Rebel Fleet (16 page)

The important detail was that if the Rebel Fleet failed to stop the Imperials, that could spell the end for Earth. All those beings known as “humans” could cease to exist. Once all these facts had become clear to me and my crew, we’d turned our attention to winning this war—or at least fighting it as best we could.

At long last, the hangar doors shut, and we were allowed to rest. We slept like the dead, circled around our fighter.

Our pod had been destroyed. Most of the bedding and other personal articles—such as there were on this warship—had also been lost or gone into the recycling chutes to produce more necessary items.

Down under the decking, I could feel the thrum of the recyclers running all night. At least they hadn’t been knocked out. They operated somewhat like three-dimensional printers back on Earth. Taking in a variety of finely ground pellets, they were able to spit out finished parts to re-outfit much of the ship and her fighters. Only our fellow pilots who’d perished could not be replaced so directly—even though their bodies had been fed into the recyclers as well.

It was the middle of the night shift when we were attacked again, and again taken completely by surprise during our exhausted sleep.

The attack didn’t come from space this time, however. It came from an unexpected quarter—our fellow shipmates.

Mia was the only one to call out a warning. Her keener senses must have caught a stealthy sound. Whatever the case, I heard her cry out and opened my bleary eyes.

Hunched figures with bony triangular heads and powerful arms loomed over us. On a collective signal, they lifted their clubs and slammed them down.

My crewmen grunted in pain. Ribs snapped, skulls thudded, as my people were knocked senseless.

The Terrapinians, those heartless, gray-green bastards, had decided to ambush us in our sleep.

=26=

Brawling on the decks was allowed—even commonplace—but both sides were usually aware of what was coming. Such combats normally started in the form of an honest duel between chiefs, or a spat over a shared female.

This time was different. The turtles had seen an opportunity to get some status points by ambushing us, the heroes of the ship. If they could take us out in personal combat, they could demonstrate their superiority without having to risk death by fighting Imperials. But while we were asleep? Leave it to a primitive reptilian to exploit a sleazy short-cut to improve their stature.

There was no time to think, only to react. Dr. Chang barely got his arms up before he was brained and put out of the fight. Samson fared better, sweeping the legs out from under the turtle that attacked him and grappling with him on the deck.

Mia fought like the little demon she was. She was always alert, and she never seemed to awaken groggy—even after a deep sleep. She sprang up, dodging a slow-moving club, and sprang upon her attacker’s head.

Gwen lay on her back, screeching and dodging the club that descended to smash her. It sparked on the deck plates, then was hoisted up high again for another swing.

I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t help any of them as I had my own problems.

The boss turtle had chosen to take me on. He stood a head taller than the rest, and he’d clearly decided to make it personal in my case.

Without saying anything, he stooped and smashed the deck near my right shoulder. I’d barely slid out of the way in time.

Trying to jump up, I found a massive round foot sweeping down and pressing me onto my back. A tremendous weight crushed my ribs. I could hardly gasp for breath.

He lifted his club with both of his powerful arms. His nightmarish face regarded me, his expression was singularly determined and never-changing. The oil-drop eyes stared down, and they were merciless.

Just then a large ball of flying fur slammed into the Terrapinian’s back. The monster staggered, but he didn’t fall. A growling sound rose up behind him, and he dropped his club, which came clanging down next to me.

The turtle reached back over his shoulders to grasp the hairy thing that was now riding him. Knowing this distraction was the only break I was going to get, I levered his huge flat foot off my ribs with both hands.

The unsuspecting monster stumbled and fell. The furry thing continued to savage him with fangs and ripping claws. Wheezing, I stood and snatched up the turtle leader’s fallen club. Then I set to work on that big head of his.

The oil-drop eyes stared up at me in hate as I struck that skull again and again. It took a long time, but the light finally went out of them, and his body went slack.

“Thanks Ra-tikh,” I said to the fur-bag that perched on the turtle’s chest.

“No need,” he said, getting up and beginning to smooth his disheveled coat. “Their attack was dishonorable. It was like the work of a primate or a lemur. I hate these turtles. They’re even worse than you monkeys.”

His rude comments couldn’t derail my good mood. I laughed, causing sharp pains to jolt  through my chest.

All around us, the fight had ended. Ra-tikh’s crew had come to help, and together our crews had driven off or beaten down the turtles. Once they’d seen their leader fall, the fight had gone out of the rest.

There were no hugs or congratulations with the cat-crew that had saved us, however. They seemed almost embarrassed to have interfered.

Except for Dalton—he came to me and shook my hand.

“You owe me one, Blake,” he said, flashing me his crooked teeth.

I smiled back. “For once, I agree.”

The groups separated, dragging away the injured. No one had died, but Dr. Chang didn’t regain consciousness for several hours. Fortunately, the officers sent a medical drone to tend to him.

Shaw appeared later and looked over the scene.

“A shame,” he said.

“What?” I responded. “That the turtles chose such an evil moment to turn traitor?”

He looked at me in bafflement. “No. Not at all. Their attack was well-executed and within the bounds of ship’s regulations. No disruptors were used. We weren’t in combat with any Imperials, and a full shift has passed since the last battle ended. In addition, none of you were injured prior to the encounter, so—”

I put up my hand. “I know the rulebook,” I said. “It just seems crazy to me. Why do you allow us to fight each other instead of the enemy?”

He stared at me coldly. “That’s what an Imperial would say—that no one should be allowed to prove they’re better than their superiors. We’ve rejected the Imperial way of thinking! They’re absolute and strict in their hierarchies. A pawn born to a low-caste Kher will never ascend to—”

“Okay,” I said, throwing up my hands, “I give up on the politics. You guys have your customs, and we’ll follow them as best we can. What I want to know is what you meant by saying this incident was a shame?”

“Oh… well, I meant it’s unfortunate that there was no clear winner. Each side took out one enemy. You ended up doing better, but since Ra-tikh interfered, any points gained after his interference were negated.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re still keeping track of points! I thought we’d already proven ourselves—that the fights between the different crews were over and settled. But here you are, talking about gaining status through our pain!”

“Of course. As all the combatants involved in this particular skirmish were under my command, a decisive win would have given me half the points gained by the winning crew.”

Shaking my head, I limped away from him. Sometimes, the Kher were too much for me, and that went for both the Rebels as well as the Imperials. The Rebels loved freedom and individuality. They’d taken these traits to an extreme in my opinion—but no one was interested in my opinions. At best, my ideas concerning mutual cooperation for the greater good were seen as subversive and weak aboard this ship.

When our next shift started, we were all wary, sore and tired. On top of that, my crew was angry.

“We ought to
do
something,” Samson told me as we worked to get our fighter back into shape. “This attack can’t go unanswered.”

“You mean against the turtles, right?” I asked him, working an auto-welder on
Hammerhead’s
stubby wings.

“Yeah, of course. If they think they can come at us any time without warning, we’ll never have any peace.”

“Normally, we’d be in our pods, sleeping safely. We went to sleep without posting a guard on the hangar deck. It was a mistake, made under special circumstances.”

“Nevertheless, I agree with Samson,” Dr. Chang said in a scratchy voice.

I switched off the auto-welder and turned to look him over. The medical drone hummed, lifted off and left him behind. As he’d been laid out flat on the deck, he struggled to rise into a sitting position.

He managed to sit up on his own, but he was still a mess. His head was missing a lot of hair on the left side of his skull above the ear. There was a lump of false-flesh there, which looked like a giant tumor. I knew it would regrow his skin and fall off in time, but it was still hard to look at.

“You feeling okay, Doc?” I asked him.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

“Why should we hit the turtles?” I asked.

“Because they won’t quit until they either take us down, or they become certain they can’t. They’re not driven by honor or anger—at least, not much. I think they’re just opportunists. The worst kind of opponent to have. They coldly judged we were a ripe target, and they took a shot while we were vulnerable. We have to teach them we’re
never
going to be a good target.”

Gwen was listening in now, I could tell. So was Mia. My little tigress wanted blood—but then she always did. She was quivering with excitement at the prospect of another fight. She was also smart enough to let the others make her arguments for her.

“All right,” I said. “We’ll take care of the turtles.”

“How?” asked Samson. “When?”

“Leave that up to me,” I assured him. “You’ll know when it’s time.”

In truth, I had no plan at all. But I was just as much of an opportunist as the turtles, and I needed my crew to
feel
like I had things under control.

After stating my vengeful intentions clearly, the whole group shifted gears. They became instantly happier. They’d been simmering with resentment against the turtles. They wanted revenge, but they trusted me enough to wait.

A counterattack wasn’t the best road to peace, but we all knew that peace would be difficult to find on this ship. I was in charge, and the members of my crew were my problem. I had to keep their morale up. It wouldn’t do to let them—or anyone else—think we were easy to pick on.

Time passed in a blur of hard-working days and watchful nights. It was a testimony to how much my crew trusted me that they never demanded to know
when
we were going to move on the turtles. It was enough for them to know that we eventually would.

New crews came aboard
Killer
. They were all from the local planet, survivors of the vicious extermination efforts of the Imperials.

I wanted to feel sympathy for these new guys, but they were the strangest-looking bunch I’d run into yet.

They were bug-like—but they were still mammals, I was sure of that. All Kher were mammals no matter what they looked like. Even the Terrapinians produced live-born young rather than laying eggs.

But these flesh-beetles sure didn’t look like cousins. They had hard brown carapaces that grew over their hunched backs. They were short of limb and powerfully built.

If anything, they looked like fleshy beetles. It was going to be hard to get used to them, in part because they were so ugly.

“Hey,” Dalton said, coming to our pit and standing at a respectful distance.

“Hey Dalton,” I said. “What’s on your mind?”

Samson and Dalton still socialized now and then, and they both chased the cat-girls whenever they could, with occasional success. But usually, members of rival crews didn’t step into the territory of another group. It was considered a threat, and there was always the chance that such a move might end in violence.

We all stared at Dalton, even though we knew him well. Maybe
because
we knew him well.

“Ra-tikh wanted me to ask you something, Chief.”

Some might have complained that he wasn’t using my new rank of ensign, but I didn’t mind. The commander of every small boat in the Fleet was called a Chief, regardless of their actual naval rank.

I watched him for a moment, then nodded and waved him closer.

He walked right past me and entered
Hammerhead
without asking permission. I climbed in after him quickly, as did Samson. We both suspected some kind of sabotage.

Inside the cramped ship, Dalton had stretched himself out on my command chair.

“Damn, this is pretty nice,” he said. “The kitties next door like it hotter than this, and I have to put up with little tufts of fur everywhere.”

“Start talking,” I told him, “about something that matters, I mean.”

“Yeah,” Samson said, “or we’ll kick your ass out of here—and don’t go asking to come back to our crew. We like this crew the way it is.”

I glanced at Samson. The composition of my crew wasn’t his call to make, but I let it slide this time.

“It’s like this,” Dalton said, putting his hands behind his head, lacing his fingers and leaning back. “Ra-tikh thinks you make a good sidekick. He’d like to offer you an informal alliance.”

I frowned. “An alliance? What for?”

“Against the turtles, or these new skin-beetles. It’s those freaks that gave us the idea. It seems unfair, doesn’t it? They have like six crews of beetles, and we’ve only got one team each of our species.”

“That’s just because we lost so many crews in the attack,” I said, “but I get your point. An alliance… Unofficial, of course?”

“That’s right. If you need help, we’ll come to help. If we need your help, we’ll call for you.”

“Does this go for arena fights as well as random ambushes on the hangar deck?”

“Yes—but we have to keep that quiet. The other crews will gang-up against us otherwise.”

After mulling it over, I nodded at last. “I’ll agree. But there’s one detail that must change.”

“What?”

“I’m in charge. Ra-tikh is the sidekick.”

Dalton produced a dirty laugh. “The boss-kitty isn’t going to like that. Why do you think you should be the—?”

“Because I’m an ensign,” I said firmly. “I’m on the officer training track. Technically, I outrank him.”

Dalton nodded. “I’ll tell him.”

He left, and Samson looked after him worriedly.

“What is it?” I asked him.

“I know Dalton. You can’t really trust him. He’s probably lying about something. He’s got a scheme. He’s always got an angle.”