Torian Reclamation 3: Test of Fortitude (35 page)

Brandon was right. The satellite fired again. The mine targeting screen produced a green light to show a new sensory target. Brandon pressed the second button, instructing the system to capture the newly detected emission. A circle appeared and began filling in with red. The ITF1 squadron continued to hit the satellite from above with everything they had in the way of lasers and missiles.

The circle on the screen filled rapidly. It only took a few seconds to capture the small target emission. The complete red circle blinked and the mechanical voice announced target acquirement.

“Think we have it,” Brandon said. “Get us out of here.”

Lut5 took them down hard and left, eased the speed, and then hit the manual dag. The Azaarian fleet straight ahead stretched out and then squished back together next to them on the right.

They were back at Tora’s left flank. Borsk7 radioed ahead so their Class-3 transport ship would be ready. The hangar doors were open by the time they reached it. They landed in the center of the empty hangar deck. The rest of Brandon’s tiny fighter fleet was outside guarding.

The hangar doors closed and the hangar re-pressurized. The specialty weapons crew ran out on the deck and started working. Two minutes later, the last 23 smart mines were loaded. By the time Brandon’s ITF2 re-launched, Brandon had the mines armed with the new target identification data. The entire process reminded him of a race car coming into the pits at the Indianapolis 500.

“Back to the same unit we mapped, Commander?”

Brandon examined the battlefield before replying. Not much had changed on the Torian/dark enemy front. Maybe a few more dogfights happening. But the Dirg front was methodically becoming more heavily engaged. It looked as though the enemy was gaining confidence that Tora was successfully held at bay, and now had more than half their force committed to a growing battle that Dirg appeared to be losing. Attack runs were now also being made on their larger warships, as the action was so jumbled that enemy squadrons were finding their way to the big vessels without adequate resistance. Dirg needed more help than they were getting.

“I wonder…”

“Wonder what, Commander?”

“It’d be risky.”

“War is risky,” Borsk7 said. “Going straight back to try and mine the satellites is risky, too. So what did you have in mind?”

Brandon pointed to the center of the dormant enemy ships, between the Dirg fight and the Torian flank.

“There’s a lighter area of enemy concentration there. I was just thinking about earlier, when we mapped the enemy fighters. You had such a dynamic engagement plan, which I wouldn’t let you put into action due to stealth requirements.”

“Now you’re talking.” Borsk7 pulled up the dag plotting screen and quickly designed a two-leg approach, similar to the way they did it earlier.

“And you’re right, Commander. That open spot affords us the same basic advantages as the earlier one. We can probably hit targets all around us with every weapon we carry before they fully realize we’re there. Maybe take out six or seven of them—possibly more, if the REEP gunner gets a good shot off.”

“He usually does,” Lut5 added.

“I don’t want to hang around in there,” Brandon said. “I only want to rile them up like a disturbed nest of lightning hornets, and then dag out to open space. That part is important. I want them all to see where we go. Then take us back to the satellite field on local thrust.”

Borsk7 hit the intercom, filled the rest of the crew in on the battle plan, and turned back to Brandon.

“Ready, Commander.”

“Go.”

Fifteen seconds later, they dagged in on the back side of Dirg, farther from orbit this time. Brandon strapped himself into the third pilot seat as they turned.

“A squadron of Dirg fighters is turning towards us,” Borsk7 said. “Probably saw the virtual dag ring and don’t recognize us yet.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lut5 replied as he engaged the dag again. Ten seconds later they came out in the midst of the enemy fleet.

Immediately, Lut5 raised the ship upward. Brandon saw the big beam from the lower turret fire and connect on an enemy ship. Boom. They then turned slightly to the right. Lut5 and Borsk7 fired the cockpit lasers from both sides and scored hits on two additional craft, visibly damaging them. The lower turret gunner got another one. Boom. When that big beam hit, it was effective.

Brandon felt strange and a little helpless having nothing to do but watch. At the same time, he appreciated the skill of these pilots—the best in all of Tora, pilots who, ironically, had trained studying some of Brandon’s own maneuvers.

The ship pulled hard right and upward. Brandon felt the sonic boom reverberate through the ship’s cabin which signified the REEP cannon firing. At the same time, he saw the short orange light segments that were the ITF2’s missiles streaking forward. Two, four, eight, ten of them. Three enemy ships exploded in tandem.

“That ought to be enough!” Brandon yelled as he clung to the railing next to his seat. The craft then made a hard dive and roll. Another sonic boom rattled the interior. They straightened out. Suddenly all was smooth.

“Dagging out in open space as requested,” Lut5 said. Brandon unstrapped himself and leaned forward in the cockpit just as the yellow lights came on.

“Did we take any fire?” Brandon asked.

“Nothing serious.” Borsk7 looked out the window to his right. “There’s a much bigger hole in their position now. Enemy fighters still scrambling over there. Now I see some dagging out. You wanted a swarm of angry hornets? I think you got it, Commander.”

“Get us back into the satellites at maximum thrust,” Brandon said. “But stay local. I don’t want them losing sight of us.”

“We’re doing it, Commander.” Lut5 pointed forward. “You want to go back to the same one we mapped?”

Borsk7 interrupted. “Commander, the general is calling. Asking if we want help.”

“Tell him extat yes! Everything they can spare. We’re expecting company. Hopefully, lots of it.”

Alan was inwardly nervous. It was difficult to maintain a false air of pride while watching Jumper move. Jumper hadn’t played polwar in years, and the last time he played he lost. Seeing him do it now brought back memories of the “death polwar” match the two of them were inadvertently drawn into when testing the float suits five years ago up in the Amulen mountains. Of course, they didn’t learn the terms of that game until it was over. And they didn’t know what would happen to them now, either—but Alan suspected it would be better for them if Jumper kept winning.

Jumper had beaten Colonel Halstov easily, which seemed to only surprise the colonel a little. Perhaps this military leader wasn’t such a great game strategist. It took Jumper longer to finish off his second opponent, which he did twice. When Jumper refused to play another game with him, they had to wait in the glass-walled conference room an agonizingly long time for his third opponent to arrive. Alan supposed the Ossurians had to go deep into the community to locate their local champion.

Jumper’s acting was world-class. He promptly defeated his new opponent and only yawned, closed his eyes, and put his head down in his arms—this while his dangerously-large opponent stewed in extreme agitation, within arm’s reach across the table.

Colonel Halstov came back in the room and demanded to witness another game between them. Jumper reluctantly agreed. Alan figured this to be the last one Jumper would have to play if he won. That should be enough to convince them of his superiority—at polwar, at least.

Jumper took his time moving in this game. He was the curved pieces, so he had the initial momentum advantage. Alan hoped he wouldn’t give that up in pursuit of a gambit too soon. But then again, Alan had rarely ever beaten Jumper at polwar, so whatever Jumper decided to do was probably best. So far he was red hot today.

As it turned out, Alan got his wish. The game was hard fought and complicated. It dragged on until much of the frame was filled. In a “blackout” style game like this, luck was more of a factor in determining the ultimate winner—although it took great skill on both players’ parts to end up with a blackout game. Was that good enough? Would the colonel be convinced of human prominence without Jumper needing to win his fifth consecutive game?

Jumper’s opponent moved after studying the field for a particularly long time. Jumper responded with an instant move. The local champion was plainly annoyed by it. He stood up before placing his next piece, and leaned forward. Alan had the impression he was expecting to win in two more moves. But Jumper calmly placed another piece and then set his chin on his hand. He gazed up at the big horned polwar player with a disinterested expression. The Alien had been holding his next piece in his hand, as if he were going to move immediately after Jumper regardless of where Jumper placed his piece. But now his arm with the piece was frozen in place as his head moved back and forth, his eyes darting here and there in the frame. Finally, he reached out with his other arm and in one great motion swept the game frame off the table. Kayla had to act fast in order to dodge it. Pieces went flying. The game set announced Jumper’s victory with a nerve-racking clamor on the smoothed rock floor.

Jumper’s defeated opponent then took a swipe at Jumper’s head. Jumper casually leaned back as the monstrous hand swooshed just in front of his nose. That was close. Through it all, Jumper maintained the attitude of boredom and exercising tolerance.

Colonel Halstov grabbed his angry subordinate from behind and shouted something that didn’t clearly translate. The other Ossurian in the room reacted by coming to his aide. The two of them escorted the defeated champion out of the room before returning to the table.

“Beings who imagine they are descended from the first pure race should behave more rationally,” Jumper said in a flat voice. The colonel replied with a question.

“You’re certain you’ve never played this game before?”

“I’m certain I’ve never seen this game before, Colonel. I found it to be pedestrian. Some fundamental elements of creative strategy perhaps, but applied in an elementary fashion. On Orth, it would likely only be played as a child’s game.”

That was the first time Jumper addressed Halstov as “Colonel.” Alan was happy to hear him concede a measure of respect. Even if they were able to convince the Ossurians of a respectable “Orthan” racial pedigree, Alan didn’t think it would help their situation much if they were seen as stubborn resistors. He and Kayla had yet to speak a word to their captors.

“The original pure species could not have morphed into such weak, soft creatures,” the colonel responded, glancing between them and finally settling his gaze on Alan. “Any Ossurian could break the bones of an Orthan with one arm. If I hadn’t restrained Nuphlat there, you would have discovered this on your own. And is your companion the only one among you with a tongue? Or is he simply the least arrogant of you three?”

Alan decided enough was enough and spoke.

“Strength is not of bones and muscle, Colonel. All advanced races understand this.”

“Do you claim that the original pure race was physically weak? As Orthans are?”

Alan knew this was a tricky question. He instinctively reached one hand under his shirt and held his quarner stone before venturing an answer.

“Sight alone is a poor basis for determining strength, physical or otherwise. The strongest creature on Orth is an insect which can carry sixty times its weight and obliterate the toughest strongholds of its prey in seconds. Yet it is common prey for a ‘weaker’ insect which inherently knows the precise location for breaking its neck.”

Halstov and the other remaining Ossurian both had interesting reactions to that statement. The colonel recoiled slightly. Alan saw his subordinate’s hand involuntarily move in the direction of his neck. Perhaps Alan stumbled on to something useful. Jumper must have noticed it as well, judging from the provocative glance he shot Alan. Alan decided to press his luck and continue.

“Moreover, the strength of intelligent beings, and that of the societies they live in, does not come from physical might or even keen thought. It comes from inner fortitude, an unbreakable will. Valiance which wanes under stress is of questionable value. That which doesn’t is the victorious strength. This has always been the case.”

“Always?” The colonel leaned back in his chair. He seemed to desire a further explanation. Alan obliged him.

“Orth retains certain prophecies from our ancient pure ancestors. We know it was foretold long ago that in the latter times there would be those among the contaminated races who believe themselves to be pure, and will hold a false image of themselves because they are fooled by their own appearance.”

“Yes,” Halstov said. “We have similar prophetic teachings passed on for many millennia, from our pure fathers of the ancient past. So we are in agreement as far as the prophecy is concerned. Where we diverge is which race is the one fooling themselves. We see you as a weak species who views themselves in a false mirror, one which builds them up to foolish boasting.”

Jumper spoke. “As do we you, Colonel. Only we also know that the pure race will have conquered and eradicated exploitive casteism. This is the case on Orth and at our colonies. On our worlds, all production is shared equally among the producers.”