Outriders Page 7

  Connor piloted their freighter under the Areadbhar and weaved between gunnery batteries, sensor arrays and communication spires projecting from the gray hull. Grooves and notches constructed into the dreadnought hurtled above their viewport.

  “How long until we can escape this system?” demanded Harun.

  “We’ll be beyond Elatha’s gravitational well in a couple minutes,” Kyla answered.

  “Do you have our trajectory?”

  “Calculations are being done now,” responded Alexis. “We’ll have a viable route once we’re clear of your flagship.”

  “Get it done,” Harun said.

  “What the hell do you think I’ve been doing? You’re welcome to contribute back there.”

  “Now’s not the time,” barked Taylor. “Stow it, the both of you.”

  An explosion erupted from beneath the Areadbhar’s hull, spurting a geyser of roaring flames and churning black smoke. Connor swerved around the detonation and thrust the freighter past a massive maneuvering pylon extending from the dreadnought’s keel, looping higher and clearing the bow.

  “Pulsar fighter-bomber incoming from below,” declared Rinko.

  Reyes’ voice emerged from where he operated the Hedgehog. “Give me a sixty-five degree roll to starboard.”

  Connor obliged with deft precision while Reyes unleashed volleys from the dorsal turret. Taylor glimpsed a charred fireball at their viewport’s edge explode in a mass of serrated metal and wink out of existence.

  “Got the bastard.”

  “Two more Pulsars approaching straight ahead and readying missile tubes,” announced Rinko.

  “Bring them down, Kyla,” Taylor ordered.

  She activated weapons systems on her side-stick and primed the JTX-2 Event Horizon bow-mounted cannons. Targeting reticles illuminated on her screens and magnified the Pulsars, painting the rounded vessels in flashing brackets. Kyla depressed her triggers and streams of plasma poured from the Solar Flare, vaporizing half of one Pulsar and shattering the other’s reinforced canopy. The halved fighter-bomber spun uncontrollably and plummeted from sight while the other drifted on a lazy arc, its pilot and gunner likely killed by the barrage.

  “Shit, shit,” Rinko hissed. “Basilisks on our tail and in firing range.”

  “Give me a timeframe, people,” commanded Taylor.

  “One minute until we’re clear for FTL,” Alexis promised.

  Taylor thrust a thumb over his shoulders toward the stairs and corridor beyond. “You two snoops had best head to the lounge or infirmary and strap in if you don’t want broken bones or worse today.”

  Tessa detached her UpLink from the freighter’s communication console and sprinted from the bridge one stride behind Harun, who knew better than to offer protest.

  The Solar Flare dropped beneath an Elathan destroyer discharging its cannons, ascended past a damaged corvette wreathed in smoke and plunged into empty territory on the battle’s fringe. Plasma streaked wide from the pursuing Basilisks and gouged their port wing.

  “One shot must’ve nicked the engine mounts,” explained Alexis. “Core performance down six percent and falling, but the inducing actuator is undamaged.”

  “Divert all power into the engines,” Taylor directed. “Take it from weapons, sensors, everything but life support. Give me every trace of speed you can and keep us alive for a few more moments.”

  “On it.” Kyla scrambled to key commands, draining energy from any currently inconsequential systems and pumping the flow into their engines. “Primary propulsion core performance up twelve percent and likelihood of instabilities increased by a factor of two. Still can’t hope to match a Basilisk.”

  “Don’t need you to. All I need is time.”

  The freighter soared beyond safe parameters as its hull squealed from stress. Stars hazed into streaking lines through the viewport, veiled by scattered bursts of sapphire plasma. Flashing yellow and clamorous tweets signified another missile-targeting lock gripped their vessel.

  “Elatha gravitational well cleared,” affirmed Rinko.

  “Initiate FTL sequence,” Taylor ordered.

  “Velocity counterpoise primed and functioning,” responded Alexis. Red flickers ignited over a schema housed on Alexis’ leftmost holographic sensor screen. “Inducing actuator standing by. Calculations confirmed. We’re clear for faster-than-light acceleration.”

  “Do it.”

  Connor exhaled a rasping breath, clutched a knob and yanked. Space warped into a glittering dust cloud of elongated white streaks and infinitesimal clashing colors. Tingling pinpricks coursed over Taylor’s chest and skin until the pressure lessened to a faint tickle and subsided.

  Taylor leaned backward and rubbed clammy palms over his face, respiring between the fingers. Through the viewport mottled splotches of vibrant colors intermingled with radiant white like a river of distorted rainbows. “I don’t care to go through that again.”

  “We’ll reach the Tethra system in thirteen hours and twenty-seven minutes,” announced Alexis.

  Kyla unbuckled her chair restraints and waggled a finger at Taylor. “Enough time to have a look at your arm.”

  He pursed his lips and stared at the hole puncturing his jacket sleeve, ringed in wet scarlet. “My entire damn body hurts so much I’d forgotten I was shot.”

  “Those are the words of a man who gets shot far too often,” Rinko affirmed. “You might want to try not standing in the path of bullets next time.”

  “Not sure how valuable that advice is from someone who’s never gotten shot.”

  “Must mean my strategy for staying alive is working wonders.”

  Taylor furrowed his moist brow. “Huh. That’s…not entirely wrong.”

  “Stick with me, Captain,” she said with a wink. “You’ll live longer.”

  “Off to deal with my war wound.” He climbed upright and stretched his back while following Kyla toward the corridor. “As for the rest of you. Regular reports, keep me appraised and all that captain-y hogwash.”

  “We’ll fire off updates when we can be bothered to,” announced Connor.

  “Good enough.”

  Chapter 5

  “—won’t have the spine to go through with it.”

  Clara’s eyes flickered open in a haze as she heard voices echoing in the cockpit. She blinked and rubbed drowsiness from her face, wondering if the noise came from a lingering dream.

  “You don’t get a vote, Aleksy. We all know you wouldn’t pay up if you lost.”

  “Trish never made the rules clear. I’m not obligated to fork money over if she can’t define the wager.”

  “I did too, you monkey’s ass,” Trish shouted. “You’re just cheap.”

  Realization dawned and all traces of sleep vanished. Her starfighter’s screen was playing a video recording, which was only possible if the consoles were brought online. A functioning control panel could be detected by starships in an otherwise deserted region without communication traffic, such as on the surface of a barren moon.

  Clara snapped to attention as icy breath hissed from her mouth. “Has your damned processor gone offline, Chirpy? Shut this down.”

  I DETECT NO HEAT SIGNATURES, QUERYING SIGNALS OR COMMUNICATION TRAFFIC. ORNA AND ERIMON ARE LIFELESS ACCORDING TO ALL AVAILABLE DATA. OUR PURSUERS ARE EITHER GONE OR SO FAR BEYOND RANGE THAT MINIMAL VIDEO DISPLAYS ARE UNDETECTABLE. WE ARE ALONE AND SAFE FOR THE MOMENT.

  In the video Stephanie walked closer wearing a grin and slapped a beer into Katarina’s hand. “I’ve seen her spacewalk without thrusters or tether on a dare. You’re going to lose this gamble, Diego.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Katarina replied.

  “Please turn it off, Chirpy.” Clara sniffled and wiped her nose with a glove, uncertain if the cause was cold or emotions. “Don’t make me relive this memory.”

  On the screen, Diego scrunched his face as though personally insulted. “Even without thrusters Kat could be grabbed by someone else if there was a
problem. This is far more intense. We’re talking real damage to her system. I know a pilot trainee who ruptured his spleen doing this.”

  “And you really want Katarina to put herself in that position?” questioned Akira.

  “Not at all. I’m only saying she doesn’t have the courage to try.”

  Clara’s bottom lip trembled and she focused on the screen as her stomach writhed in knots. “I…I remember this night. It was Katarina’s twenty-fourth birthday. Akira passed her final flight trials and joined the squadron only a week earlier, so we decided to celebrate both together. Ammar recorded the night as a welcome present to Akira, to make sure she’d never forget her first Corsair party. I was late arriving and missed this.”

  FLYING OFFICER SHALHOUB DISTRIBUTED COPIES TO EVERY SHIP COMPUTER, ALONG WITH OTHER RECORDINGS OF TIME SPENT TOGETHER. HIS INTENTION WAS TO MAKE THE VIDEOS AVAILABLE FOR EACH PILOT DURING EXTENDED MISSIONS WHEN TRANSMISSION SILENCE WAS REQUIRED, AS A MEANS TO KEEP MORALE HIGH. BUT FLYING OFFICER SHALHOUB NEVER HAD THE CHANCE TO REVEAL HIS SURPRISE.

  “Why are you showing me this?”

  YOUR MENTAL STATE IS WORRYING. I CALCULATED SEEING YOUR SQUADMATES WOULD HAVE A POSITIVE OUTCOME. THEY WOULD NOT WISH YOU TO SUFFER IN THEIR ABSENCE.

  “What they wanted doesn’t matter anymore,” she whispered.

  Clara watched the bickering continue onscreen, until she wandered in through an entryway and approached the gathering. It was strange seeing herself interacting with friends she had lost.

  “Moxie arrives at long last,” said Stephanie.

  “Sorry I’m late,” announced her past self. “Couldn’t break away from that damn Starfighter Command briefing. They’re still holding Malcolm prisoner. What’d I miss?”

  Ammar responded from behind the video camera while zooming in on various faces. “Diego here wagered Kat didn’t have the stomach to perform full acceleration maneuvers in a flight simulator with the velocity counterpoise disabled. And wearing her regular fatigues rather than a flight suit.”

  The velocity counterpoise was a mainstay on all starships, from single-seat fighters and modest freighters to colossal capital ships, passenger liners and supertankers. Designed to reduce the extreme force of gravity on a person’s body during acceleration, faster-than-light interstellar travel was simply not possible without a functioning velocity counterpoise. Even a trained pilot in peak physical condition would die attempting to reach FTL velocities, reduced to little more than a wall stain. But the system was crucial at reduced realspace velocities as well, especially for starfighter pilots who performed drastic maneuvers in the fastest vessels available.

  “You’ll lose, Diego,” Clara said with an exasperated groan. “Kat’s as stubborn and reckless as they come.”

  “Listen to your Flight Leader, chum,” Katarina sneered. “She’s a wise woman.”

  “But honestly Kat, do you really want to spend your birthday in intensive care? Even if it means wiping that smug look off Diego’s face?”

  “That’s the only reason I want to do it,” she replied. “And I’m honor bound not to decline any challenges. Personal pride and all that.”

  Akira swirled her glass around with a nervous expression on her face. “Um, is it even legal to disable safety features on a flight simulator?”

  Laughter greeted her question and Stephanie clapped a hand on Akira’s shoulder. “You’re cute, kid. Give it some time and you’ll learn how things work around here.”

  Hayato downed his scotch and smacked the glass on a counter. “Recruits testing for Havoc Squadron had the last simulator runs today before the equipment closed down for maintenance scheduled tomorrow morning. The entire training facility is ours if we want it.”

  Katarina’s demeanor changed and she glanced to Stephanie and Clara, the squadron ranking officers without Malcolm present. Even though Corsair parties did not observe rank decorum, meaning no deference was required and everyone was equal, this little challenge went beyond a local gathering. “Lieutenants?” asked Katarina.

  Stephanie hoisted her drink and smirked. “I’ve had enough of this not to care.”

  “Who am I to argue?” added Clara. “I’ve only just arrived. I can’t be the grouchy parent for another hour at least.”

  Diego rubbed his hands together and led the squadron from their mess hall. Ammar trailed behind everyone else as they traversed hallways through the Starfleet base orbiting Elatha on the moon Uaithne. Since it was nearly midnight according to Elathan standard time, used by navy personnel while off planet, the corridors were almost deserted. Most base staff were sleeping or on liberty for the weekend, leaving their approach to the training facility cheerfully empty.

  Katarina quickly bypassed the lock using a slicing subroutine and the squadron selected one simulator from rows of available machines. Aleksy fiddled with the controls and ensured all systems were functioning at optimal levels. Sealed flight suits waited in lockers behind the simulators alongside maintenance equipment, though Katarina ignored them as a stipulation of the dare. Uaithne did not have an atmosphere, which meant anyone leaving the facility was required to wear protective gear. Service personnel employed by Starfleet had their own atmospheric suits colored an ugly orange to increase visibility, whereas starfighter pilots wore a standard variety of dark gray with navy piping.

  “Great,” Diego said. “Now disable the velocity counterpoise.”

  “Will the simulator even work properly?” questioned Akira. “Aren’t there redundant protocols to stop the program if a safety feature goes offline?”

  Aleksy nodded with his head buried in the maintenance panel. “Definitely. Which is why I’m shutting them down, too. A couple disconnections, mixed with some clever changes to the coding, and Kat has herself a working deathtrap.”

  “How long does she have to stay inside?” Trish asked.

  “Kat is looking pretty damn cocky,” answered Diego. “I’m thinking an atmospheric Blind Swallow maneuver. If you pass out or crash, you lose.”

  If he hoped to earn a reaction, Diego must have felt a glimmer of disappointment when Katarina instead gave him a lopsided smirk and slapped his hand.

  “Done and done,” she proclaimed. “Watch how the real pilots fly.”

  Kat blew him a sardonic kiss and climbed into the boxy simulator, activating her controls and consoles. Her deft fingers were a blur until the viewport darkened to full opacity and a blinking blue light shone to signify an active simulation. Holographic screens materialized alongside the unit, displaying Katarina and her starfighter from multiple angles. Readings revealed her heart rate, blood pressure, respiratory rate and body temperature, ordinarily used by training officers to evaluate a potential recruit’s anxiety and suitability in combat. Katarina’s heart rate was currently at a calm fifty-two beats per minute.

  Her virtual Marauder lifted from the hangar and ascended into a steady climb. Katarina grinned and threw the starfighter into a few loose lateral rolls for fun, raising her vitals on the monitor.

  Hayato tugged sleeves to his elbows and folded both arms over his chest, casting a conspiratorial glance toward Diego. “Since you’re still new to the squadron and didn’t enroll at the academy until after Kat graduated, I’ll take it upon myself to educate you. Ever hear the story of Cethar Gorge? It’s right here on Uaithne, out a ways in the badlands. One of her classmates wagered she didn’t have the nerve to pilot a lumbering cargo hauler and jump the gorge.”

  “Did she?”

  “Course she did,” confirmed Hayato. “The hauler wasn’t fast enough to clear the chasm, so Kat bailed out midway and triggered her flight suit’s maneuvering jets. Saved her life, but she flew straight into the canyon wall and earned a concussion and broken tibia in the process. Honestly, the real question is why folks keep betting Kat doesn’t have the stones to do something stupid.”

  “The Cethar Gorge stunt almost got her expelled,” added Stephanie.

  “Why wasn’t she?” Diego inquired.

  �
�Kat’s too damned skilled with communications and tech. Starfighter Command can’t afford to expel prodigies. So she suffered a demotion, had all weekend passes canceled for a year straight and was given shitty duties like inspecting the latrines for a couple months. My point is if Kat risked expulsion and shattered bones on a dare, she’ll definitely risk something as minor as organ damage. We’re more likely to haul her convalescing body from the simulator than she is to quit.”

  Katarina reached the apex of her climb and commenced the maneuver, thrusting her Marauder into three consecutive starboard rolls and pitching straight upward. Her respiratory rate slowed and her heart rate ticked higher beyond one hundred beats per minute. Kat was flattened against her seat and the crash webbing behind, tightening muscles in her face. The blood pressure monitor flashed orange in alarm as the reading decreased and Kat labored to pull her starfighter backward into a reverse loop.

  She forced air from her lungs in sharp exertions resembling violent hiccups and tensed her shoulders, thighs and calves. Her blood pressure plunged as oxygen was deprived from her brain and she bordered on hypoxia.

  “She’s losing vision,” asserted Hayato.

  Trish nibbled on her fingernail, a habitual tick when stricken by nerves. “Kat will keep control.”

  She emerged from the loop and thrust her Marauder into a nosedive while spinning in a continuous corkscrew, rattling the control stick in her clenched grip. Katarina’s pale face flushed as blood rushed to her head and her heart rate climbed to one hundred and eighty-seven. Her head lolled like a flimsy ragdoll, her pupils rolled backward and closed to the barest slits, yet she held onto consciousness and forced her vision to steady until finishing the procedure on a clumsy trajectory.