Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D. (21 page)

***

Ashlyn had to assume that Briggs’ transponder was destroyed, since his emergency beacon wasn’t broadcasting. Combined with the lack of response to her cry of his call sign, it seemed likely that Briggs was dead. Still, she couldn’t leave without knowing. She owed him.

The debris field from the destroyer was immense and spreading by the second. Sifting through the wreckage by traditional means would take far longer than her fading oxygen reserve would allow.

Closing her eyes, Ash let her senses stretch, looking for a patterned wave of thought. Sensing nothing, she drew a deep breath and refocused her chi—drawing upon her inner strength to perceive even the slightest emotion.

There was something, like the radiating heat of a lit match at a thousand paces. Though weak and unfocused, she knew the thought pattern was human. She focused on it, searching for a distinct direction. Letting her mind guide her, she boosted through the debris to his location.

Even at close range, lost amidst the junk pile of twisted metal, Briggs’ fighter was barely recognizable. “Eject left tow cable.” Immediately, the tow cable splayed out, hitting the nub of what had once been Red 3's wing. The magnetics engaged. “Tighten line, 80 pounds psi.” The cable retracted, pulling the two fighters together.

Removing her pilot’s helmet, Ashlyn activated her locket and vented the air in her cockpit. Once the canopy lifted, she stepped out. Walking down the length of her wing, the light-duty magnetics on her boots holding her to her craft, she glanced inside his cockpit. Ash knew that once his cockpit air was vented, she would have only seconds in which to get him safely inside her craft.

Moving to the small control panel on Red 3's fuselage, Ash hoped that she’d find the ship’s internal electronics still functional.

Lifting the panel’s cover, she hit the cabin’s manual pressure release button. As she had anticipated, the familiar hiss signaling the cockpit’s depressurization was missing.

All right then, we’ll do this the hard way.
Inside the compartment was a small, emergency repair kit that held an assortment of Magnetite hand tools. Unrolling the bundle, she found the tools she was looking for, a simple screwdriver and a light duty hammer.

Knowing that the glass would be near unbreakable, her objective was only to puncture the canopy’s seal. She made several hard blows before she saw the small wisp of escaping air.

Again back at the access panel, Ash grabbed the red, emergency hatch release. A painted warning beneath it read “WARNING,
DO NOT
OPEN HATCH WHILE INTERNALLY PRESSURIZED! SEVERE INJURY COULD RESULT!”

She watched until the venting stopped. Ash strained to grasp the handle, her gloves making a simple job hard. With a downward pull, the canopy’s internal locks released and it sprang open.

Unbuckling Briggs’ harness, she lifted him, carrying him across her wing to her cockpit. Dropping him into the co-pilot’s seat, she jumped in beside him, and quickly punched the buttons that closed the canopy and pressurized the cabin. Deactivating her armor, she turned to check on Briggs beside her. When she saw him take a deep inhalation of air, refilling his lungs, she relaxed. It was all she had hoped for.

***

“Chief, do we have any information on our pilots yet?” asked Steven, after he was again unsuccessful in his attempt to contact Ashlyn.

“Nothing specific, sir. They are still under long-range blackout. Nevertheless, radar shows they are following standard protocol and following the beacon to its chosen location. They’ll be making landfall shortly.”

“Keep me informed. Novacek, you have the bridge. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Steven had been using sickbay as a temporary childcare facility. He laughed aloud, the pain of his concussion making him wince as the door opened and he saw Phillip playing cards with the nurse. Though they were both securely harnessed, the scene had a contradictory casualness to it. The idea that they had been playing amidst the turbulent shaking was comical.

“Admiral, your son’s been teaching me a game called poker.”

“Is he taking advantage of you?”

“A bit. I owe him 6 tongue suppressors, 1 stethoscope, 2 doctor’s hats, 4 pairs of gloves, and 142 Q-tips.”

“I see! Then perhaps I am rescuing ‘you.’ We’re abandoning Avenger. We will be evacuating into the emergency pods shortly. About all I know is that, the pods are programmed to follow a beacon groundside. Instructions will be announced in a few minutes. Recruit the help you need to gather all the antibiotics and med supplies.”

Before returning to the bridge, Steven and Phillip stopped by their cabin to gather a few items. Steven’s movements were harried, his every thought awaiting confirmation that Ashlyn was safe.

Five minutes later, back on the bridge he said, “Do we have the pilot update?”

“It just came in, sir. We have six surviving Sharkfins, five of which have just landed on the planet,” said the Chief. He spun around to face Steven, obviously despondent over what he had to say next. “The sixth is Commander Parker. She also has Lieutenant Briggs aboard. She went back to rescue him.”

Briggs? How the hell did she get him into her ship?

The chief, after a long, bated breath then added, “She’s in serious trouble, sir. She is ultra-low on fuel—and she can’t go to the planet with the other pilots because she has an oxygen leak. She has less than 12 minutes of air left.”

Steven tensed. “Give me the options.”

“There aren’t any. She’s spam in a can.” He saw the disgruntled look upon Steven’s face to his words. “Sorry, sir. She’s at full throttle to try to catch us before we reach the terminator to launch the pods. The oxygen situation is bad enough, but she is so low on fuel, she won’t have any left for braking or course corrections.” Wanting to turn the conversation more optimistic Novacek said, “I’m h-having the bay p-p-primed for a d-dead-stick landing.” It was an avenue of hope, if only a small one.

“Comm, open a channel to her, full visual mode.”

Novacek flashed Steven a questioning look for breaking official safety protocols.

“Aye, sir. Channel open.”

Steven was surprised to see that Ashlyn was in her armor. Ashlyn’s face appeared on the view screen. “Commander Parker, what’s your status?”

“Not so good, Admiral. I took damage from the destroyer. I’m running low on oxygen, I’m using what’s in my suit for me, giving what’s left in the Sharkfin for Briggs.

“As for fuel, problematic. I am white-hot. It is a race to catch you before the oxygen runs out versus the remaining fuel. Computations show that if you can increase Avenger’s speed to 1.98 sub-light, I have a shot at synchronizing our speeds before I run out of fuel. I have a 4 minute and 10 second ETA. My fuel will be gone in approximately 3 minutes 43 seconds. I’ll need to cut fuel at 3 minutes and 20 seconds though to save some for last minute braking and course adjustments.”

Steven crunched the numbers in his head. 50 seconds of flight time without her mains. If she were off by even a millimeter, she’d miss Avenger by a hundred kilometers. It was impossible.

“I need you to rig the launch bay for a dead-stick landing, sir.”

“They’re getting it ready as we speak. What’s your oxygen situation?”

“Briggs has 9 minutes left,” Ashlyn said.

Ashlyn reached out, seeking to talk with Steven privately, and was surprised that she couldn’t do so. “Are you all right, sir?”

Steven touched the bandage on his forehead. “It’s nothing; just get back here safely, Commander.”

“Will do! Sir, if I can make a suggestion, please turn off all of Avenger’s external lighting, leaving just the internal landing bay floods on.”

“Affirmative. We’ll align Avenger so that the landing bay is a straight shot for you. Ash…” Steven’s voice trailed away.

Though she wished she could have spoken to him within the privacy of the fugue, she was forced to make her request verbally. “Sir, if I may make one additional request? I ask that you go to the flight deck’s pilot entrance at the rear of the hanger and observe the landing in person.”

Steven hesitated only briefly. “Very well, on my way. God-speed, Ash, Godspeed!”

Novacek’s intensely narrowed eyes, questioned Ashlyn’s strange request at placing Steven’s life at such extreme risk.

“Helm, what’s our energy status?”

“At 7 percent, sir.”

“Good—increase our speed to 1.98 per the Commander Parker’s instructions. Align the bay for her.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Aligning shuttle bay. Our port correctional thrusters are almost useless for increasing our speed though.”

Unusual sternness filled his voice. “Figure it out. Just get it done.”

“Chief, how much time do we have until we need to launch the escape pods?”

“For safety, launch should begin within 22 minutes. At 29 minutes, the planet will be too far away to make landfall.”

“Very good,” said Steven. “Comm, sound the evac order for everyone to get to the pods.

“Novacek, I am going to the landing bay. You have the chair. If you don’t mind, keep an eye on Phillip for me, please.”

Novacek thought to question Steven about the danger he was putting himself and the ship in, but seeing the conviction etched in Steven’s face, he also knew that his cautionary words would be ignored.

***

“Hold on, Briggs. We’re almost home,” said Ash to her passenger’s unhearing ears.

Though Avenger was still invisible to her and Steven’s mind was inaccessible, her heart was drawn to him with a precision that no machine or instrument could duplicate.

She knew that Avenger’s gaping maw sat before her like the open mouth of Moby Dick, and not unlike Ahab in his obsessive hunt for the white whale, Ashlyn’s soul was dependent upon catching it. Her obsession though was not for Avenger, but for the man who commanded her.

“Gena, switch me over to manual control, maximum yoke sensitivity.”

“Manual override, engaged,” came the instant response. With a light hand that could hold a stick of warm butter without marring its shape, Ashlyn eased her craft a finite gradation to port. A chime sounded, signaling her divergence from the course Gena had chosen as optimal.

Pressing the tandem floor pedals, Ash reversed the port and starboard engine thrusters. Her Sharkfin trembled under the torque of heavy braking, growing stronger as she pushed the reverse thrusters to the floor. Ash heard the first of three small pops as several, already weakened rivets on the underside of her hull gave out.

With the yoke jittering in her hand, the red fuel warning light on the control panel flashed faster, questioning her expensive use of crucial fuel on empty tanks.

The extreme depth of concentration Ashlyn needed to keep her aura locked with Steven’s, forbade her from taking readings of her gauges. “Gena, verbally update my current speed every 4 seconds.”

“Current speed is, 3.53, 3.46, 3.12, 2.92,” Gena called out.

Adrenaline honed her instincts to the precision of a surgical knife. Her perceptions sped, slowing time. “You’ve got to give me more,” she said.

“2.74 …” said Gena as the engines gave a sputter.

“Dammit!” Gena’s calculations were off, and she was far from the 1.98 speed she needed to make the landing. “Gena, divert 70 percent of the fuel reserved for the attitude jets to the main braking thrusters.”

“2.56, 2.45, 2.37—”

Ash glanced out her port window and saw that she was losing fuel. Her earlier collision with the enemy fighter had caused more damage than she had realized. Within seconds, the deep guttural sound of the reverse braking thrusters again began to sputter. “Gena, route all remaining fuel to the mains!”

It only helped for a moment, her engines quickly coming to a cold, silent stop. Her tanks were empty.

“Avenger, I’ve gone rogue. Repeat, I have gone rogue. My tanks are empty. I have no fuel for course corrections.”

Though her aura told her that she was still locked onto Steven, her speed was still far too high. Knowing that, she made the only decision she could.

“Gena, initiate executive auto-destruct command, Ashlyn 34—21—32.”

“Self-destruct initiated, 10 second warning,” said Gena.

Steven stood at the steel door staring through the thick glass window into the open bay. He strained, reaching out for Ashlyn. Nothing. He reached deep into his mind.

Suddenly, cold darkness enveloped him. Brilliant embers of golden-yellow light kindled to life as the fireflies wove their magical pathway through the darkness, drawing him.

His concentration sharpened, letting him hear and see Gena’s readouts from within Ashlyn’s mind. He saw himself surrounded by the familiarity of dials, tactical displays, and system status panels.

“Current speed is 3.53, 3.36, 3.12, 2.92,” Gena called out.

“You’ve got to give me more.” He heard Ashlyn say.

“2.74, 2.56, 2.45, 2.37,” said Gena. Her engines sputtered.

“Gena, route all remaining fuel to the mains!”

Steven watched, waited, and then he heard the reverse braking thrusters sputter to a stop. Within the surreal physicality, he became acutely aware of her desperate situation.

“Avenger, I’ve gone rogue. Repeat, I have gone rogue. My tanks are empty. I have no fuel for course corrections.”

“Gena, initiate executive auto-destruct command, Ashlyn 32—21—32.”

Hearing her orders, a crushing pain swept through Steven’s heart, nearly ripping it in two. With a stark realization, he saw that she was going to sacrifice her own life to save Avenger’s crew.

A massive surge of adrenaline pumped into his veins as he heard Gena say. “Self-destruct initiated. 10 second warning.”

“No, Ash! Don’t!” he screamed. He could not let her go, even to save his crew, even to save his own son.

The surge of adrenaline intensified his perceptions, bringing time to a virtual standstill. Though Ashlyn was dozens of kilometers away, Steven’s mind envisioned her craft with unparalleled clarity. Instinctively his eyes closed, his hands flattening against the cold glass window.

A glowing, pulsating halo of greenish-yellow light formed around his hands and grew larger until it encompassed his entire body. From his pressing touch, the energy emanating from him softened and warbled the glass. The glass appeared as if it were melting under the heat of a fully stoked kiln. As it bowed outwards, retreating away from him, the rivets on the seal around the window flexed under the strain. The door itself creaked, its top hinge began to bend—and yet, he kept pressing harder.

Steven grimaced, the set of his eyes so deep that they seemed about to implode. His jaw clenched so tightly that his bared teeth bled. The bandaged cut on his forehead sent a steady stream of blood down his face, showing the physical, outward effort that was being exerted.

With his muscles bulging to the point of bursting, his heart raced past 370 beats a minute. Like a bull elephant whose head was butted against the trunk of a deeply rooted tree, he sought only to push harder.

It was for Ashlyn’s life—it was for his life—that he saw himself braced against the nose of her ship, straining to slow it.
I can’t let you go, Ash. I can’t!

The reinforcement of his words enabled him to intensify his effort, his focus. His body trembled as he willed for more strength—strength that was given him under the guise of the herculean effort of his physical muscles, rather than with his mind, which was the true source.

With the subtlety of an exploding volcano, he let loose a scream driven by his fear of losing her. A massive second wave of energy exploded within him, empowering his mind to new levels. The veins in his temples rose terrifyingly, pulsing frantically in time with his heart. It raced at over 780 beats a minute and continued to increase. His own blood escaped through his pores, and yet, his pained face showed only determined composure.

Such was his focus that he never gave consideration to what he was doing or what was actually happening. He was inwardly locked—and wouldn’t have noticed if Avenger had dissolved away beneath his feet.

Though his hands never left the glass, his mind not faltering, his stomach convulsed and he coughed up blood.

I can’t let you—
With one last mighty push, he released every bit of energy within him—then collapsed unconscious to the deck.