Battlespace (The Stars Aflame Book 1) Page 3

  “Four thousand miles,” Cunningham reported.

  “That was fast work, Ensign,” Novak replied.

  “We were already on a pretty decent intercept trajectory. I just had to refine it a little. Slowing for a landing is going to be interesting. I wish we had some spacesuits on board.”

  “Where’s your target?”

  “There’s a flat area about a quarter-mile from the site of the distress beacon. I figure that’s within easy walking distance for anyone who wants to give us a hand.” He smiled again, and added, “Let’s just hope they’ve only got two of them, rather than supplementing them with a few tentacles.”

  “You’ve watched too many bad movies, Ensign.”

  The pod closed on the target, and Novak watched as the craggy surface loomed large in the tiny viewport, Cunningham firing a series of expertly timed pulses on the thrusters to guide them gently towards their goal. A second pulse from the distress beacon hit their communications system, and Novak quickly ran an analysis, confirming what she already suspected. A Commonwealth frequency. Then she frowned, tapping a control to check her readings. It wasn’t a military signal, but a civilian one.

  “Careful, Ensign. I’m not sure we’ve got friends down there.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That signal isn’t from Vanguard.” Glancing at the monitor, she added, “There’s a chance we might be walking into a trap.”

  “I don’t think things could be any worse than they are, Lieutenant.”

  “You’ve got a point at that. Time to landing?”

  “Three minutes. Getting close.” He leaned over the controls, then said, “Can you read out the numbers, ma’am? This is going to be tough.”

  “On it,” she replied. “Fifty miles. Closing fast.”

  “Reducing speed,” he said. “Alien ship’s below the horizon now. Unless they’re using a crystal ball, they can’t see us.” He fired a quick sequence of thruster pulses, then nodded in satisfaction. “That should have done it.”

  “Thirty miles, speed reducing. On trajectory for planned landing site.”

  The pod raced over the jagged peaks, Cunningham firing one burst after another from the thrusters, first stopping their spin then reducing their speed to bring them in for a safe landing. Technically, escape pods weren’t designed for maneuvering of this type, their thrusters only intended to allow them to dock with a rescue ship in free space, but that hardly seemed to matter under the circumstances.

  “Five thousand feet,” Novak said. “Hundred and fifty feet per second. Need to go a little left.”

  “Doing it,” Cunningham said, firing his thrusters again.

  “Fuel warning light is on, ten percent remaining. Two thousand feet, fifty feet per second.”

  “Roger,” he replied, sweat beading on his forehead as he worked. Novak made a mental note to write a commendation for the young pilot, assuming they lived long enough for her to file it.

  “Thousand feet, thirty per second, on trajectory. Surface looks good. Bring her down, Ensign.”

  He nodded, then fired another pulse from the thrusters, saving just another for one final burst. The landing didn’t have to be perfect. The escape pod would never be able to take off. As long as it remained intact upon impact, that would be good enough. They descended into a crater, the walls looming large overhead, and Novak peered out at the landing site, spotting a pair of spacesuited figures walking towards them, both with rifles in hand.

  “Hundred feet, eight per second. You’ve got it made, Ensign.”

  “Final burn,” he replied, spending the last of his fuel just before landing, kicking up a cloud of dust that briefly obscured the approaching figures. The landing itself was an anticlimax, a brief thud that barely seemed to register, the vessel rolling slightly to the right as it settled into position on the surface. Novak clapped Cunningham on the back with a smile on her face, the helmsman taking a deep breath as his trembling hands retreated from the controls.

  “Great flying. Great landing.”

  “I figured I’d only get one chance to try that, ma’am. It would have been a shame to waste it.” He paused, then asked, “What about our friends out there?”

  “I wasn’t going to worry you just before impact.”

  “I couldn’t miss them,” he replied. Before she could say a word, there was a knock on the airlock door, and one of the figures, recognizably wearing a Commonwealth spacesuit, waved at them through the window. With a series of grinding noises, the airlock cycled, opening up to reveal a second escape pod, this one loaded with a pair of standard-issue Fleet spacesuits.

  “Nice welcome basket,” Cunningham said, quickly inspecting the nearest suit. “A little battered, but in good condition, ma’am. I’d say they’re safe to wear.”

  Reaching for the other one, she replied, “I don’t think we’ve got much of a choice.” In the cramped space, they struggled to don their suits, their limbs brushing against the walls, sending the two pods rolling around the landscape, but after a few minutes, they were prepared for the outside. Novak took one last look at Cunningham, checking the integrity of their suits, then reached for a control to depressurize the pods, the atmosphere being pulled back into the lifesystem, stored for future use. Once the red light winked on to indicate they were in vacuum, she decoupled the airlock, and rolled out onto the surface, looking up into the barrel of a pair of laser rifles, their wielders standing over her.

  She raised her hands, slowly climbing to her feet, and the nearest of the suited figures pulled a communications cord from his belt, gesturing for her to disable her long-range system. Once clipped together, they’d be able to talk without any risk of detection, and she took a slow step forward as the figure clipped the cord home.

  “Good morning! Who’s in there?” an oddly familiar voice asked.

  “Lieutenant Novak,” she replied. “That you, Chief?”

  “It is,” Chief Petty Officer Jack Patel replied. He’d been Vanguard’s Quartermaster, as well as senior enlisted. “Who’s that with you?”

  “Ensign Cunningham. Yours?”

  “Specialist Powers. Specialist Vidmar’s over with the ship.”

  “You managed to get a shuttle?” Cunningham asked, clipping into the network.

  “No, sir, we didn’t. We only managed to get an escape pod, just like you, though we were able to grab some spacesuits and weapons on the way out. You didn’t have time?”

  “The bridge was wrecked, Chief. The emergency cabinets were smashed to pieces, and we certainly didn’t have time to try for another compartment.”

  “The Captain?” Patel asked, hesitantly.

  “Dead. He died during the first impact. The rest of the bridge crew died in the second. We managed to get out before the third. Did anyone else make it away?”

  “I saw a couple of escape pods clearing the after compartments,” Powers, a life support technician, volunteered. “We couldn’t contact them, though, and we haven’t dared run an active sensor system.”

  “Let’s go back to our shuttle, Lieutenant. We can talk there in a little more comfort.”

  Turning towards the crater wall, Novak asked, “How did you come by a shuttle?”

  “Vidmar spotted it on the surface. We decided to hide in the shadow of an asteroid, and this one happened to be nearest. Once we saw there were signs of life down here, we decided to investigate. Not that we’ve actually found anyone, though. I think there were a couple more shuttles here at some point in the recent past, but there’s only one left, and the others took most of their equipment with them.”

  “Could we make it to the wormhole terminus?” Cunningham asked.

  “Not a chance, Ensign. Not while that thing is lurking out there. I don’t know what it’s waiting for, but I don’t want to risk waking it up. We’ve got life support for a couple of weeks, though, so we can probably outlast it.” He looked at Novak, and added, “Though I’d hate our safety to be at the price of one of the other systems in the net
work.”

  “We’ve got to find a way to report back to Earth,” Novak said. “Right now, they don’t have the first idea what they’re facing. The Navy will almost certainly send a ship to investigate…”

  “And it’ll get blown out of space as soon as it arrives, just like we did,” Powers replied, shaking her head. “Maybe we could set up a beacon, try and warn them off.”

  “Maybe,” Novak replied. They climbed over the crater wall, and instantly spotted the shuttle resting on the far side, covered in dust that would make it all but impossible to spot from orbit. “Your work, Chief?”

  “I figured we didn’t want any unexpected guests. It’s got a really good sensor suite on board, so I set it scanning for any other pods and triggered to send a tightbeam pulse when it picked one up. Is that how you found us?”

  “Ensign Cunningham managed to lock onto your signal.”

  “That was a nice landing, by the way, sir. We cracked our pod up on impact. Lucky we had suits.”

  “Sir,” Powers said, “I think I see something. Over in the distance, at four o’ clock.”

  Novak turned, and saw a lone figure walking towards them, an old-fashioned plasma shotgun cradled in his hands, more than capable of reducing the shuttle to rubble if he pulled the trigger. She glanced at Patel, who shook his head in response, then lowered his weapon to the ground, raising his hands, gesturing for the others to do the same. They watched silently as the figure walked towards them, finally pulling out a communications cord and locking it into position on Novak’s suit, keeping the plasma shotgun leveled on them the whole time.

  The five of them waited, waited for someone to make the first move. Novak spotted a warning light on her suit, someone attempting to access her systems, reading her data. Cunningham glanced at her, and she shook her head. This was a human, that was obvious enough, and if this was the price of winning his trust, it was a cheap enough one to pay. Finally, after a long minute that seemed to stretch an eternity, the stranger lowered his shotgun, then took a step forward towards the four castaways.

  “Who the hell are you, and what are you doing to my ship?” he asked.

  “I’m Lieutenant Jennifer Novak, Science Officer of the Vanguard. Who are you?”

  “Professor Belinsky,” he replied, tossing his gun away. “I suppose you’re here to arrest me.”

  Novak’s eyes widened, and she said, “Not today, Professor. What are you doing here?”

  “That’s a long story.”

  “Trust me, we’ve got plenty of time.”

  Chapter 3

  Scott tugged at his uniform, trying to adjust the sleeves, struggling to get used to the fit after so many years in civilian clothes. Up ahead, he could see the sleek lines of Leonidas, his old ship, as though seeing a lost lover for the first time in an eternity. He’d grown up on that ship, most of his career focused on her, one way or another. The battered old cruiser had been his first assignment out of the Academy, and he’d returned first as Executive Officer and later Captain, commanding her in peace and war for almost a decade before the mothballing of the fleet.

  Crewmen were scrambling all across her hull, working to get her ready for departure, and he could see a dozen other shuttles flying back and forth, loading her with the supplies she’d need for an extended cruise. He’d insisted that she be fully equipped, and spent most of the flight out going over the mountain of administrative trivia required to get her back into fighting condition. Humanity might be on the verge of extinction, but the bureaucrats still required their paperwork.

  “Are you sure you want Docking Port Nine, Captain?” the transfer pilot asked. “It’s not too late to take you to one of the main access ports.”

  “I don’t want to make too much of a fuss, thank you, Specialist,” he replied. “Nine will be fine.”

  Peering at the viewport, the pilot said, “She’s a hell of a ship, sir. The Mothball teams treated her like a queen while she was in their care. I think they considered her their flagship.”

  “She’s worth it, and more,” Scott replied, a smile on his face. “Pity you aren’t shipping out with us.”

  “I’m slated for Theseus, sir. I’m up before a Commissioning Board in the morning. Turns out they want to pin silver bars on my shoulders.” He frowned, then said, “I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

  “You’ll do fine,” Scott replied. “Just remember to act as though you know what you’re doing. As long as you can convince the people under the command that you’re in charge, you will be.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll remember that.” Reaching for a control, he said, “Cleared for landing, sir. I didn’t tell them who you were. The manifest just lists this as a standard personnel transfer, and there are a hell of a lot of those taking place at the moment.” Turning with a grin, he added, “Are you planning to take your new crew by surprise, Captain?”

  “Something like that,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I walked the decks. A very long time.”

  “Final burn,” the pilot replied, and with a loud clunk, the shuttle linked with the ship, airlocks cycling. “Thank you for flying Commonwealth Airlines, Captain. Come again soon.”

  “I will,” Scott said with a smile. “Thanks for the ride.” He turned to the hatch, pausing at the threshold for a second before grabbing his holdall and stepping over it, back onto his ship for the first time in five years. It looked just the same as it had before, the fading brown paint on the walls, battered floors, graffiti scribbled on the wall by the maintenance crews, some of it providing instructions for future repairs, the rest just messages left from one engineer to another.

  Footsteps raced towards him, and he walked slowly towards them, a young Ensign sliding to a stop as recognition crossed his face, snapping a salute. Scott looked her over, a smile on his lips, and returned the salute with a snap of his arm.

  “Captain?” she said. “We weren’t told…”

  “That’s quite all right, Ensign. I didn’t expect a reception committee. You’ll do fine. And you are?”

  “Ensign Sullivan, sir. External Operations Officer.”

  “Back in the day, I think we called those sensor technicians,” he replied. “Are you any good?”

  “Top of my class, sir.” She paused, then said, “Though they graduated us a year early, given the crisis. We were out here on a training cruise when they broke the news.”

  Stepping forward, maintaining his smile, Scott replied, “Don’t worry. By the time you reach the last year, you pretty much know everything you need, anyway. Anything I need to know about the internal layout?”

  “Everything is as you left it, sir, and all the internal systems are working. We’ve already added you to the priority list for elevator transit.”

  “Very good, Ensign. Thank you. I won’t keep you from your duties any longer. Carry on.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied, snapping another parade-ground salute before running on down the corridor. Scott walked in the other direction, permitting the smile to drop from his face. He wasn’t aware that Singh had been forced to graduate the Academy’s junior class, but it was an obvious step given the circumstances. Albeit a desperate one. He shook his head as he stepped into the waiting elevator, tapping a control for the bridge.

  He’d known how shorthanded the fleet was, barely able to keep a dozen ships in commission, but meeting the shuttle pilot and Sullivan had really brought it home to him. Wartime commissions were common enough, but aside from a few training programs and transfers for veteran senior enlisted, they hardly happened any more. Somehow, Admiral Singh had thirty-two more ships to find crews for, and he wondered just how she intended to do it, especially in the time.

  His doubts and worries were instantly dispelled as the door opened on the bridge, and he paused to let it sink in, determined to savor the moment. Just like the rest of the ship, it was almost exactly how he had left it five years ago, though a few of the control panels were new, obviously replaced in the rush to prepa
re the ship for battle. His own chair at the heart of the action, with seats for the helmsman and sensor technician in front of him.

  He mentally corrected himself. Guidance Control Officer and External Operations Officer. They’d once been enlisted roles, now officer responsibilities. One way they’d kept the number of officers at a manageable level. On the left, chairs for the Communications and Weapons Officers, and on the right, positions for the Executive Officer and the Chief Engineer. The former of which was already at his post, and had not yet noticed his arrival.

  As the elevator chimed, anxious to head for its next pickup, Scott finally stepped onto the bridge, and walked over to Commander Clyde Rochford, sitting at his station, engaged in what appeared to be a prolonged argument with someone on the far end of the line.

  “Hang up on him, you’re getting nowhere,” Scott said. Rochford looked up, and a smile filled his face as he slammed down the receiver, rising from his chair and grabbing Scott in a bear hug. “Hey, you’re choking me!”

  “Christ, Mike, it’s good to see you. I was beginning to worry that I was going to have to take this girl out myself.” Tapping a control, he said, “Senior officers, report to the bridge on the double. The Captain’s finally turned up.”

  “I’m glad to see that you’re still giving me the respect I deserve.”

  “Every bit.” Looking over Scott, Rochford added, “It’s good to see you back in uniform again.”

  “Likewise. Sorry I had to break up your retirement.”

  “Trust me, I was glad to get out of there. Turns out selling insurance is a lousy way to make a living. Who knew? And if what I’ve heard is true, the morons I worked for are about to go bust, anyway. I see a lot of claims coming up in the near future.”

  “It’s true,” Scott replied, as the elevator opened again, four more officers stepping inside. Two of them were instantly familiar, a third strangely recognizable, the fourth completely new. The two old friends were Commander Garcia, his Weapons Officer, and Lieutenant Santoro, his Chief Engineer, and each of them welcomed him with a clap of the hand and a hug respectively.