Fall of Icarus (2 page)

Everyone on board the
Liberator
felt the jarring shake as the missile struck the engine.
 
Though Captain Hallith gritted his teeth tightly together, anticipating a ship-shattering explosion, it never came.
 
Slowly, he released his death grip on the Captain’s chair.

“Give me a status report!”

The Communications Officer activated the internal ship’s communications.
 
A myriad of yells and screams could be heard from the engine room.
 
As he listened, however, the Captain was taken aback to find that they were yells of surprise, not pain.

Within the two-story engine, the metal cone tip of the rocket crumpled as it struck the burning liquid fuel, exposing a resilient dark canister within.
 
Small explosives detonated around the perimeter of the internal canister, spilling forth gallons of dark fluid.
 
The viscous, oily substance sloshed into the superheated plasma, where it began bubbling violently.
 
Slowly, the black fluid turned tar-like, spreading into the engine.
 
Everywhere it touched, the substance converted the molten plasma into a thick tar, jamming the engine.

All this Captain Hallith
heard,
yelled by a sea of frightened engineers and mechanics within the engine room.
 
He felt the vibrations roll through the ship as it started to lose speed.
 
On the view screen, the Terran Destroyers closed the distance even quicker than before.

“Sir, we’re losing speed!” Navigation yelled.
 
“The left engine is completely unresponsive.”

The Avalon Navigator’s voice faded into muted oblivion as Captain Hallith watched the weapon ports open on all six Terran ships simultaneously.
 
Dozens of rockets launched from each ship, their smoking trails filling the screen with criss-crossing pathways.
 
In their own hidden language, the smoky trails spelled inevitable death for the
Liberator
.

“Gods save us,” the Captain muttered as the first of the rockets slammed into the limping Alliance Cruiser.
 
Metal plates buckled as blue and purple plasma explosions blossomed across the length of the ship.
 
Burning oxygen vented into empty space as the hull was breached.
 
Fire roared through the corridors, burning crewmen alive as they fled one explosion only to be caught in another.

The Captain watched in dismay as missile after missile struck the
Liberator
until, gratefully, one ended his consternation by splitting the hull above the bridge.
 
Captain Hallith and his crew on the bridge were obliterated by the subsequent plasma explosion, which saved them the more arduous death as their bodies were sucked through the gaping hull and into the void of space.

As the plasma blossoms cooled, debris of the former Alliance Cruiser drifted aimlessly in space.
 
The Terran Destroyers flew by with barely a backward glance, as they sought out their next target.

CHAPTER ONE

        
Yen Xiao tapped his foot impatiently as the Squadron Commander continued the mission brief for the upcoming training exercise.
 
Glancing down at his watch, he knew he was going to be cutting it close if the Commander didn’t stop talking.
 
After all his hard work and political positioning, he refused to believe he might miss her arrival.
 
He ran an irritated hand through his
jet black
hair.
 
Gritting his teeth, red splotches appeared on his yellowed skin.

           
“Settle down,” Adam Decker whispered from beside Yen.
 
“You’re starting to make me uncomfortable.”

           
“I’m fine,” Yen whispered harshly.
 
“There’s nothing wrong.
 
I just wish he would quit talking already.”

           
“Oh, you’re fine?” Adam asked.
 
“Then the fact that your spikes are flickering is just a coincidence.”

           
Yen turned sharply on his Pilgrim friend.
 
True to Adam’s word, Yen knew that the spikes that ran along his spine were rising and falling in rhythm with his quick breathing.
 
Adam shrugged his massive shoulders before brushing his blond hair off his forehead.
 
When Yen had first met Adam, the Pilgrim had always kept himself immaculately groomed.
 
After the disaster of their first mission together, Adam had cared less and less about Alliance regulations on appearance standards.
 
Even his strong Terran features were sometimes masked by fine stubble on his cheeks.

           
Much like the few other Pilgrims on board the
Revolution
, Adam was a conundrum.
 
Born of Terran heritage, the Pilgrims were the original colonists for the Terran Empire, sent from their home world of Earth to the farthest star systems to discover new worlds full of easily exploitable natural resources.
 
The Pilgrims, however, found much more: aliens.
 
Making first contact with previously undiscovered alien races, the Pilgrims established trade treaties and, eventually, friendships.
 
But war between the Empire and the other alien species was inevitable.
 
An unknowing incursion into Lithid space left an entire colony fleet annihilated and hundreds of thousands dead.
 
In retaliation, the Empire declared martial law and attempted to eradicate the other species.
 
To the surprise of the Terran politicians on Earth, the Pilgrims chose to side with the new Interstellar Alliance, fighting against the Terran threat.
 
One hundred and fifty years had passed since the Taisa Accord was signed, establishing Alliance occupied space from Terran, but the Terran-descended Pilgrims were still an uncomfortable sight for some.

           
Yen frowned and looked down at his watch again.
 
“I just don’t want to be late.”

           
“I’m about to take that watch away from you if you don’t quit staring at it.”

           
“Is there something you two would like to share?” Squadron Commander Garrix asked from the front of the room, his gravelly voice carrying obvious annoyance.
 

           
Both Yen and Adam looked up to see the Lithid Squadron Commander’s featureless black oval face staring directly at them, his barbed tail flickering in irritation.
 
As natural shape shifters, the Lithids were able to transfigure their features into any humanoid shape.
 
It was their natural state – the faceless, glossy, and barbed exoskeleton – that Yen found most unsettling.
 

“If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, please let me know.
 
The
Revolution
is leading a dozen other ships from the Alliance Fleet against the Terran Destroyers.
 
You’re getting the chance to take part in this battle because I say so.
 
If either of you wants out, just let me know and I’ll sign your transfer.
 
Otherwise, you
will
pay attention during our pre-combat training exercises.”

           
They both dropped their eyes, slightly embarrassed.
 
“Sorry, sir” they muttered in unison.

           
Yen sank lower into his chair.
 
Though he appeared to be listening, his eyes were barely focused on the Lithid Squadron Commander.
 
As Garrix pointed his glossy clawed hands at another of the targets on the holographic display and droned on in his gravelly voice, Yen thought about all he still needed to accomplish before she arrived.
 
First and foremost, he needed to lose the coveralls.
 
After wearing his body armor all day during training rehearsals, he could trace the salt stains on the dark fabric.
 
Secondly, he realized, as a waft of sweaty body odor rolled across his nostrils, he needed to take a shower.
 
Secretively glancing down at his watch, Yen started to seriously doubt he would have time to do it all and still make it to the airlock.

           
“I saw that,” Adam whispered.
 
“Quit looking at your damn watch.
 
You’re going to get us into trouble again.”

           
Yen resolved himself to silent displeasure for the rest of the brief.
 
He knew his role better than most of the other
Warrants
and Officers in the briefing room.
 
Aside from Adam and Yen, no one else had any true combat experience, to include the Squadron Commander.
 
They held their positions and preached tactics based off historical records and simulated combat.
 
It made it difficult to remain focused during briefings, knowing that none of them were truly tested against a real opponent when death was a viable result.

           
Looking up, Yen noted a shift in Garrax’s tone, signaling that an end to the monotonous brief was nearing.
 
He leaned over excitedly to Adam who, though he had chided Yen for not paying attention, wore a frown fraught with impatience.

           
“Are you coming or not?” Yen asked.

           
Adam stole a glance at his own watch.
 
“You’re going to be killing yourself to try to make it in time.”

           
“Yes or no?”

           
“I’m out.
 
There’s no way I’m going to sprint the length of the
Revolution
just to go meet a woman, especially one who actually seems to find you attractive!”

           
He smiled as the Squadron Commander concluded his summary.
 
“Your loss.
 
I’ll tell you all about her later tonight.”

           
Yen was out of his chair and walking brusquely toward the rear exit to the briefing room before Garrix had finished
saying
“dismissed”.
 
Once out the door, he broke into a sprint, hurrying toward the lift that would take him down to the living quarters.
 
There were some advantages to being a combat veteran, as Yen had found.
 
Though only an Insertion Team Leader onboard one of the
Cair
transport ships, Yen was given his own room on the
Revolution
, an honor normally reserved for a more senior Officer.
 
As the door to his room slid open, he rushed inside, slipping past the small dining room table and flicking on the bedroom lights.
 
His pristine dress uniform was already laid out on the bed, having been prepositioned earlier that morning.
 
Stripping off the soiled uniform, Yen retained enough sense to carry the dirty clothes into the bathroom with him, knowing there was still a chance that he would not be coming home alone tonight.

           
Stepping into the shower, Yen made quick work of scrubbing his body clean.
 
It seemed that no sooner had the soap been washed from his skin and out of his hair, then the water was turned off and he was toweling dry.
 
Looking in the mirror, he realized just how rough he looked.
 
Even against his yellow skin, the faint outlines of a bruise could be seen spreading across his left cheek, a gift from an overzealous Oterian during the training practice today.
 
During their rehearsed incursion on an enemy ship, the Oterian had been too eager to exit the
Cair
mock-up.
 
His thrown elbow, as he shoved his way to the front of the line, caught Yen on the side of the face, snapping his head backward from the force of the blow.
 
Yen already had an adequate punishment planned for the soldier, but seeing the bruise reignited his anger.

           
Glancing down at his watch, Yen jumped as he realized how much time had already passed.
 
Running a brush through his long, black hair, Yen gave one final cursory glance in the mirror before hurrying back into the bedroom and slipping into his uniform.
 
No marks or lint stained the crisp Infantry uniform.
 
Yen readjusted the series of medals that hung heavily on the left side of his chest; medals he had won during the multiple missions conducted while he served with the covert operations division of the Infantry.
 
Dominating the rack of medals, hanging above the others, Yen caught sight of the Alliance Service Cross, one of the highest awards offered in the military.
 
He earned it during his final mission with the covert operations, one
which
pained him to relive.