Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D. (19 page)

Ash’s finger hovered over the glowing, red fire button as she felt the rumble. Her upper torso rotated left, then right, trying to locate its origin. The hillside’s loose shale and gravel began to give way, sending it skittering down the mountain past her. Struggling to stay upright, she lowered her long, robotic arms so that she was in an inverted, four-point stance. As her head rotated to look behind her, four meters away was a boulder, twenty-two meters in diameter, the first of many, bearing down on her.

Unable to escape from the end-game move, she stood frozen as the boulder rolled over her, crushing and exploding her bot. Ashlyn screamed.

Steven half expected to see her clinging to the rock like a flattened cartoon figure as it rotated around, but as the dust cleared, he saw nothing more than twisted scrap metal strewn across the hillside.

“Game over. Blue Warrior wins,” announced Gena.

As the terrain about him dissolved, he saw that Ashlyn had loosed herself from her bot and fell crumpled onto the platform. Loosing himself, he jumped over the handrail of the platform to the ground below and ran to the top of her platform.

Ash gasped, hands clenched to her abdomen.

Steven came to her side. “Ash, are you all right?”

“Wow, that thing was heavy!”

“Sorry, Ash. I didn’t mean for it to be so painful. Do you think anything is broken?”

“Just my ego,” said Ash with a pained frown. “I’ve never seen a strategy like that before. Novacek warned me that you were good, but that was—brilliant.”

***

Three days later, from deep within his dreams, Avenger’s siren jolted Steven awake.

With the klaxon’s abrupt stop, stark silence left the sound of Steven’s thumping heart and ragged breath to fill the darkened room. He reached out, verifying that Phillip was still asleep and lying beside him. His mind fought to clear away the fog that clung to him, to comprehend the siren’s message.

As Gena brought the light up in the room, she also connected him to the bridge.

“Is it time for the drop?” asked Steven.

“Almost, sir. That was the twenty-minute warning.”

“Put us on full alert! Call the first team to the bridge.”

***

As Commander Gordon Novacek took the First Officer’s seat next to him, Steven reflected back to the day when the two of them had first met. Novacek was the epitome of first impressions being lasting ones, for he was a man never to be forgotten.

For starters, if all the men in the world had drawn sticks, then Novacek had drawn the short one. Bald, square faced, weak jawed, standing a squat 5 foot 5 inches in height, he had about the droopiest set of eyes that any human had ever possessed. To top it off, he was hampered yet further by a stutter which grew proportionately worse when under duress.

Upon receiving his commission, Steven had been granted the reward of handpicking his officers. Novacek had been chosen fourth, after Renee, Leslie, and Victor, who had all been his close friends since his first year at the Academy. Though Novacek was thirty years Steven’s senior, he had been an obvious choice, because he’d placed
first
in the Academy finals—not first in his class, but first in the entire history of the Academy, a record that stood until Steven’s own testing.

For a mission of this type, Novacek was the perfect choice. He had been one of the few to receive the same tactical combat training as Steven. He could also be trusted to follow any order without question.

“Drop initiated!” said Robbie.

The swirling vortex on Avenger’s forward screen suddenly came alive. Streaks of white light focused and shrank down to the pinpoints of star-filled heavens as Avenger slowed.

“Drop successful. We are right on target, sir. Sirius A is 38 degrees off our port bow, 13 million kilometers distance,” called Lieutenant Rawlings on radar.

“Put our position in relation to LV-6 and the other planetary bodies in this system on screen.”

“Sir! I have three contacts! Distance, 1.4 million kilometers, fanned out 13 degrees to starboard. Their profile matches the destroyer class vessel that attacked Earth sixteen years ago,” said Rawlings.

“Have they spotted us?”

“Yes, sir. We are being scanned by a Polaris wave. I jammed it, but for a couple of seconds we were open to them. They’re powered up and are beginning to move toward us.”

“Rawlings, is there anything within range that might help us?” Steven knew that physically they were no match for three destroyer class vessels.

“Admiral, there is one option,” said Novacek.

Steven turned to look at him.

“Sirius A.”

Novacek’s intoned confidence, along with his street smarts, made Steven’s decision. “Robbie, execute toward Sirius A. Maximum speed! Novacek, continue.”

“Sir, it’s your S-sol m-maneuver. I have s-studied it extensively. The anti-g-gravity plating should be c-capable of deflecting the bulk of the g-gravity and the s-shields will handle the heat and r-radiation. It’ll also make us b-blind to them for a few m-minutes.”

“That was only a sim,” Steven reminded.

“But it w-worked.”

For the first time, Steven wondered if people had put too much faith in him. His Academy test was nothing more than beating the data input of a computer programmer. It was a game. But now, they were committed. The enemy was in pursuit.

With a smirk, he nodded to Novacek. “All right—let’s do it! Robbie, keep us at full impulse and drop the forward anti-grav plating. Let the sun pull us in. Plot a course that will enable us to slingshot around the starboard side of the sun. Watch the gravity well—don’t let the angle of our descent get too steep.”

Several of the crew turned to look at him, awed at what they were about to do.

“What the hell were three destroyers doing way out here, anyway?” said Engineer Preston.

“The pawns are always out front,” said Steven. “But it’s the king that we’re after. Jenkins, are you prepared to launch all tubes?”

“Yes, sir. Tubes 1-18 are loaded with Intercepts. Ready and standing by,” returned Jenkins.

“Chief, what’s our current energy status?” Steven requested.

“Steady at 96 percent.”

“Sir, I think the destroyers are a bit bewildered by what we’re doing. They’ve corrected their heading and are on an intercept course, but they were sluggish in doing it,” said Rawlings.

“Will they catch us before we get there?”

“They’ll get within missile range, but I don’t believe their missiles will catch us before our speed builds enough to outrun them.”

“And what is the distance to their home planet, LV-6?”

“81 million kilometers, 140 degrees astern,” said Rawlings.

“Perfect! Stratton, program a drone Sharkfin to head for the planet at maximum burn, equatorial impact. Leave her fully armed but disarm all the warheads. Set her shields to maximum, and the defensive matrix to auto-avoidance. Have the fighter drop its shields as it enters the atmosphere.”

“Programming, setting impact zone for equatorial plane,” confirmed Stratton. “And you did say to have her drop shields, sir?”

“Yes. I want the fighter to burn up in the atmosphere.”

“The drone is ready, sir—but at maximum burn, it might run the core dry before it gets there.”

“I ran the calculations. It’ll make it. Launch the drone, Stratton.”

Ran the calculations.
Stratton pondered Steven’s words.
Has his mind grown that much already?
“Aye, sir. Drone launched.”

“Comm, notify Commander Parker to prep the Sharkfin squadrons to launch on my order.” Ashlyn’s face flashed before him. “Rawlings, notify me of any course or speed changes the destroyers make!”

Steven watched the radar operator intently, waiting.

A brief pause. “Sir, the trailing destroyer is veering to port. It looks like it’s going after the Sharkfin!” answered Rawlings.

“Jenkins, plot a course for a full volley of Intercepts to
greet
the two destroyers chasing us. Fire when ready. Then reload all tubes with Stingers,” said Steven.

“Aye, aye, sir.” A moment later. “Firing all tubes. Intercepts away, reloading with Stingers."

“Rawlings, how long before we reach Sirius A?”

“2 minutes and 19 seconds.”

“And what’s the time until our missiles have a lock?”

“1 minute and 55 seconds, sir. Also, the lead destroyer has just launched a volley of intercepts,” updated Rawlings.

“Robbie, what’s our speed?”

“6.69 sub-light.”

“Are they still closing on us?”

“Yes, sir. But not by much,” answered Rawlings

“Robbie, increase burn by 8.2 percent.”

A subtle tremor could be felt as Avenger accelerated under heavy thrust. The sun was large on the view-screen and growing larger by the second.

“We’re pulling away,” announced Robbie.

The pull from the sun was extreme and it sent a subtle vibration through the hull.

“Careful, Robbie. It’s a fine line between gathering speed and going so deep into the well that we can’t escape. Avenger will need every ounce of speed she can gather to break free.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

A golden haze emanated on the forward screen as Avenger heated up. “Should I c-close the c-cover shield?” said Novacek.

“Not yet.”

Avenger swept around the starboard side of the sun. “We’re slipping into the well,” said Robbie with concern.

Steven leaned forward in his chair, raising his right hand into the air.

“Steady as she goes helm—steady. On my order, when we break out, plot a course directly down the throat of the destroyers, taking us between them.”

“We’re now out of their direct line of sight. Our missiles had just locked onto the destroyers when we lost visual contact,” said Rawlings.

“What about the missiles chasing us?” asked Steven.

“They’re being sucked into the gravity well. We’re safe.”

The vibration racking Avenger grew intense and the groaning moan from the hull rattled the bones. Avenger sounded as though she were being ripped apart at the seams.

“Novacek, set anti-grav plating to 18.8 percent reduction,” said Steven.

“External hull temperature is nearing maximum. Extending baffles to full,” said Stratton.

To the co-pilot sitting beside Robbie Steven said, “Ada, give me a continuous readout of our speed.”

“6.84 sub-light. 6.87, 6.90, 6.92.”

“Get ready to engage boosters on my order, helm!”

“6.94, 6.96.”

“We’re falling fast into the well! 24,000 kilometers,” said Robbie.

“Close forward cover shield,” ordered Steven. “Switch view to external camera.”

“6.98,” said Ada.

Steven lowered his arm. “Novacek, increase anti-grav plating to 61.2 percent reduction.”

Novacek’s brow raised, surprised by the specific number. He could almost see Steven’s mind running the calculations.

Avenger rocketed around the backside of the sun, blistering hot. With her shields deflecting plasma particles away from her, Avenger looked like she was on fire.

“Heat baffles are extended to maximum. They can’t shed anymore heat,” said Stratton.

“We’re still falling into the well—10,000 kilometers until impact. 9—8—7 thousand kilometers, 6—5—”

“Novacek, anti-grav plating to maximum! Now, Robbie, engage boosters! 27 degrees hard to starboard!”

Avenger bucked, jolting them with a violent shake. Jenkin’s seat broke free from its mooring and he was slung across the room, still belted into it. The two helmsman struggled at the controls. Avenger fought to break free with everything she had.

“We have a minor breach in the outer hull on the port side. Initiating auto-repair,” called Chief Preston. “Booster engine nine has also been damaged. It’s leaking fuel. Jettisoning.”

“Helm, roll 12.8 degrees to starboard,” said Steven, wanting to minimize damage to the weakened portion of Avenger’s hull.

“We’re still falling—2 thousand kilometers until impact.”

“Helm, kick in the horizontal port thrusters. Increase the aperture of the burners on all engines by 11.6 percent. Increase the escape angle to 41.1 degrees.”

“500 kilometers until impact. 400—300—”

Sitting there on the bridge, they could hear the heavy torque tearing parts of Avenger away. A shudder raced down her central frame support.

“She’s stabilizing.”

“Sir, we have an internal hull rupture on port decks 2, 3, and 4, sub-section 9. We’re venting. Anti-grav plates 918-995 have blown out. Internal airtight doors are sealing. Admiral,” said the Chief, “not everyone got out.”

His words stabbed Steven’s heart. “Helm, roll another 15.3 degrees to starboard,” said Steven as he countered Avenger’s missing anti-grav plating. “Increase escape vector by 3.7 degrees.”

“Increasing escape vector by 3.7 degrees.”

On the view screen, the sun loomed large and bright as they skimmed just a hundred meters above Sirius A’s surface. A sunspot passed by beneath them. A small solar flare exploded ahead of them, arcing like a bridge over their heads. The surface was alive, bubbling, churning.

As the blackness of space filled the screen, the bridge crew took a breath, realizing that they were starting to pull away.

“Rawlings, get a lock on the destroyers and feed it to the helm and weapons station.”

“Coming into view now. I’ve got them. Sending coordinates.”

“Robbie, take us down their throat, centering us between the two ships. Keep our speed up. Jenkins!” Steven looked over at the lad who had loosed himself and was clambering back to his station. “Get ready to launch all tubes. Send the port and starboard volley to their corresponding targets on my order.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Targets acquired. Standing by,” said Jenkins as he swiped away a trickle of blood above his eye. “The destroyers are almost at a stop. They must have thought we were destroyed!”

“Distance to the destroyers, 60 thousand kilometers, 50—40—30—20."

“Now, Jenkins, fire all tubes!”

“Stingers away!” Jenkins pushed the button and collapsed to the deck, unconscious.

“Stratton, take over on weapons control. Novacek, take Stratton’s station.”

Avenger’s eighteen Stingers cut loose as she streaked between the two enemy vessels—her white-hot engine bells spitting out flames three kilometers behind her.

“They d-didn’t return f-fire!” said Novacek.

“They couldn’t. We were moving too fast for them to get a lock on us! Change main display to rear view.” On the view screen, the two destroyers, already weakened by the earlier volley of Intercepts, exploded almost simultaneously. The screen turned brilliant white.