Torian Reclamation 2: Flash Move (19 page)

*

“Their ship design doesn’t match any in our intelligence files,” Olut6 said. “We don’t know who they are, or why they’re attacking us—but I’d bet a year’s pay that extat Belle-ub character has something to do with it.”

“He just left,” Brandon said, pointing at the main screen on the far wall of the REEP bunker. Olut6 turned around and cursed as he saw the Dirg shuttle flying away from the space station.

“How many are there?” Mip7 asked.

Olut6 turned back and said, “Too many. And more keep showing up. They’re dark and hard to see manually. And they’re significantly more advanced than us technology-wise. This is serious, boys. Military
and
civilian targets on Banor are being destroyed, our citizens are dying, and we have no idea why. Extat, we don’t even understand what we’re up against.”

“Are we inflicting any damage on the enemy?” Mip7 asked.

“Sure,” Olut6 said. “Some. But not enough. Like I said, more of them keeping showing up, and they travel in fighter-type ships like our ITF1’s.”

“General,” Brandon said, “what exactly do you mean by more technologically advanced?”

“Well for one thing, they appear to have a virtual distortion field generator. Not physical, like every other known advanced race uses. It isn’t there one moment, and then it just appears. Some of our scientists have been working on that concept, but this race has a fleet of interstellar fighters already using it. And they’re coming at
us
for some extat reason!”

A shrill alarm rang in the bunker and a voice from the floor yelled.

“General, they’re here!”

Brandon, Olut6, and Mip7 watched the big screen. The three of them were standing on the upper platform, where Olut6 had commanded a similar space station defense 25 years ago as Brandon and Mip7 watched—only to shortly become involved in the battle themselves. Brandon knew they were too old for that kind of craziness now.

The screen showed at least twenty circles of fire that surrounded nothing. Literally nothing, as most of the stars between the rings were blacked out. The fires rings then dimmed and vanished. As they did, faint lights could be seen where some of the stars were blacked out.

“How many?” Olut6 yelled. “Get them on schematic on screen 3!”

A smaller screen to the right of the big one changed views. At first it was all gridlines, but then the outline of an object appeared on it. An oval-shaped hull was connected to two round cylinders on either side of it. The shape filled in with black but the surrounding area remained a faint yellow color with gridlines. Then the shape grew smaller in size. As it did, additional ships appeared around it. Eventually the scale adjusted and the ships became hardly more than black dots in the middle of the screen. It looked like there were more than twenty of them to Brandon.

“Two dozen, sir!” the voice from the floor called back. “They’re sitting just outside effective REEP range. I wonder if they know about it.”

“Tell the patrol to stay out of the way,” Olut6 said, “and let go with a REEP blast, maximum range.”

The voice on the floor objected. “But sir, they’re still out of effective range. If we fire now, they’ll know about it.”

Olut6 descended the stairs and yelled, “I want them to know about it. Extat! Fire the REEP!”

“Yes, sir!”

The screen went wavy for a second and then the dark patches of space could be seen vibrating. Brandon looked to the schematic screen and saw the shapes shaking and losing control. Several of them collided with each other. He looked back to the big screen. Three explosions.

“We got six of them sir! Looks like they weren’t so out of range after all.”

Olut6 took no time to celebrate. “Get four of the ITF1’s over here, and send in the boys!” As he finished speaking, a squadron of Torian fighters swept in from the left side and began firing. Some of the attacking ships turned to return fire. Others took evasive maneuvers. Three of them managed to fire missiles towards Cardinal-4 before scrambling, but they looked to be aimed wide, probably a result of having been jostled by the REEP blast.

Olut6 ran back up the stairs to rejoin Brandon and Mip7.

“General, where are the ITF1’s?” Mip7 asked.

“On their way. All but one. They should be dagging out near the alien satellite soon, and when they do we’ll split them up to have some better protection here. I wish to Erob we had more of those. They have an entire fleet of fighters with dag capability and we only have a handful.”

“But we’re defending our home,” Brandon said. “That’s a tremendous advantage.”

Olut6 shrugged in a manner that indicated agreement, but in a hopeful sort of way.

“Too bad we still only have nine ITF1’s” Mip7 muttered.

Olut6 frowned again. “You’re a politician, so you should understand why that is.”

Silence.

“Sorry, Governor,” Olut6 said. “That was uncalled for.”

“Understandable and true, General. But why are only eight responding?”

“Those are the ones staged for immediate emergency response. Unfortunately, the other’s docked in the lower hangar here, and we got caught without any extat pilots on the station!”

Brandon had a sudden stomach ache.

“Governor, message the Latians,” Olut6 said. “See if they’re willing to help.”

The moored Latian fleet could still be seen in the background in the upper right portion of the main screen. Whoever the attackers were didn’t seem interested in them. The battle next to Cardinal-4 had now degenerated into individual dogfights. Thankfully, the smaller Torian fighters were faster and more nimble. But they were missing too many shots. Occasionally, a fire ring would light up and then vanish, and the stars would reappear where the enemy vessel had been a moment ago. They were adept at dagging out quickly when the opportunity arose. Brandon understood that as a primary tactic when fighting from a small ship with interstellar capability.

As Mip7 typed on his lightpad, the Latian fleet started moving. They had no fighters and no shuttles launched at the moment, and no real reason to stay in Tora space—other than to participate in Belle-ub’s tournament. Brandon expected to see them dag out of the system. That’s what Brandon would do if he were them, and that Inquisitor of theirs sure seemed sharp. So far they were only using local propulsion. They gradually distanced themselves from Cardinal-4, and moved closer to Amulen. Perhaps they were staying after all, having arranged a truce with the Dirgs, and now being interested in the prize Belle-ub promised the winner of the tournament.

Olut6 yelled to the floor. “What’s happening over Amulen?”

The voice from the floor answered. “The Dirg shuttle re-entered the atmosphere. The Dirg, Circon, and Noor fleets are all still in orbit there, plus ten or so additional unidentified vessels—not the same as the attackers. Some of those are grouped in two’s or three’s. The Latian fleet also seems to be moving to an Amulen orbit.”

Oult6 pounded his fist on the railing. “Great! They’re having an extat convention while we’re getting our asses handed to us!”

Enemy dark ships could be seen dagging in and out in front of the station on the main screen, firing lasers intermittently. Torian fighters swept in, fired, rolled, and turned. Occasionally a hit would be scored on one side or the other. Brandon saw one Torian ship limping in towards the upper hangar after being hit.

“Where are those ITF1’s?” Olut6 muttered.

The voice on the floor replied. “General, they’ve just dagged out above Banor and are engaging the satellite. We’re radioing the squadron commander with your request for help.”

“Good. About extat time.”

Mip7 shook his head and spoke. “The Latians are declining our request for help, sir. They don’t want to get involved.”

“Stop calling me sir, Governor. And if those flatheads won’t help, why in Erob are they sticking around in our star system while all this is going on? Why are any of them, for that matter? They can’t want to play that extat game so badly that they’d risk getting in the middle of a war.”

“You could try asking the Dirgs for help,” Brandon said on an impulse.

“Those walking mire pits? The only help we’re likely to get from them is advice on foreign relations policies, assuming we could understand it through all that hissing. Besides, their allegiance is to Belle-ub.”

“Great idea,” Brandon said. “Mip7, try to contact Belle-ub on the ground and ask
him
for help. Let’s see how much influence he actually has, and where his loyalty lies.”

Olut6 cocked his head at Brandon for a second, but Brandon pointed back to the big screen.

“There they are.”

Two sleek and beautiful ITF1’s appeared on the right side of the screen perpendicular to a grouping of several enemy craft. They released missiles and promptly vanished again before the dag around their hulls even stopped glowing. The short yellow sections of light streaked towards their unsuspecting targets and then explosions could be seen on two of the enemy vessels. The other two quickly lit their virtual dags and vanished, but the two which were hit remained behind, obviously damaged.

The two wounded enemy ships then fired upon the station. Their missiles were red in color. The barrage was constant and uncoordinated, as if they were desperately trying to empty their batteries. This was a suicide move. Apparently, they didn’t want to be taken alive. They were easy targets. Two conventional Torian fighters dove on them, connected lasers, held, and the two enemy vessels exploded.

But the widespread missile pattern they managed to lay came speeding towards the station.

The Cardinal-4 defense crew in the bunker fired a REEP blast at the incoming missiles from short range, but several of them still got through. One was too close to the bunker for Brandon’s taste. They could feel shaking from the impact.

“Add that to your remodeling project,” Olut6 said to Mip7.

Mip7 didn’t look happy. “Sir—I mean General—if the attackers learn we can’t fire the REEP directionally above or below the station, there may not be a station left to remodel.”

“Get two squadrons each positioned above and below the station,” Olut6 yelled at the floor.

“Yes sir!” the voice from the floor shot back. “Sir, reports coming from Banor are desperate. The strikes from the alien satellite are pummeling us there. The ITF1’s have scored direct hits with missiles, lasers, and REEP blasts without effect.”

“Extat!” Olut6 said. “How can missiles and REEP blasts be ineffective? What in Erob is that thing?”

“They’re requesting more help, sir.”

“Lieutenant, what do they think we’re doing? Everything we have is engaged, except for that last ITF1 we have no crew for. And we have our own problems here.”

Olut6’s words proved to be prophetic. As Brandon watched the screen, a great multitude of glowing rings appeared in the distance, then vanished. Nearly all the stars in the background went black.

“General!”

“I see them!” Olut6 shouted back to the floor. “Get five squadrons on them!”

They watched as Torian fighters came at the new, massive enemy formation from every direction. But lasers fired back at them from every direction. The enemy was arranged in a tight ball with weapons ready to fire outward at all possible approaches.

Then, the short red light segments came. They raced towards Cardinal-4 in no discernable pattern. The enemy apparently decided the space station was a target worth pursuing.

“Defense pattern 109!” Olut6 shouted. “Repeat! Defense pattern 109!”

“Yes sir!”

The radio controller got busy communicating the order.

“What’s defense pattern109?” Brandon asked.

“You ought to know,” Olut6 replied. “You invented it. Partially, anyway. We’ll harass them from the front as much as we can with individual squadrons. A larger group hangs above in a cluster. Immediately after a REEP blast, half of the main formation dives at the attackers and the other half chases down stray missiles from the rear. The boys above and below the station try to clean up what’s left.”

“Yeah,” Brandon said. “I remember something like that.”

“Me too,” Mip7 added. “It was an impressive improvisation when I first encountered it.” He looked at Brandon and managed a smile. That was the old Mip7. It was good to see he wasn’t totally cracking under the stress of the current situation.

“How much else do you two remember?” Olut6 said.

“No!” Brandon and Mip7 said in unison.

“We need that last ITF1, boys,” Olut6 said. “Badly. And we need someone with experience solving problems on the fly. You heard what’s happening on our home soil.”

“General” Mip7 said, “it’s been too long. We aren’t in that kind of condition.”

“Oh? You both have the highest security clearance for game downloads. When’s the last time you ran through an ITF1 battle simulation?”

Mip7 shook his head. “General…”

“When was the last time?”

“Last week. But that doesn’t mean—”

“You play it more than two or three times a month?”

Mip7 sighed. “Yes, I do.”

Olut6 turned to Brandon.

“How about you?”