is it?“
Cotter's holo appears in front of Maar's right eye, the ship's second in command, as always, wasting little time in coming to the point:
“We've located them, Master, at the outer edge of the system, approximately twenty billion kilometers from Hentz; it appears they are alternating between microjumps and near-Void speed, as they attempt to calculate a return jump course to their base.“
“Do you have an estimate as to how long it will be before they are ready to jump?“ Maar asks, already knowing.
“Less than seven hours, Master,“ Cotter replies. “We, on the other hand, will be unable to jump for another—“
“Instruct the engineers,“ Maar orders,“and the astrogators to jump at once.“
“Master—“ Cotter starts to object, Maar instantly silencing the lesser man:
“This ship is to jump at once, Space Commander, and I have no wish to hear any excuses as to why my orders cannot or will not be obeyed. Am I clear?!“
Cotter dryswallows, his face pale, as he replies:
“Yes, Master. Bridge out.“
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
3,000 kilometers from Hentz, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:26:11 GST
Cotter knows he cannot show weakness in the presence of inferiors.
Leaning back in the command station, forcing himself to suppress his baser instincts, he barks out,“you heard the Commandant; astrogation and engineering will prepare the ship for immediate emergency microjump.“
Cotter tries despeately not to concern himself with consequences...Strategos' Void engines are already straining to maintain seven gravities' acceleration without losing power or, worse, containment, and now, what Commandant Maar has just ordered his crew to do....
He takes a deep breath...the ship's Void engines would be forced to annhilate matter and antimatter at a rate certain to overload containment, and Strategos would blaze brightly across the sky of Hentz, as her surviving crew and trainees died an instant and immediate death.
He realizes that outcome should fill his heart with joy, instead of fear; after all, he has spent his life in service to the Great Cause, fighting for the redeemption of the Wilderness and attempting to bring their worlds into the dawn of the New Frontier.
His death will be in the service of the Great Cause as well, his place in the life to come as certain as the final victory of the One True God over the heathens in the Wilderness and the Dark Lady whose harlots and slaves they choose to be.
So, he is not afraid.
Nor is the chief astrogator, Fleet Lieutenant Fezdes Zawnee, who is quick to report, “Void engines answering astrocomp commands, Master; engine computer now directing masses of matter and antimatter necessary for emergency microjump. Intercept course for Star Forces cruiser now plotted and ready for execution.“
The chief engineer, Fleet Lieutenant Zal'la'has'she, is equally unafraid, the Zuraqquor's holoimage replying in the midst of klaxons braying in the background,“Void engine safeties overriden, engine computer answering astrocomp commands and directing overload power to Void field generators—“
Klaxons now howl across the bridge, Strategos' master computer relaying the engine computer's warning of imminent containment failure at the same time Zawnee reports,“Void field generators coming on line, Void entry in five, four—“
“—failure in three, two—“ the mastercomp announces in counterpoint.
Cotter fondles the Wheel hanging from the chain around his neck, softly repeating the 46th Affirmation to himself in the second or two which remains, Strategos' second in command fighting the urge to close his eyes, determined to face whatever comes.
“Though death stalks me, I shall not know fear, for the love of the One True God is proof against the wages of moral inferiority, a perfect love filling my heart and strengthening my soul, a perfect love which permits me to live, when all others are condemned to die by their Progenitor and their L—“
Space and time distort themselves, the modified Leviathan-class dreadnaught entering the Void, in spite of all the odds against it, even more proof positive of the True God and the rewards bestowed upon those who accepted Him and His Perfect Love as a slave accepts a just master's dominion over his body and soul.
Blindly and without question.
Space and time shift again, the stars righting themselves, as Strategos emerges from the Void, less than a kilometer from the enemy war cruiser.
“Master,“ Zawnee reports, as the bridge trembles and rains sparks and debris down upon all of them, “we have successfully executed emergency microjump.“
“Of course,“ Cotter replies, his faith in Him that much stronger for the trial he'd just endured.
“Did you doubt we would, Astrogator?“ he asks, even as a renewed stream of damage reports come from all over the ship.
“No, Master,“ the chief astrogator replies.
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
15.9 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:27:00 GST
The weak are quick to scream and cry out for mercy, as energy arcs into them.
The junior lieutenant who had assumed command of the company is one of those who screams, as he dies.
He wasn't worthy of leading us, Y'onn, fighting a renewed wave of nausea, observes, as he turns his attention back to the task of splicing more wiring together, forcing his hands to remain rock steady, in spite of the numbing chill gripping his body.
“Work faster!“ Bayless screams from behind him, jabbing Y'onn in the back with his shock stick.
“Yes, Master,“ the Yazirian replies, his squad leader screaming,“we are about to engage the enemy, Private Y'onzen. We have got to bring the main beams on line, now!“
“Yes, Master,“ Y'onn says, forcing hands that are steadily losing all feeling to work faster, harder, more accurately at a task to which they are not accumstomed.
However, Y'onn knows lack of expertise is only an excuse.
Proks make excuses, and he isn't one of them.
If he failed in this effort for the Great Cause, he would acknowledge that failure, face whatever judgement was due him for that failure, and emerge from that judgement a better servant of the One in the life to come, if not in this one.
It is the strength he derives from that certainty which allows Y'onn to continue working, in spite of his lack of skill and the cold making his body tremble in spite of his efforts.
The lights dim, as those manning the ship's working battery weapons open fire, Y'onn hearing the voices of the drone operators reporting the launch of robotically-piloted fighters and multi-missile platforms echoing at the edge of his consciousness, the severed ends of wire in the Yazirian's fingers fading in and out of view.
Y'onn is thankful for the shock stick, when it lances through momentary weakness to restore focus to his efforts.
“Thank you, Master,“ he says, as he continues.
Aboard the FAS Shadowboxer
16.2 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:28:06 GST
“Vog,“ Dee curses, electron beams and mass-driven projectiles streaking past Shadowboxer, even as the war cruiser pulls away from the horribly-wounded Leviathan-class dreadnaught which has emerged from the Void virtually on top of them.
The enemy craft is bleeding antimatter and coolant from two ruptured Void engines, the other three thrusting it forward in an attempt to close the distance with the smaller cruiser, an arrowhead of drone fighters and multi-missile drones dropping from its belly, rapidly moving to swarm the Free Alliance warship.
Ali watches this on the tactical display, asking her astrogator,“time until the next Void entry?“
“Void entry in ten seconds, Captain,“ T'kk replies, Ali working up a microjump course on her workstation, uploading it to the ship's astrocomp.
“New course received,“ the Vrusk informs her, just as the Void field generator engages, and, once again, the ship leaves normal space, re-entering it at no less than sixty meters from the Leviathan's starboard quarter.
“All beams fire!“ Ali snaps out, as her Shadowboxer scrapes along the other ship's side at 2,930 kilometers per second. “Guns, launch two torpedos; astrogator, new course has been uploaded to the astrocomp.“
“Acknowledged, Captain,“ T'kk replies, Ali catching a glimpse of the main beams, medium las batteries and a pair of Sledgehammer torps striking home, as the war cruiser ducks back into the Void, emerging from it along the Leviathan's port side, Dee stabbing out with the main beams, Bloout's gunners following up with the las batteries and another pair of torps.
“Captain—“ Karish starts to report, Ali replying,“I see 'em, Chief. Astrogator—“
“Void entry on new course,“ T'kk, maddeningly matter of fact, reports, as the dreadnaught's drones—all 1,440 of them—arc back to intercept the cruiser,“in five, four, three—“
“Eternal Light of Space,“ Dee whispers,“guide our path.“
“Defensive,“ Ali orders,“stand by on interceptors
Shadowboxer enters the Void just as seekers from the multi-missile drones streak towards her, returning to normal space some 2,000 kilometers from the Leviathan.
“Drone fighters and multi-missile drones still in pursuit, Captain,“ Karish reports,“current velocity 1 kilometer per second and accelerating.“
“The Leviathan,“ the young Yazirian adds, voice incredulous,“is also continuing to pursue...he's pushing his two surviving Void engines to the firewall.“
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
16.4 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:29:26 GST
“Velocity,“ Commander Spacefleet V'kat reports,“now one kilometer per second and accelerating.“
“Engineering,“ Maar orders, as the maintenance bots haul away Cotter's burned, broken body for recycling,“shut off those vogging alarms.“
As if in reply to its master's command, the ship begins groaning and screeching, the surviving bridge lights and holodisplays flickering, as the alarms warning of imminent containment failure in Strategos' two surviving Void engines—now providing five gravities' acceleration—cease abruptly.
“Status of main beams?“ Maar asks, Strategos' chief pilot replying instantly,“the engineers report twelve of the ship's heavy electron cannon have been brought back on line, Master.“
The Vrusk male poises the thumb of its upper left hand over the firing switch on the control stick, its antennae quivering in anticipation of its commander's next order.
“Do you think you can target its Void engine at this range, Commander?“ Maar asks.
“Yes, Master,“ the arachnid replies.
“Then, that's what I want,“ Maar orders.“ Shoot out its engine so that we can close to grappling range.“
“Master,“ V'kat points out,“it will take some time before we are able to grapple them.
“I am well aware of that, Commander,“ Maar replies, smiling thinly.
“I am,“ he repeats, “well aware of that.“
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
16.4 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:30:13 GST
Y'onn is dimly aware of cheering, as the gunnery deck lights flicker out, and some of the repaired main beams discharge.
“This,“ the Yazirian hears Bayless echo, as a slap on his shoulder shoots fresh pain throughout his body,“will all be over soon, Y'onzen.“
“Enemy craft has executed another micro jump,“ comes a Vruskian voice over the intercom, as the gunnery deck turns dark again, and Y'onn shivers from the cold.
“Trembling, Private?!“ Bayless asks.
“Are you afraid?“ he adds, Y'onn cursing his weakness and inability to control his own body.
“N-no, M-m-master,“ Y'onn replies through chattering teeth, the soldier finally gritting them together, adding,“I know my place in the life to come.“
“Presumption,“ his squad leader remarks, his voice echoing worse than before in the Yazirian's ringing ears,“on top of hesitation in the face of the enemy, on top of fear, when we are at the cusp of delivering righteous retribution to our enemies.“
“Don't,“ Bayless adds, barely audiable over the drone operators' cursing, “bother telling me what you meant by your remark, Private, you've said more than enough to—what the vog do you think you're doing?!“
Y'onn doesn't know how he's ended up lying face down on the deck.
It doesn't matter.
He has to get up.
Now.
But his body has turned traitor to himself and the Great Cause, the limp, freezing cold lump of flesh no longer responsive to his commands, no matter how many times Bayless jabs the shock stick into it, no matter how many times the Human squad leader screams for him to “get up, get up, you filthy prok, get up!“
Another jab of the shock stick causes Y'onn's body to convulse, the treacherous thing fighting for every last breath, Bayless continuing to scream at him, punctuating jabs of the shock stick with kicks from his boots.
“Don't you dare think,“ his squad leader's voice, coming from the top of the dark well down which Y'onn feels himself falling free,“for an instant, you can avoid responsibility for your actions simply by—“
Aboard the FAS Shadowboxer
16.4 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:32:19 GST
“He's not giving up,“ Dee observes, jinking hard to avoid incoming electron beams from both the Leviathan and its drones.
“I know,“ Ali replies, her voice taut, the missile warning droning in her ears, as even more seekers hurtle towards them, Shadowboxer's interceptor launchers furiously volleying missiles of their own in response.
“Enemy dreadnaught continues to remain within effective main beam range,“ Karish reports,“velocity now 1,650 meters per second; velocity of enemy drone craft 25 kilometers per second and continuing to close.“
Heavy electron beams sizzle past the Puglist-class war cruiser, whose own medium las turrets slash across the space behind her to shoot down drone craft by the score, the interceptors adding to that number, while anti-beam missiles detonate to form a line of chaff and ice fog nearly four kilometers behind the ship.
“Our turn again,“ Ali observes.
“Defensive, launch decoy,“ she orders, uploading course telemetry to the astrocomp. “Astrogation, stand by.“
“Decoy away,“ Petty Officer K'kree's holo reports, T'kk adding,“Void entry in five, four—“
“Bloout,“ Ali says,“launch a pair of torps, set for radiation seeking, the moment we emerge from the Void.“
“Torps standing by,“ the Dral gunnery officer replies, as Shadowboxer slips back into the Void.
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
16.4 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:33:06 GST
“Got it,“ V'kat exults in triumph, one of the main beams striking home in spite of the cloud of anti-beam ordinance between it and the cruiser.
“Good,“ Maar comments. “Stand by grapples. Landfleet detachment commander, bridge, have a platoon standing by at the forward air—“
The missile warning screams in his head, the chief sensor tech reporting,“Torpedos inbound, dead astern and closing f—“
The bridge trembles one last time, before going dark and dead, the ship rocking from a massive explosion, the chief engineer reporting over Maar's headset comp,“one of their torps hit home, Master, taking out the number two Void engine; number five engine's still on line, at minimal output. Power's out all over the ship, life support's barely operational—“
Strategos reels from another explosion.
“Damage control parties reporting an uncontrolled fire,“ the gnat adds,“ in the gunnery deck; attempts to evacuate the deck are unsuccessful, due to extensive damage to the life support system controls.“
“Do we have power for the main beams?“ Maar asks.
“No, Master,“ V'kat replies in the darkness, as still another explosion convulses the UPF training vessel. “Main beams are now offline.“
“Master,“ the chief engineer reports,“we are expiriencing containment failure in number five Void engine.“
“We,“ it adds,“are unable to correct it.“
Maar nods his head...perhaps, in the life to come, he—
Aboard the FAS Shadowboxer
20.0 billion kilometers from Araks X, Araks System
01/08/95, 05:34:01 GST
“That's it, then,“ Ali says, after Karish reports the destruction of the Leviathan.
“Keep scanning,“ she adds. “Astrogator, resume jump calculations for Verdant; pilot, maintain present course and speed.“
“All crew,“ she then says, not having to,“maintain battle stations.“
She resumes eating her sandwich, sipping at her coffee, but still, Ali doesn't relax.
She still sees no reason to relax.
Her eyes remain fixed to the empty tactical display floating over her command station, the captain of the Shadowboxer focussing on the here and now, on what the enemy could be sending next after her ship and its crew of fifteen.
Memories of the past staying locked down, where they belong.
Until she can deal with them.
Later.
Maybe.
Aboard the UPFS Strategos
In orbit, 1,000 kilometers over Gran Quivera , Prenglar System
01/18/95, 12:02:07 GST
Rear Admiral Jacob Maar sits at the center of the long table in a dark, isolated corner of the resurrected UPF training vessel, studying holofootage from the battle in the Araks system a tenday ago, before turning to the other members of the ship's Morality Review Committee, asking:
“What say you all, on the matter of the Landfleet soldiers who perished on the gunnery deck.“
“They failed,“ says the Landfleet detachment commander, Brigadier Thaddeus Fisch,“to destroy the enemy cruiser.“
“Stemming,“ observes the ship's political instruction officer, Colonel Razzak Sherakee,“from the failure of their fellow soldiers to quickly repair the damage to the main beam weapons.“
“There were even documented incidents,“ states the ship's executive officer, Commodore Braden Cotter, as he fingers the Wheel pendant around his neck,“of soldiers trembling in fear and dying in an attempt to avoid responsbility for their failures.“
“Reassignment,“ intones the commander of the ship's air group, Space Commander Terrence Boone.
“Reassignment,“ the others agree.
“For all of them,“ Maar says.
“So mote it be,“ chant the members of the Committee as one.
—endit—