Alien Species 322
Timothy and Ruth were depressed. Commander Hollander had insisted that they travel to Lucious Prime on a World Federation ship, and he would have liked to have taken them himself, but the patch job done at Nady on the rear half had been quick and dirty and needed to be completed properly. On top of that, stores were down and they had to fulfill their contract to supply Nady with the trade goods to pay for the repairs, and this, together with the duties Hollander had to perform in getting the fleet ready prevented him from accompanying the two. Ruth and Timothy were on a ship they had never seen before except on the instruction units, with a crew they didn’t know who felt they were babysitting royalty.
The two tried to make themselves helpful, but most politely declined the help. The only friend Timothy made was with a mechanic, Tyler Evans, responsible for resupplying oxygen, Nitro-tetroxide and hydrazine tanks and other fluids necessary to keep the fighter and support craft running.
Timothy followed him around the hanger, wheeling the complex fluids cart and refilling cylinders as necessary, while Tyler chatted away. At the moment, they had the port side nitrogen access cover open on a Rapier light fighter and Timothy was watching the gauge as he filled the tank. As he did so, his eyes trailed down the hose bolted to the side of the rapier and over to the regulator. It had sprung a small leak and had condensation forming around a fitting. Grabbing a spanner, he tightened it up, and that’s when he noticed two dark streaks on the inner hull next to the heavy duty relay.
“Tyler, you’ve got a problem here,” he said.
Tyler came by to look but didn’t see anything. Timothy had to explain it, but as soon as he said the words ‘Electrical’, Tyler cut him short and yelled, “Dilliney! Electrical issue!”
“What? I don’t have all day,” he said gruffly as he walked over, obviously overworked.
Tyler nodded to Timothy, and Timothy answered, “There’s shorting here near this relay. The scars are almost 30 centimeters long so the short is serious. Tetroxide and oxygen hoses run along this channel and any minor leak or burst line would be a disaster.”
Dilliney took a closer look and spotted the frozen but now melting condensation around the nitro fitting. “You tighten that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Hmm. Good job. Tyler, you need him?”
Tyler stammered, knowing he didn’t but liking his company.
“Good,” Dilliney said without waiting for a reply. “Come give me a hand.”
Timothy spent the rest of the afternoon waist deep in grease and ship innards, checking connections, cleaning terminals and replacing worn parts. Halfway through Dilliney’s shift, he laughed as he asked Timothy to remove a damaged bus, and Timothy could see why. The bus was partially melted and almost impossible to reach.
“Why did it melt?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s very common. Pilots ignore the alarms as they overheat their lasers once they run out of bullets, and it gets even hotter in this area if the ship is sun-side. Combine the two and you eventually have this.”
Timothy looked at the bus and its location. He not only had to go in head first, but he had to somehow pry the unit off and scrape off the melted material.
A few hours had passed as Timothy was trying to install the new buss. His legs were up in the air and his body buried as he jerked and struggled to get the buss off, but was interrupted when he heard a voice from somewhere outside. The voice had called two or three times but Timothy ignored it as he yelled out, “I’m busy!”
Finally, a loud ring reverberated through the ship as the person outside smacked the hull with a spanner.
“What!” he yelled, frustrated at the interruption.
“I need to speak to you, Sir.”
“Can’t it wait? It took me fifteen minutes to get into this position!” Timothy didn’t bother to move.
“Well, no, Sir, it can’t.”
He pulled himself up, feeling lightheaded from being upside down. Once he slipped over the edge, he saw the Ship Captain standing there smiling.
“Oh,” was all Timothy could muster as Dilliney shook his head.
The Captain’s smile disappeared as he said, “We are in the Lucious system, and there’s some bad news.”
“I see,” Timothy said. “Give me a moment.”
He turned to Dilliney and said, “Back on Earth, the small killer drones have powerful lasers and masers, but the drones themselves are only about the size of a dinner plate. To stay cool, they contain a small canister of liquefied nitrogen, which is released into the interior as a intensely cold gas. It’s extremely effective at keeping the laser cool as it fires. Once the laser is done, a small pump compresses the gas once again. The system is very simple and very rugged.”
Dilliney listened, and when the ramification of what he heard sunk in, his jaw dropped. “But that means...why hasn’t anyone thought of this before?” he said to himself. He looked at Timothy and said, “Who are you?”
Captain Tiberius Emerfield turned to Dilliney and said, “Don’t you know? He’s our World Leader,” and for a second time in less than a minute, his jaw dropped again.
Timothy and Ruth were now in the Captain’s room, waiting to hear what the bad news was. The Captain turned on the viewscreen, and Timothy could see a 3 dimensional planet slowly spinning, with the header Lucious Prime above it. Also displayed was a red triangle around a still invisible ship with the words “FREIGHTER C3” and a seven smaller triangles surrounding it.
“What you’re seeing is an alien class three freighter, the biggest they have in their class, and seven alien fighters guarding it. The freighter is used to carry scavenged or stolen material, and seems to be the last one leaving. You know what this means?”
“That we’re too late?” Ruth answered.
“Exactly. They came, wiped everything out and are now leaving. They probably did this in a period of two months, if they had no resistance. We’re too late,” he said with an angry look.
Timothy asked that a packet be sent to the council with the data feed and the captain’s conclusion, and within a few minutes, they were notified that the council wanted open communication. The group arranged themselves around the table and the captain opened the comm.
“Ruth, Gentlemen. To begin with, thank you for your report. Captain Emerfield, are you close enough to do a bioscan?”
“Not yet. Once we take care of the enemy fighters we’ll take a closer look,” he replied.
“Are they aware of your presence?”
“No. Their freighter and fighters can’t scan this far.”
“Then the council has agreed that under no circumstances are you to engage the enemy here. Please take Timothy and Ruth to their next planet, Gliese 876-3. That is all.”
The viewscreen went dark, and Captain Emerfield sat there unmoving. Timothy was about to say something to the captain but changed his mind when he saw the very angry Tiberius, crimson red creeping onto his face and the veins throbbing on his forehead.
Finally, the captain controlled his temper enough to say, “Mr. Timothy, before we proceed to your next destination, I have some trash I need to put out.”
“What about the council?” Ruth asked.
“Let me worry about them.”
The captain made his way to the bridge and simply said, “Combat Status.” He watched the display and knew that each of the eight ships there had jump capabilities, and he also knew that if any escaped, they would inform their superiors.
“Lieutenant,” Emerfield said to Lt. Evelyn on Tactical, “…how close do you think we can get to the freighter if we jump in? Do you think we can get close enough for the shortest launching distance of a torpedo?”
“It’ll take me an hour to work out, but yeah. We’re not that far away and have good beacons here.”
“Do it. Comm to fighter captains Sanchez, Topico and Cheng Shu. Meet me in the tactical room immediately.”
It took only a few seconds for them to arrive. Sanchez was half naked and putting on her shirt, Topico was off duty and came in sleeping shorts and Cheng Shu had grimy coveralls on and grease all over his hands and face.
Emerfield didn’t look twice at them, expecting them to come immediately when called, no matter what state they were in. The bridge was accustomed to seeing this too, and Emerfield was happy to note that most didn’t react, although a few stole a quick glance at Sanchez’s breasts before she finished putting her shirt on. Emerfield would talk to them later.
“Please, sit down. I’m sure you all recognize what’s in front of you.”
They looked at the alien freighter and 7 fighters protecting her. “In one hour thirty minutes on my mark, we will jump in at minimum distance for torpedo activation. You and your wingmates will be at the designated coordinates, just outside of enemy range, and will attack and destroy the enemy fighters while we torpedo and destroy the freighter. Your coordinates are being uploaded now. Complete radio silence. We need this to be a surprise and positively no alien craft are to jump. Ready your timers…Mark! Good hunting and watch your six.”
He watched them go and knew they were disappointed. Three Captains, fifteen fighters total, against seven enemy. They hated those odds because bragging about kills would be laughable.
Emerfield, Timothy, Ruth and the bridge crew watched as the time counted down. At one hour Lieutenant Evelyn had been true to her word, the jump logistics completed. Emerfield had given it an extra half hour just to make sure, but he was happy to see that he needn’t have bothered.
Twenty minutes passed by in complete silence, and he was startled by Evelyn’s voice. “Sir, we have something on Tactical,” she said, worried.
“Well?”
“Not sure, Sir, just coming over the horizon…maximum resolution…” They all watched as a tiny blip on the planet’s horizon continued to grow, until the ship computer recognized it and placed a blinking red triangle around the object.
Emerfield couldn’t believe it as he watched a frigate, similar in class to the freighter they were about to attack clear the horizon together with its complement of another seven attack fighters. Frigates were slow and their weapons were average for their class, but this raised the odds that some alien craft might escape. Worse, the fighters wouldn’t pick up this new group with their limited tactical range, and they were running on silent communication.
“Captain,” Evelyn’s voice sounded stressed. “One more frigate coming around the horizon…”
‘Shit,’ he thought. Of all the things that could go wrong… “Lieutenant, I want three torpedoes cycled, loaded and ready to fire by the time we jump into this mess! Comm to all gunners, man your guns immediately! I want you firing as we finish the jump! Targets will be loaded!” he yelled as he watched the count come down to zero.
True to his command, torpedoes were locked and target acquired as they exited the jump, and many of the gunners had reached their station. “Launch remaining fighters,” he yelled, knowing it would take them a minute to suit up and get ready.
“Fire all batteries!” he added, and watched as the three torpedoes launched and made their way to each enemy frigate. The enemy fighters had engaged immediately, and Emerfield was worried that some might jump without a fight. Frigates were already trying to avoid the torpedoes, but it was a lost cause as all three torpedoes hit their target one by one. Emerfield watched happily as the last one to clear the horizon slowly started dropping into the planet’s atmosphere, its midsection on fire and heavily damaged.
The rest of the fighters cleared the flight bay and were heading to target when Emerfield realized that he had somehow been duped. Hidden behind Lucious Prime’s moon had been another ship, but this one was no frigate. Unknown to Emerfield, the previous inhabitants of Lucious Prime had established a significant base on the moon, and a capital ship was assigned to clear all life from it and dispatch ants to dismantle and scavenge any useful equipment. It had just finished the assignment and was preparing to join the two frigates and one freighter, unaware they had been under attack. It had now set itself up for an attack run.
Emerfield saw everything fall apart. The jig was up, the enemy knew they were in the area, and Timothy and Ruth’s life just became much more difficult. Sixteen enemy fighters were destroyed, they lost one and had eight of their own heavily damaged, and the Capital ship was ready to pick a fight.
“Comm to all fighters, return home now. We’re jumping.”
Jump coordinates had already been calculated for Gliese 876-3 and now was as good a time as ever - Emerfield thought about this as his screw-up sat like a brick in his stomach.