Rebel Fleet (9 page)

=14=

We learned fast over the next two days because we had no choice. We were assigned a small spacecraft, called a heavy fighter. It was just like every other vessel that rested on skids on the hangar deck.

At first, we weren’t even allowed to go aboard her. We were only allowed to clean the exterior and take tests every several hours proving we could identify the various ports, armament and latching mechanisms.

We didn’t really have “days” aboard the carrier, which we learned was named “
Killer
” or something that translated that way. With so many different life-forms represented aboard, no one would have been able to agree on how long to work and how long we should be allowed to rest.

We also learned our syms did the translating when we interacted with others. The symbiotic life-forms inside us were artificial and served many purposes, including communicating at a distance. Rather than using a radio with a traditional headset, we used our syms to relay and transmit messages.

“Days” or “shifts” were about twelve hours long. Every six hours we were ordered back to our pods for rest. We always retired hungry and tired. After we were fed, we sprawled out on thin pads on the floor and slept. It was uncomfortable, but apparently the concept of a soft mattress was a rare one in this galaxy. Most of our fellow predators had never heard of the idea, and they scoffed at it when we tried to explain.

Inside our group’s pod, smaller chambers had now appeared. We were able to sleep separately, and we were expected to relieve ourselves on the decks inside these tiny cubicles.

“This is gross,” Gwen had repeatedly complained, even though the deck absorbed all waste promptly.

We soon got used to it. We had no choice.

“When do we get to fly this thing?” Dalton asked Shaw on the third “day” since gaining access to the hangar deck.

Shaw turned on Dalton slowly. We all thought he was going to smash him one, or maybe throttle the life out of his noisy throat the way he’d done with Dr. Chang. But he didn’t.

“You’re not yet ready,” Shaw said. “But I have hopes that you will be by the time we reach the front.”

We looked at one another in alarm. “The front? What front?”

He showed his teeth again. We’d learned this was usually a sign of amusement, but not always.

“Did you think
Killer
was built for something other than war?”

“No, but…” Dalton trailed off, disturbed.

“Sir,” I said. “Who are we at war with? For that matter, what kind of organization are we?”

“As I’ve said, we are the Free Kher. We serve in the Rebel Fleet. The Empire is our enemy, and it rules between this star system and the rim of the galaxy. The Imperials will come for us, as they have always come, when this part of the galaxy is lit up by the Central Fires.”

I had no idea what he was talking about, but I nodded briskly. “I see… so this ‘front’ is at the center of the galaxy, then?”

“No, of course not. It is in a nearby arm of the galaxy. A region known as the Orion Spur of the Cygnus Carina Arm. Don’t they teach you primates anything about your local surroundings on Earth?”

“Surroundings? You mean as in what stars are nearby? Very little, sir.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Pointless. This entire assignment is beyond pointless.”

“What do you mean, sir?” I asked.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. We’re going to enter the active region of the flux soon. If
Killer
doesn’t scatter too badly as we approach the next beacon star, we’ll be arriving at the Orion Front soon enough to satisfy your curiosity.”

He left us cleaning the ship again, but Dalton threw down his smart-wipes in disgust.

“Bugger him!” he exclaimed. “This freak expects us to fight and die on this ship, but he won’t tell us what his war is about?”

“Pick up that rag, Dalton,” I ordered. “People are watching.”

Ever since our early run-in with Ra-tikh and his crew, others had been considering taking us down. We looked harmless enough to be easy targets. If Samson hadn’t managed to get hold of Ra-tikh’s tail and make him look foolish, I’m certain other groups would have challenged us to combat by now.

That was the way things went on this ship. You gained status by deeds in battle or by abusing rival teams. If you wanted a better ship, you had to fight for it. There seemed to be few other methods of conflict resolution aboard
Killer
.

At the end of the “day” Shaw returned with another officer. This guy was squatty and mean-looking. If I had to choose, I’d say he reminded me of a two-legged walrus. He had whiskers as thick and straight as shoots of dry spaghetti poking out around yellowed tusks.

We’d long ago figured out that Shaw wasn’t an Admiral. He was more like a Lieutenant. This walrus-guy had a diamond on his shoulders, meaning he was a commander.

The rank insignia were easy to figure out once you understood them. Our own circular button-shaped insignias showed we were of the lowest rank. A stick-like line indicated a person was an officer in training, while the lieutenants started off with triangles. If your emblem was silver you were junior, gold you were senior. A dull, coppery colored insignia was a punishment rank, indicating you were about to lose your status entirely.

It was Gwen who’d figured out that the geometric shapes were logically related to ranks. Basically, the more sides your shape had, the higher rank you were. Triangles were lieutenants, diamonds were commanders, and so on. Presumably, if we ever met a guy with octagons on his shoulder, we were looking at a high-level admiral.

“This is Commander Tand,” Shaw said. “He’s going to teach you how to service the interior of your heavy fighter.”

We didn’t come to attention or salute, but we did stand still when the new officer arrived. It was hard to know how to show respect in the Fleet. With so many creatures with varied physiques, there was no standardized way to greet a superior other than by appearing quiet and alert.

Shaw left, and Commander Tand touched his hand to the side of our fighter. It was a thrill to see it open. We’d seen other crews entering their ships, but we’d never been able to do more than imagine the interior of ours.

“You enter through contact here,” he wheezed, locating the touch plate.

There were no windows or portholes on our fighter. Nevertheless, once we were inside, it looked as if we could see everything. At least forty percent of the hull was translucent. Anything not blocked directly by opaque equipment, served as a window.

The technology was fascinating. Gwen and Dr. Chang speculated on how it worked, but Tand glared at them until they shut up.

Commander Tand was short and wide. He never had to duck as he moved through the ship. Once all of us were inside the closed space with him, we were bathed in his unmistakable fleshy and alien scent. Somehow it made his presence more intimidating.

“Which of you is the pilot?” he questioned, whiskers twitching.

“I am,” I said, and no one else argued with me. None of them had flown so much as a backyard drone before.

Tand glanced pointedly at the gold circle on my shoulders.

“You are in command,
and
you’re the pilot?” he asked. “You have chosen to take two difficult roles at once—but that is your decision to make.”

I shrugged. I hadn’t known we’d had any such choices, but I didn’t see an easy way out of it now. No one in my feisty little group could assume command of a military spacecraft. Samson was an ex-marine, but he didn’t seem like officer material to anyone. Likewise, no one else could be easily trained to pilot her. It was all up to me.

Tand showed us around the small vessel. It was compact in the extreme. There were three small decks with low ceilings. There were very few spots where I could stand up straight, and all of those spots were in hatchways that connected one deck to another.

“In battle,” Tand said, “you’ll be floating much of the time.”

“What about G-forces?” Dr. Chang asked. “I don’t see any padding. There’s only a simple harness attached to each of these metal seats.”

“Observant,” Tand said. “Some of the more primitive crews still don’t understand such things even after significant hands-on exposure. Make this one your engineer, Blake.”

“Consider it done. He’s also the ship’s medic.”

Tand twitched his whiskers at me. Was that a smile? It was impossible to tell.

“Good enough,” he said, “but if this ship is damaged enough to injure the occupants, you’ll probably all be dead within seconds.”

“Could you answer my question, Commander?” the doctor persisted. “What about the G-forces?”

Tand didn’t take offense. “These fighters have anti-gravity systems. Otherwise, no being could survive the acceleration and spinning they’re capable of in combat. Inside the vessel, no matter what it does, you’ll all be floating.”

“That does sound convenient,” I admitted.

“It would be impossible to accommodate the differing mental and physical requirements for so many variants of the Kher otherwise.”

“Commander,” I asked him sometime later, as he showed us every compartment aboard and explained its function, “why are there crews here from so many different worlds? Wouldn’t it be easier to recruit and train one planet full of the best of us?”

“That’s not our Law. All must participate in the culling. All must resist our ancestors when they come. No one can sit back, making no sacrifice while others die in space.”

His little speech was delivered with vehemence, and I believed it was from the heart. But I didn’t find it comforting. Quite the opposite in fact.

“So…” I said. “We’re expected to die?”

“Of course,” he rasped. “We’re all going to die on the Orion Front.”

“That explains why everyone seems to be in a bad mood…” Dr. Chang reflected.

Tand looked around the group. “Do not despair! Your sacrifice will not be in vain. As always, when the Old Ones grow weary of their sport, when they sicken of the slaughter of worlds, they will retreat for another millennium—or at least, they will move on to abuse others on the far side of the galaxy.”

My crew and I exchanged worried glances. There was no way to candy-up this revelation. Had we fought so hard, learned so much, only to die in a hopeless fight far from home?

Tand showed us around, but we received no instruction on weaponry or flight controls. Most of the lessons involved maintenance procedures. When he was finished, he addressed us again as a group.

“I heard that you pulled Ra-tikh’s tail when he asked you to hold it,” Tand said. “He will hate you forever for that insult, but it’s very amusing.” He chuckled then, making a sound like a small combustion engine.

“It is Ra-tikh that needs to be concerned about our anger,” I said smoothly, knowing that was the proper response to make. No one on this carrier accepted weakness of any kind. We’d been reminded of that lesson in various ways every day.

Tand nodded, and he made no further comment. He left us inside the ship with orders to clean every crevice.

“This is a dead waste,” Dalton said as he worked to remove unidentifiable stains from the steel seats.

“You got that right,” Samson echoed. “I vote we find a way off this deathtrap.”

They all looked at me thoughtfully.

“You’re a pilot, Blake…” Dalton said suggestively.

“Oh right,” I said, “I’m going to fire up these engines and blaze my way through one of these bulkheads. Don’t hold your breath.”

“Not now,” Dalton said. “Not today. But when they teach us how to fly this thing... They have to let us out into space to do that, don’t they?”

I nodded. “Sure guys. First chance we get, we’ll head back to Hawaii.”

That seemed to please Samson and Dalton. Gwen knew better, however. She came to me and cocked her head as she looked up at me.

“I didn’t know you were a pilot,” she said.

“I didn’t tell people back on Earth.”

“Why not? I’ve always thought pilots were kinda cool, even though I’ve never met one before.” She said this with a gleam in her eye.

That made me smile. Seeing her face, looking up at me, I recalled happier times.

Only days ago, I’d been a beach bum with very little ambition. Now, I had a goal, but it was a grim one: staying alive.

=15=

The next day, they issued us weapons. This came as a welcome surprise.

Our sidearms looked like flashlights. Perhaps a foot in length, they ended in a bulbous metal tip.

“Hold out your weapons,” Shaw ordered.

We were arrayed in front of our ship. We’d been allowed to name her, and Gwen had come up with the winning name:
Hammerhead
. The name had struck us all as fitting because the heavy fighter looked somewhat misshapen. Also, Hawaii had quite a few scalloped hammerhead sharks in her waters, and they were mean fish.

We clumsily drew our weapons and held them out. Shaw pointed to mine.

“This button on top fires the weapon,” he said. “You direct the bulbous tip toward the enemy, and depress it.”

With that, he stepped back and stopped talking.

“Um… is that it?” I asked.

“Yes. The weapons are simple to operate.”

“How do we know if it’s loaded?” Dalton asked, looking at his weapon from every angle.

“They are always loaded—at least until the charge is depleted.”

We reacted with alarm. Everyone carefully moved their fingers away from the firing button.

“Wait a minute,” Samson said. “I tried mine out the minute I got it. How come Dalton doesn’t have a hole in his side?”

The feisty little man gave him a snarl. “You ass!” he said.

“They don’t work onboard the carrier. Not unless an officer activates them for some reason. They only work when you’ve been deployed.”

“How can you tell if they need a fresh charge?” Samson asked, pointing his weapon at Dalton and pushing the button again. The other man returned the favor angrily.

“If the firing button depresses and fails to come back up, it’s out of charge. You’ll find they’ll give you about ninety shots before failing. When they are getting low, the button won’t come up as far as it does when the weapon is full.”

I nodded slowly. These were, quite possibly, the simplest sidearms I’d ever heard of anyone designing. One button literally did everything.

“How do they kill?” I asked.

“Cellular disruption. They have little effect on inorganic matter, but a living creature, even an armored one, will die of organ failure if you hit the right spots.”

I glanced up at him. “I didn’t think we’d be fighting in close. Why issue these at all? They seem like a pointless danger to crews.”

“You think like an officer,” Shaw said, “but you are wrong, and you will never be an officer!”

He said these final words quickly as he stared at me, challenging me with his eyes. I figured out he was putting me in my place, and I said nothing.

After a moment, Shaw continued. “Although we fight in space most of the time, we must also remove the enemy from their hunting grounds after sweeping the skies of their ships. These weapons serve well in such cases.”

There was so much I didn’t understand, but Shaw and the others grew angry when we asked too many questions in a row. In fact, almost everything made Shaw angry. I realized this was going to be a serious case of on-the-job training.

“You will be trained now in the use of these weapons,” he continued. “The winning crew will be rewarded. Follow me.”

We did as he ordered, tossing bewildered glances at one another. The winning crew? What did that mean? Target practice?

We should have known better. As we walked along the decking, we were joined by other crews led by officers. Ra-tikh and his group were among them.

We were taken to a central region of the hangar. A circular area lit up yellow. It looked to be about a hundred yards across. The circle encompassed us and four other crews.

Beyond that illuminated ring, a crowd grew. These were veteran spacers. Crews that already had their sidearms and darker blue uniforms, indicating they’d completed basic training.

“Stay within the circle,” Shaw ordered.

He then backed out as did his peers.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Gwen said. She held her disruptor in her hand with her thumb on the button.

“The weapons will be activated shortly,” Shaw told us.

As he spoke, the floor lurched under our feet. I heard the sound of heavy hydraulics as the floor inside the lit circle lowered itself, turning the area into a pit.

“When the floor goes red, incapacitate all the other crews,” Shaw called down to us.

“That wanker!” Dalton snarled. “I’ll shoot him first!”

“It probably won’t work,” Dr. Chang said.

“Yes, save your fire for the enemy,” I added.

“What are we supposed to do?” Samson asked me unhappily.

I could tell he didn’t like his flashlight-weapon or this mosh-pit of death we were descending into. All around us, the other teams seemed just as disgruntled as we were.

Most of the teams were standing where they’d been placed, but not Ra-tikh’s crew. He had them moving—toward us. As Ra-tikh’s team approached us, members of the other teams shuffled out of his way, hissing and pointing their weapons at him. They squeezed the buttons again and again, but they’d yet to become active.

“Ra-tikh is going to try to take us out,” I said. “Samson, when they give the word, throw yourself down on the ground. The cats will try to nail you because you humiliated their alpha. We’ll mow them down when they shoot low.”

“What if they go for you first instead, Leo?” Gwen asked. “That kitty doesn’t look at you with any love in his eye.”

“You’re right,” I said, nodding. “Okay, we all drop and fire as many shots as we can when they get in close. Aim for the chest area. Let’s do some organ damage!”

We didn’t have long to wait. The floor went red seconds later, and the battle was on.

We threw ourselves flat. Dalton fired first. He did so from behind Samson, directly at Ra-tikh’s group. They were both lying down, but Dalton was on his elbows, using Samson’s body as a shield.

I sprawled and began firing as well. I found it hard to aim my weapon, however. I would have much preferred a pistol grip.

There was no flash of color or sizzle in the air. The guns made a loud singing sound and vibrated in our hands. Could they be sonic? I wasn’t sure.

“Don’t spam!” I shouted. “Aim those shots. We only have ninety each before we’re out!”

Finally, one of the female cats spun around and stumbled. She got back up again, but remained off-balance.

“Focus fire! Put one down at a time!” I shouted.

We fired a series of carefully aimed shots at her. She went down and stayed there. I wondered if she was dead—it wouldn’t have surprised me if our officers let us kill one another in this exercise.

“Ra-tikh next!” I ordered.

But almost as if they knew our plans, the remaining three females got in front of him, running interference.

We beamed them until another fell.

Our team took hits as well. “My eye! My eye!” Samson cried out, rolling around in pain, clutching his face. Dr. Chang moved to his side automatically.

“Get down, dammit!” I ordered him, but it was too late.

The doctor took a series of hits. With a stunned look on his face, he rolled away, foaming at the mouth and shivering.

Gwen crawled over to his body, but before I got a chance to tell her to get out of there, I noticed that she was using him as a shield. I couldn’t argue with that strategy. She was a thinker, all right.

I took my first hits then. They stung like hot pokers. I felt a burning sensation, and my teeth ached at the same time. I figured it must have been the vibrations. Extremely powerful vibrations like ultrasonic beams were hitting us.

It was like being killed by a microwave. We howled and squinched up our faces. One of my teeth fell out, and my tongue swelled up so much I could hardly talk. I must have taken a hit in the mouth.

The cat team fared worse. They never made it to us.

We took Ra-tikh out last. He fell to all fours in the end, moving with alarming speed, despite the fact he was crawling. We beamed him until he slumped down, blinded and twitching. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen so they bulged from the sockets.

“Okay,” I said in a slurring voice. “Who have we got left?”

“Me,” Dalton said.

“I’m still alive,” Gwen said. “But my weapon is out.”

I looked around the field. Two teams had been wiped out. Two others were hurt, but they were huddled in tiny fortresses built with their comrades bodies. These last two teams were still in the running.

“They should stop this,” Gwen said. “Why train us for weeks then order us to kill each other?”

“I don’t think anyone is really dead,” I said. “These beams aren’t penetrating chest cavities or skulls.”

“That’s right,” Dalton hissed between clenched teeth. “They can do a number on your bollocks, though.”

“We have to get fresher weapons,” I said. “Only Ra-tikh’s team moved much. They were knocked out early, and so their weapons must still have a charge in them.”

“Are you crazy?” Gwen demanded. “We should just stay down.”

“They haven’t canceled this battle yet,” I said. “If we don’t grab those weapons out there, we’re going to be fried by the team that does. Look, those last two teams over there are barely shooting at each other, and they aren’t hitting anything either. They might be running out of ammo.”

They both looked at me in pain, but Dalton nodded. “All right. Consider it done.”

“We go together, three paces apart.”

“Damn you guys,” Gwen said, tears streaking her face. She had bruises and red welts all over.

“Let’s go,” I said.

Lurching to my feet, I set off in a stumbling run. I’d taken more damage than I’d thought. My legs still functioned well enough, but they felt like someone had taken a whip to them.

I passed by Ra-tikh without taking his weapon. He had used his disruptor quite a bit before going down. Running until I got a good disruptor with a fresh charge, I paid for it with a few light hits, but nothing that took me out.

It was then that I noticed the circle of decking around our arena was shrinking. The outer edge was blue about ten yards in from every direction. I crouched among two fallen female cats.

One of them looked at me weakly. She was still conscious, still breathing.

I knew I should use her as a shield, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it—not while she was still conscious. Nodding to her, I staggered to my feet again.

“Let’s charge the group on the left,” I said to my team.

They looked at me in pain and horror, but we could all see the officers weren’t going to let us get out of this without fighting. They were herding the teams closer now, refusing to let us hide among our fallen.

“They must know how many shots we’ve fired,” Gwen said. “They must know we’ve still got live weapons.”

“Ha!” shouted Dalton. “I just nailed one of those bastards up on the rim. See him dancing around up there?”

I glanced at him. “Don’t screw us. We’ve almost won.”

“You’ve got to be sneaky about it—that’s all,” he said. “I’ve got two disruptors. One, I’m firing at the enemy. The other is held low. I angled it up—”

“Come on, let’s finish this,” I said.

The blue ring ate up Samson behind us. I might have heard him groan in helpless agony, but it could have come from any one of the teams.

We advanced steadily, firing with our fresher weapons. In the end, the enemy stood up and charged. I recognized them—they were almost human, like Shaw, but that twist to the lower wrist gave them away.

We beamed them down and turned to face the last team—but it was already over. They’d been too injured, perhaps, to crawl away from the blue zone. They’d been consumed and shocked into submission.

A cheer went up from above us. It was a strange cheer, filled with honking, hooting and even a few barking sounds.

But we knew what it was, and we stood proudly and straight as the deck went green. The pit then began rising up to rejoin the main deck far above.