Chapter 11

Where am I? His mind swirled in a soup of dreams. Were they dreams? No. They were flashes of before. Memories. He couldn’t hold on to them. Recognizable faces morphed into other faces from his past. He was lost, adrift in a storm of fragmented images.

“Who are you?”An unfamiliar voice came from outside his mind.

The images that danced about seemed to fall together into a cohesive scene. He was in a classroom. Someone was talking—something about preflight checklists.

“…before you approach the pad, your landing gear must be fully extended.” The balding instructor with tufts of unkempt hair growing from the sides of his head monotonously intoned.

He heard sniggers around him.

He remembered leaning to someone next to him and remarking, “I swear, if you can’t remember to lower your landing gear, you got no business being a pilot.”

The scene jumped and swirled back into a cloud of flashing images and faces.

“Who are you?”

Who am I? He couldn’t remember.

A face he recognized swung out of the cloud of images and landed on a body. A new scene unfolded before him. The man’s blond hair and tall face were instantly recognizable: ‘Crater’ from flight school. He earned his callsign from slamming his first landing so hard his gear put three craters into the pad. It took weeks for maintenance to replace the landing plates.

A brief moment of reality smacked him. Ouch! Shooting pain. His head, his chest, his wrists.

“Two-K,” came a voice outside of himself.

He tried to move, but couldn’t. He was bound in a chair in a room somewhere.

“Who are you working for, Commander?” The accented voice was harsh and insistent.

“I- I’m,” his lips could barely move. His tongue felt heavy. There was a rough edge of skin catching on his blistered lips. His jaw hurt. He’d been beaten.

“Yes?” The voice said expectantly.

His vision blurred and fell back into the hurricane of fleeting imagery from his memories—another scene formed around him. He was in the familiar cockpit of the Goblin, his trusty Vulture. The Goblin trailed a cargo ship on approach to a well-hidden compound on some reddish moon with deep valleys.

“I hate these escort missions. I need a challenge!” He heard himself say.

“Beggars can’t be choosers.” A familiar voice replied over comms.

“Eh, I hate that phrase. I’m no beggar.”

“You’re a rookie mercenary. You go where the contracts take you.”

“Yeah, but I can’t get the good contracts because I’m still ’harmless.’ How am I supposed to get my rank up if I don’t see any combat?”

“You could always try resource patrol.”

“Are you kidding me? That’s dangerous!”

He heard a big belly laugh on the other end of the connection. “Risk is part of the job, nimrod.”

“Risk is, but dying isn’t,” he replied. Can’t be a great combat pilot if you’re dead, he remembered thinking.

“Trust me, kid, you’re gonna have to take some risks. Make sure they’re the right ones for the right reasons. Hey, our bird is down safely.”

Jackson looked down to see the cargo vessel they escorted had finished its landing and shut off its engines. “Go find a landing spot outside the compound, and we can go collect.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to” Jackson said with frustration. “I swear, I can’t find any land-able zones on this rock.”

“Oh come on, this can’t be your first planetary landing. Is it?”

“Pfft, no. Why?”

“This ain’t no space station kid. No helpful landing prompts. You musta forgot something.”

He felt heat rush into his face. He had forgotten. He tapped the controls. His COVAS acknowledged, “Landing gear deployed.”

Still in his cockpit, the moon and its distant mountains dissolved into deep red-hued nebula-like clouds. Memories flashed through the swirling veil. His ship shot forward through the clouds into space. A backdrop of gem-like stars appeared.

He pulled back on the flight stick, making a sharp pitch upward, then looped for another attack run. His wingman flew an Adder in formation with him to join the attack. It was the memory of his first mercenary mission.

“Behind you!” A shout came over the comms. Just as the large, sluggish Type-9 cargo vessel came into view, he felt the ship shudder around him. His shields drained, absorbing the laser fire. He rolled the Goblin to evade the incoming fire and dropped chaff to avoid the worst of the damage.

His wingman peeled off to give chase to his attacker. He stayed focused on bringing down the Type-9 shields.

“Thanks, Bulldog!” He shouted and let loose on both burst lasers while flying full throttle towards the lumbering vessel. He waited until the last possible moment before he peeled off the attack.

Checking on his wingmate he saw a Sidewinder attacking. Bulldog was losing shields quickly. Before Jackson completed his loop to start another attack run, he spotted two more Sidewinders bearing down on Bulldog.

He banked the Goblin hard to adjust, heading for the incoming Sidewinders. Instead of attacking Bulldog, both ships turned their attack on him. In seconds his shields were stripped to almost nothing. He reacted, putting full power into the system capacitors. The Sidewinders shot past him, turned about, and continued the joust, attacking him head-on. He hit the boosters to cover the distance in the hopes of shooting past and getting behind them.

Before they passed, he hit the maneuvering thrusters rotating the ship to position for a rear flank attack. Instead, as he flipped the ship around, a Sidewinder slammed into the Goblin from above. It deflected off with an uncontrolled spin and a trajectory that collided with the other Sidewinder causing it to erupt into a fireball. The Goblin’s shields had nothing left, and the hull took the damage straight on. All at once, every system went down. His RemLok helmet deployed. His heart raced. There was a hull breach somewhere near the point of impact, causing the ship to vent atmosphere.

He watched, helpless, as the other two Sidewinders attacked his wingmate. Bulldog was outgunned, but his piloting was better. He outmaneuvered both remaining Sidewinders, taking them out while avoiding any damage.

“TwoK, you still out there?” His comms crackled.

“Still here! You see that!” He shouted, elated and laughing. “I took out one of the Sidewinders without firing a shot and weakened the other, so it was easy for you to finish him off.”

“Yeah,” Bulldog sounded unimpressed. “I saw it. Lucky. How’s the Goblin*?”*

“Dead stick. It’s gonna cost me the entire contract to pay for the damage.”

“Well, the escorts are gone, but the target’s still up. Try running diagnostics, and let’s finish this out.”

The diagnostics got the Goblin back up and running—limping but functional. They regrouped and flanked the Type-9 from both sides. Explosions in sequence erupted across the massive vessel. He felt immense satisfaction watching it rupture into a fireball that shot out debris.

Again he found himself surrounded by the impressions that surfaced and disappeared back into the roiling clouds.

“Commander Dekker, who are you working for?”

The room surrounded him again. A dim light from above illuminated his legs. He felt his head heavy and slumped over. Pain stabbed at him from all over. Drugged, his mind flitted with emotion. Fear and confusion smothered him. Anger took hold, and he shook in the restraints. A pair of hands reached over and held his shoulders from behind. In reflex, he jerked again at the restraints.

“Now, now, Commander. All I need is name,” came the voice with a heavy accent.

The skin that had ripped on his bottom lip from an earlier beating was glued to his upper lip from the blood that had dried and caked. He tried to speak, but the tension at the center kept his lips shut until the tension gave way, ripping the skin from his lip in a painful tear. A whimper escaped his throat.

“Name, Commander.”

“No-” he whimpered. “No one.”

“Have you ever worked for Consular Duryss on Sietae?”

“Duryss?” His head fell to the side then. After a moment of quiet, more emotion overwhelmed him, and he sobbed. Hearing that name filled him with an overwhelming sense of guilt.

“Commander, I need your thumb scan,” a woman’s low insistent voice prodded.

“Huh?” He replied in confusion.

“Your thumbprint.” A datapad shook in front of him, held by a handsome woman with a short-crop hairstyle. She wore a dark grey, almost black, military-style suit. It was a style he couldn’t recall seeing before. It had the fine look of high-importance.

“Right, yes, of course.” He depressed his thumb on the screen as if on autopilot.

“Thank you, Commander,” she looked down at her datapad to confirm his name. “Commander Dekker. Report to me aboard the Decimator for a pre-flight briefing in 90 minutes. If you do well, we may have other contracts for you.”

“You won’t be disappointed,” he heard himself say.

Everything evaporated and reformed into some vaguely familiar room, crowded and noisy. It was a briefing room far too small for the number of pilots chatting amongst themselves.

Looking around the room, he made an offhand comment to the pilot sitting beside him, “Expensive operation they got going on here, don’cha think? All these pilots?”

The middle-aged pilot leaned over, and his dark hair flopped across at the movement, “I heard they’re moving something important. Any guesses what it might be?”

“Nah, I don’t much care. I hate escort missions, but the pay for it was too good to pass up,” he responded.

The short-haired officer in the dark military suit from his previous memory walked to the podium and put down her datapad. She looked down to study it a moment, then looked up and snapped, “Attention! Attention people!”

Half the room began to quiet while the rest continued in a murmur. She smacked a flat palm against the metal bulkhead beside her and shouted, “Eyes up here and shut your word holes.”

The room went so silent, even his breathing felt loud.

“Thank you. Let’s get this briefing started.” She paced behind the podium. “I’m Colonel Reeves. I run the private military units of Sietae Federal Corp. Your mission is convoy escort. This is a large scale operation with seven cargo vessels, each carrying critical parts and equipment bound for stations across the Hyades. You’ll be in a three-ship escort wing that will provide protection for an assigned cargo ship. All ships will depart the station in three hours, and mass jump along this route.”

One of her hands made a quick gesture at something on her datapad and tossed it into the air. A holographic projection zoomed into existence beside her in the form of a floating astrogation map of the Hyades open star cluster. A brilliant orange line extended from an origin star—presumably Sietae, where they were—and bounced to two other stars. Then it spread into multiple thin lines towards other systems.

“Once the fleet arrives in 60 Tauri, each wing will take individual routes to their target destinations. Any questions?”

A voice from behind him spoke out, asking the question on most of their minds, “A force of this size has gotta mean you’re moving a mad lot of high-value cargo. Are you expecting problems?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. Recon shows a build-up of Nu Tauri Mob assets in the region. They don’t know our route, or our break-off point, but you can bet they’ll quickly coordinate if they spot the convoy.”

Jackson remembered realizing why the pay was so good—it was hazard pay.

“Any other questions?”

“Yeah, darlin’,” an older looking pilot down the row cleared his throat and sat up. “D’ya have any clue how well equipped the Nu Tauri Mob is? They got the numbers and lotsa hardware, missy!”

“As well as I know that you won’t have functioning hands to grab your flight stick if you call me ‘darlin’ or ‘missy’ ever again.” The pilot she dressed down seemed to shrink back into his seat.

Jackson had swallowed hard. It wasn’t just a boring escort mission. He couldn’t help but be curious about the cargo they were protecting. What was the Mob after?

The Colonel’s face melted into the cockpit of his Vulture. Outside his canopy, he spotted the cargo ships—his escort targets. It was the biggest convoy he’d ever taken part in. The cargo vessels were accompanied by three escorts: a mix of Cobras, Vipers, and Vultures.

“Hey Dogbreath,” he heard himself say on narrowband-comms. “Any clue what we’re moving here?”

“I mighta heard some things.” He could have asked his other wingmate, but Nonechuck wasn’t the socially friendly type. Dogbreath was a soft-spoken, keep-to-yourself kind of guy. Jackson knew you could always count on the quiet ones to know something.

“Really? Spill it, man!”

“Well, I sort of eavesdropped around the autoloader operator’s break room and heard them chattering.”

“Oh come on man, what’d they say?”

“I heard them mention something about CMM components. And enormous mounting plates giving their loaders a challenge, and,” Dogbreath’s voice dropped low as if afraid someone would overhear on the scrambled narrow-band link. “Radiation baffles.”

“Huge mounting plates, so something big.”

“Probably large-scale weapons. Radiation baffles also mean big guns. Really big guns. Big enough guns you gotta have protection or ya fry.”

“Like for capital ships,” Jackson guessed out loud.

“I don’t know. I didn’t think there were many capital ships stationed in the Hyades. It’s not that important.”

“Yeah, it’s all rural industrial colonies and refinement outposts. Alright, thanks for the heads up, bud.”

“Yeah. Watch your six out there.”

“My thoughts, exactly.”

A squadron communication flashed across his terminal.

> Convoy in position, prep for jump point Bravo.

Jackson pulled up the mission specs on his console to target jump point Bravo: 60 Tauri. A few moments later, his terminal received the coordinated jump command.

> Engage Frameshift.

“See you on the other side, partner,” he said through the comms and tapped the control to start the jump process.

He could hear the build-up from the engine capacitors dumping energy into the drive system. The COVAS countdown began, decorated by flashes from the mass jump of ships disappearing into hyperspace. The Goblin followed, vaulting into a tunnel of its own.

Jackson felt the harness dig into his shoulders from the deceleration out of the inter-system jump. A large white star filled his field of view and seethed with a faint hint of blue at the edges. The sensors came back online, and he pulled the flight stick to maneuver into cruising formation.

With no warning, the Goblin auto-dropped to normal space. His aft shields registered hits, and the view outside the canopy filled with ships in disarray.

With a trained reaction, he targeted the first ship that didn’t register as part of his squadron. He dumped the capacitors into the engines and flipped the Goblin around to point the nose at the target. Of course, he already knew who they were. It was a Nu Tauri Mob ship. They were waiting in ambush. Apparently, they did know the break-off point. The radio was a mess of noisy shouts…

“…freighter Nuria, need immediate assistance…”

“…vack, the Mob is here…”

“…just too many fighters!”

The Goblin’s COVAS added to the chaos, “Taking damage. Shields offline.”

The cannon rounds hitting the hull plating sounded like metal raining behind him. The console sparked leaving smoke in the cabin.

“I got you 2K,” the all-business voice of Nonechuck came over the open wing comms. “Anyone have eyes on the Kerberon?”

Jackson tried to scan his contact list for a Type-7 squawking the right ident codes. Before he could respond, Dogbreath broke over the channel, “Yeah, I got her.”

Nonechuck’s Vulture passed in front of the Goblin, its sturdy arrowhead body in full view outside Jackson’s canopy. Angry flashes blasted from the dual rail guns mounted at the front. The enemy Eagle was no match under the assault. It began an uncontrolled multi-axis roll before blowing apart.

Looking down at his instruments to assess the damage, Jackson found most of the systems still intact. But, the hull integrity readout was down to 57%. The Goblin had taken a severe beating.

“Alright, boys,” Nonechuck shouted. “On me. Focus on my targets. Let’s make sure the Kerberon can make it out.”

“She’s on the run,” Dogbreath pointed out. The Kerberon was making an escape attempt out of the area eight kilometers away but was taking fire from a couple of bandits behind it.

“I see it. Looks like a couple of Cobras. Alright, let’s take ‘em out. Target the one on the right.”

“I’m on it,” Jackson responded, rerouting power to his engines and boosting. The Goblin shot out ahead of the wing and quickly closed the distance. As soon as the first Cobra came into range, he pulled the trigger.

Nonechuck barked, “No, wait for us to-”

“Too late!” Jackson called back. His twin gimbaled pulse-lasers were quickly chipping away at the Cobra’s shields. His target peeled off its attack from the Kerberon and came about directly toward him. The other Cobra continued to lay into the Kerberon, but its shields were still holding.

Jackson’s shields had come back online in time for the Cobra’s multi-cannon strike to bring them back down. The Goblin and the Cobra were in a joust, racing toward each other. Tracer fire from the oncoming Cobra shot past Jackson’s cockpit, like shooting stars. Each impact required minor course corrections.

He watched the forward flank attacks from Dogbreath and Nonechuck. They forced the Cobra to break off its offensive to evade the incoming fire.

Jackson glanced right to see the Kerberon still taking fire. He aimed the Goblin toward the Cobra running away now that it was severely outgunned. His mind was torn. Take out the overpowered Cobra, or pull the other off of the Kerberon.

As if his hesitation was noticed, Nonechuck piped up, “Alright, stay on it! Let’s splat this one quickly and get back to the Kerb.”

But Jackson couldn’t help it; he targeted the Kerberon to check its status. Shields were failing. Routing energy back into the engines, he burned his boost thrusters for rapid maneuvering toward the Kerberon’s attacker.

“Jackson, no! I just said to stay on it!” Nonechuck shouted.

“The Kerberon’s about to lose her shields!” The Goblin closed into range. Rerouting power back into the weapons, Jackson let loose.

The Cobra continued to press its attack, lashing at the shields of the Kerberon.

The attack wasn’t enough to get the Mob pilot’s attention. He dove the Goblin between the attacker and the Kerberon. Deftly managing the controls, he pitched upward while flying along the same trajectory to keep his weapons on target. A flash burst from the Cobra, and two missiles let loose toward the Kerberon. The Goblin slid into their flight path. Jackson felt the impact and was swallowed in a blinding explosion.

He found himself floating in his flight chair in empty space—his RemLock auto-deployed. The console before him, the cockpit, his ship—it was all was gone. The ejection sequence put him into an uncontrolled spin. He pulled the emergency pod control, and a mylar-like canopy ballooned around him.

Everything went dark.

A dim light appeared above him. Looking up to see the source, he realized he was back in that ‘other’ reality. A figure slid close.

“So, there we are.” The accented voice spoke near his right ear.

“Wha?” Jackson could barely speak. His mouth hung open with a line of drool falling from his lips. It took effort to fight against the heaviness of his eyelids. He could just make out colored shapes around the room.

“You are agent of Consular Alden Duryss.”

“No,” he whimpered. “I just-” he could barely form the words. “…for hire.” His head throbbed in pain either from brutality earlier or after-effects of the drugs.

“Yes, it all comes out now, Commander Dekker.” He heard the voice and movement of the figure pace around him, finally coming to a stop in front of him.

“What else?” The accented voice asked.

“No, no, no,” it was all he could say and just kept saying it.

“What else, Commander?”

“No,” he cried.

He could hear the air rush out of the way as a flat hand made contact with the side of his face. Searing-hot pain that turned icy cold raced up his left arm. Again he was swallowed up by memories as the drugs, like a tether, pulled him back down into semi-consciousness. The images raced by him. No longer a swirl, but a blinding rush as if he was in a frameshift tunnel through his history. A dim star centered in his vision, though distant, it rapidly grew into a blinding light that at once flashed into a brilliant blue-white star.

He found himself in a much larger ship with a huge sweeping console spread before him. He was on the Para Bellum. The sensors were dancing with signals.

In front of him spread a field of icy boulders. The half dome of a rusty colored gas giant rose above the expansive plane of ice rings. He looked left out of the canopy and saw a long row of more than twelve or so ships. To the right were a dozen more ships, including an Anaconda. From their vantage point, they could see a ship in the distance weaving between the rocks. Two fighters gave chase.

The familiar voice of Colonel Reeves came across the squadron comms channel, “Scorpio, Scythe: this is getting us nowhere. Break off pursuit and fall back to join the fleet.”

Jackson caught the movement of the two ships arc out above the plane of ice.

“Fleet, prepare special ordinance Gamma. Target the area in grid two-two-one. Time to flush her out.”

Complying, Jackson went through the motions. He switched hardpoint configurations and a new targeting reticle appeared. Touching the flight stick with his finger tips, he made minute adjustments. A nice sized rock lined up in his target indicator. He placed his finger at the trigger and waited.

Focused on his target, he kept a steady gaze. The amber reticle glowed back at his eyes.

Reeves’s voice gave the final command over the comm channel, “All ships, cleared hot. Fire.”

With an automatic response, Jackson pulled the trigger.

Streams of missiles painted the darkness with bright white trails that grew toward the chunks of ice. It was an incredible sight to behold. The scale of the assault was mesmerizing. He watched the trail of his missile as it neared its target. Something had emerged near it. A ship! It appeared from behind another chunk of ice. It was bigger than the Cobra they were trying to capture. An innocent civilian—probably there mining—now caught up in the middle of their assault. The slow ship made a desperate, futile attempt to escape.

He watched his missile disappear. Moments later, the field of ice erupted into an expanding cloud of icy, rocky chunks of debris. Both ships were caught in the growing debris cloud.

Neither came out.