Blue Star Marine Boxed Set Read online

  Leaping up the short stairway to the main deck, Boyd felt the sudden turn of the Fist. He collided with the wall and continued running, half-sliding along the wall with the entrance hatch to the flight deck in view.

  He ran into the flight deck and skidded around the command chair toward the flight console.

  “Where’s the captain?” Noland asked from the command chair.

  Boyd dropped into the pilot’s seat and brought all navigation systems and drive systems onto the flight console in front of him.

  “He’s right behind me,” Boyd said. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Boyd looked up at the main holo-stage. The Skarak ship was bearing down on the rear of the small flotilla. The Silence was under power and racing away toward the belt in the inner system.

  The Faction gunship with the hail cannon mounted on top was turning to face the oncoming Skarak ship, its outline like a black hole in the darkness of space.

  The two Faction warships were turning and taking up flanking positions. The Plague Crimson was moving vertically up from the ecliptic and turning to follow the Silence.

  “Make our heading south of the ecliptic,” Poledri said, striding onto the flight deck. “The Faction ships will engage the alien and cover the Silence’s retreat.”

  “I’ve already engaged the alien,” Thresh said from the weapons console. “All hail cannon batteries firing. High-density hail, full spread with high-yield explosive rounds set to detonate in the face of that ship.”

  Boyd checked the holo-stage and saw the signal from the high-yield explosive rounds racing toward the oncoming Skarak ship. They detonated and scattered a curtain of incandescent shrapnel across the path of the ship’s advance.

  Boyd angled the nose of the Fist to the southern side of the ecliptic and dropped a thousand kilometers before bringing the ship around and pointing it back at the target.

  The Skarak ship crashed through the hail curtain that Thresh had thrown up in its face. Tiny explosions rippled and flickered across its long, forward rapiers.

  But the ship came on, seemingly unaffected by the impact.

  The gunship advanced on the center of the Faction formation and moved into range of the Skarak ship. The hail cannon delivered a single massive bolt of hail that slammed into the Skarak, flickering over its black hull.

  “Flank spitz guns to full power, Captain,” Thresh said. “Waiting on effective range.”

  Boyd moved the ship closer to the alien craft, the Plague Crimson high above on the northern plain of the ecliptic—three Faction ships that had been with the Silence advancing in a line, their weapons pointing at the advancing alien ship.

  Both battleships fired their lasers. The ripples of pink and purple through one of the green laser bolts told Boyd that one of the ship’s emitter core was out of sync and the laser was operating on a low setting, but it was still a mighty blast, enough to do significant damage to any ship unlucky enough to be in its way.

  And then the pair of high-energy laser blasts from the battleships met their target.

  The bolts slammed between the forward rapiers and struck the ship front and center. An expert piece of targeting. The sensor nodes and booms on the one battleship was assisting the targeting accuracy of both ships.

  The beam blasted away several of the Skarak ship’s long rapiers from the main body of the craft, and they tumbled away, spewing blue light from their broken ends.

  Cheers went up across the flight deck on the Fist and Boyd couldn’t help joining in with the celebrations, clenching his fist and punching the air. They had struck a blow against this attacker. Whoever these Skarak were, they knew they were in a fight and would surely back away now that they were confronted with overwhelming firepower.

  Then all ships were in effective range. The Fist opened with her rapid-fire spitz guns in a series of white energy beads racing away from the multiple gun banks.

  “Engaging with hail cannons,” Thresh said.

  “Get in closer,” Poledri said. “Our spitz guns are no good at this range. The pulse rounds are dissipating before they reach the target. Hold fire on all spitz guns, give them another blast of the hail cannon and get in close.”

  Boyd replied affirmatively and pushed the Fist to greater speed, racing in on the lower side of the Skarak ship that moved within killing range, surrounded by Faction ships.

  And then the Skarak struck. A crackling, lancing beam erupted from the front section of the ship, from within the rapiers. The crackling blue lightning wrapped around a fierce white fire slammed into the gunship. It instantly erupted into a white plasma ball as the drive core containment field failed. The antimatter explosion consumed the ship entirely, leaving only charred fragments in the boiling plasma.

  “Open fire,” Poledri said, leaning forward in his command chair. “Open up with everything we’ve got.”

  “Firing now,” Thresh said. “Our spitz guns are on the edge of optimal range. Reducing the frequency of fire to prioritize power. Hail cannon salvo away, concentrated field of fire. I’m targeting a ten meters square section on the target’s lower hull.”

  “Fist moving into effective combat range now,” Boyd said. “Reducing speed to combat engagement levels. Maneuvering thrusters are going to keep us mobile and out of range of their primary weapon, but it’s going to get a bit bumpy.”

  And then the Skarak fired again. The crackling beam struck one of the Faction battleships, and it exploded instantly.

  “It’s a slaughter,” Poledri said. “Hit them again, harder.”

  Boyd moved the Fist in close in a side-to-side and up-and-down movement, jerking the Fist violently back and forth to confuse the Skarak targeting systems.

  “It’s a hit,” Thresh said. “Strike confirmation. The Fist has hit its mark. Firing again. Same target. We smashed a hole in their hull the size of a Curveball field.”

  And then the second Faction warship exploded. Sensor booms tumbled away from the boiling plasma fire explosion.

  The Skarak ship slowly turned its rapiers toward the Plague Crimson high above the Odium Fist.

  The Crimson opened fire, its hail cannons and spitz guns blasting out at peak fire rate. It backed away slowly from the alien ship that was moving toward them.

  The Skarak ship took the rain of spitz gun and hail cannon fire, the flickering explosions over its dark hull lighting up the damage to its long rapiers, but it did not slow it or deter its advance.

  “Increasing speed,” Boyd said. “We have to try and keep up with it if we going to hit it hard enough to stop it.”

  “No,” Poledri said. “Hold fire. Back us away, Boyd. Set our heading to the outer system. Noland, open channel to the Crimson.”

  Poledri climbed out of his command chair walked toward the holo-stage. He stood next to Boyd in his pilot seat and looked up at the image of the dark alien craft.

  “Who the krav are they?” Poledri said.

  “Captain Bizanni of the Plague Crimson for you now, Captain,” Noland said.

  Poledri stepped around Boyd at the flight console and stepped up to the holo-stage. The image of Captain Bizanni appeared as a flickering holo-image.

  “Get out of there now, Biz,” Poledri said. “The Silence is clear. No need to fight to the last man on this one.”

  “I just lost my primary reactor exchange,” Bizanni said calmly, too calmly. Resigned. “I’ve got an engineer down there now trying to set up an emergency shunt. My drive is stuttering, but at least I’ve got power to all my weapons systems.”

  “Move to support,” Poledri said, turning to Boyd. He pointed at the image of the Crimson.

  “Don’t do it, Poledri,” Captain Bizanni said. “I’ll give them a fight. I’ll cover your escape. Tell my wife and my boys not to expect me home for supper. Bizanni out.”

  “How long until we’re in optimal range?” Poledri asked. He leaned on the flight deck and looked down at his pilot.

  Boyd checked the data. “Thirty seconds, and then the spitz gu
ns will be at maximum effectiveness. Moving in now.”

  “Firing again with kinetic hail. All guns loaded with high-density rounds. We’ll kick these Skarak in the balls before they realize what’s happening.”

  The holo-stage showed the massive alien ship climbing toward the Crimson, and the Fist chasing up behind with its hail cannons pointed forward, all blasting out huge gouts of high-density hail.

  And then the blue lightning beam erupted from the front of the alien ship and connected with the Crimson. The flickering blue energy rippled along the ship, marking out the shape of its deflector shielding. Before the energy completely dissipated, it found its way to the drive section and continued to arc and crackle there until it faded to nothing.

  Boyd looked up at the holo-image, eyes wide, hopeful that the Faction ship had survived the blast.

  And then a second blast from the Skarak connected, and the Plague Crimson vanished, replaced by a white ball of boiling plasma.

  Finally, the alien vessel slowly turned toward the Fist.

  “Get us out of here, Boyd. Take weapons offline. Throw everything into the drive. Head for the sphere and be quick about it.”

  Boyd didn’t even need to wait for Poledri to finish his sentence. He’d reset the heading and was kicking the Fist to full power. The thrusters shifted the Fist to its new heading, the deck plate vibrating underneath everyone’s feet on the flight deck, twisted to within a micron of tolerance.

  “We just lost hull stability field and deflector shielding,” Noland said. “Extreme maneuvering has shorted it out. I’ll have it back online in a moment.”

  And then the Fist leapt to high speeds, racing away from the burning wrecks of the Faction warships, toward the outer system, the hiding place for Faction ships. Usually, the Faction ships were hiding from the Union, ready to strike out at any passing freighter or with a massed attack on an unsuspecting Union warship. But now the outer asteroid sphere represented safety from an aggressive alien attacker.

  Boyd set the Fist to full drive power and locked its heading in. He checked the data on the alien ship. As they retreated, the ship turned to follow.

  “She is right on our tail. Looks like she wants to have a clean sweep of victories in this encounter. Something tells me she doesn’t want to leave anyone alive. No one to tell the tale.” Boyd tried to get another scrap of power out of drive system, but the Fist was operating at its absolute peak.

  “How long before we reach the edge of the sphere?” Poledri asked, walking back to his command chair. He was calm, but Boyd had never seen him in retreat, so he didn’t know if this was maybe partially shock.

  “We’ll get there before we’re in range of that weapon,” Boyd said, “as long as I can keep the drive operating at this level. When was the last time she had a service?”

  “It’s been a while,” Poledri said. “But now that we’ve got a new engineer on board, I guess we will be making it a priority as soon as we get clear.”

  Boyd looked at the asteroid field ahead, the sphere that marked the extreme outer boundary of the Scorpio System—a countless number of large and small rocky and icy bodies drifting lazily around the central blue giant star. And dead ahead was one large asteroid.

  “Captain, bring the weapons back online and put a few spitz gun rounds into that asteroid. It should be enough to smash it to bits. Maybe we can use the debris to hide from the Skarak.”

  “Good idea, Boyd. Guess I’m glad I didn’t kill you now. Thresh, give that asteroid a blast, would you?”

  Boyd looked up at the holo-stage and the large asteroid tumbling lazily across it. And then the spitz gun pulse rounds burst forward from the Odium Fist and tore it apart. The white rounds rippled over its surface, punching the asteroid to destruction. It exploded in a billowing cloud of water vapor, and ice and rock fragments spread out to encompass several smaller asteroids that orbited with and around the larger body.

  “How’s that deflector shielding coming along, Noland?” Poledri asked.

  Noland shuffled nervously and muttered to himself as his hands moved across his console. “I should have it back on in a few minutes.”

  Boyd checked his speed and heading. He checked the location of the Skarak ship that was fast gaining on them. In a few seconds, the Skarak would have the Fist in range of its weapon.

  “We don’t have a few minutes.” Boyd pushed the Fist hard. “They will be on top of us any second.”

  The Skarak ship began to glow at the tips of the forward rapiers. The Fist charged toward the smashed debris of the asteroid. Caught between the crackling blue fire of the Skarak and the debris of the smashed asteroid, the Odium Fist was out of luck and out of time.

  9

  Major Featherstone stepped up to the wide entrance to the Resolute’s medical bay. The facility had thankfully had little use these last few months. He paused for a moment at the entrance before he stepped through the sanitation field. He felt the field tingle over the hair on his exposed flesh—his beard stubble and the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

  Around the corner from the wide reception area was the treatment bay. A line of four treatment pods lay against one wall, and one was powered and occupied. Standing next to the treatment pod was Cronin.

  “Anything from our prisoner yet?” Featherstone asked as he looked down at the Faction member under the containment field.

  “Patient,” Cronin said, correcting the major while checking the man’s condition.

  “He’s your patient, Doc, but he is my prisoner,” Featherstone said, idly glancing around the med-bay. It was clean and bright, and everything smelled fresh. But the major had seen Blue Star Marine medical bays in utter chaos. He had too many memories of med-bays filled with screams and blood and severed limbs, all following engagements with Faction extremists.

  “Your prisoner will survive, Major.” Cronin finished checking the prisoner’s notes and stepping away from the pod.

  “Did you find out any more about what happened down on that ship?” Featherstone asked, looking at the prisoner.

  “I have had to sedate him pretty heavily. He was raving. It seems like the Skarak, whoever they are, got inside his head, but because he was comatose, he couldn’t respond to their siren call. To be honest, although it’s not really my field, I think this man is going to have more mental problems than physical ones. I don’t think he will be right in the head again.”

  Featherstone nodded. “Send me all your notes. I expect Union Command will want to see everything as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cronin said. He walked around the corner from the treatment area to the reception area, where walking wounded could be patched up, where everything from a hangnail to a first-degree plasma burn could be treated. It was also where Doc maintained his medical log.

  “Are you just going to leave this prisoner, Doc?” Featherstone said, pointing at the prisoner and following Cronin around the corner.

  Cronin stepped up to his console and began tapping away, sending all the relevant files to the major. “He’s not going anywhere, Major. He’s got enough tranq in him to keep him out for a week.”

  Featherstone walked back to the treatment area and the pod containing his prisoner. The first Faction prisoner he had taken alive in a long time. The Faction rarely submitted to capture. He looked down at the sleeping man. His face appeared to be twitching, his eyes moving wildly under his closed lids. One eyelid flickered open and shut every few seconds. His body seemed to be racked with nervous twitching. If the doc hadn’t assured him the man was completely sedated, he would have thought this man was about to jump up and start running laps of the Resolute.

  “And you are quite sure he’s out for the count?” Featherstone called.

  “I might not be very good with a pulse rifle, but I know my way around a med-pod. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll stake my reputation on it.”

  Doc Cronin’s reputation as a frontline medic was second to none. He was the best in the Blue Star
Marine battalion, and Major Featherstone knew it.

  The major took one last look at his prisoner and then stepped away.

  “All med data on your prisoner is packaged up for you, sir,” Cronin said. “I’ll get back to the command deck. Anything back from our scans of that Faction ship?”

  Featherstone shook his head. “Nothing we didn’t already know from the look of the thing. Just a beat-up old Faction ship. If the Skarak hadn’t attacked them, they probably would have blown themselves up with a reactor failure. They were showing multiple failures across all primary systems. The whole thing was running on secondary backups.”

  “Makes you wonder what they think they are going to achieve with a bunch of battered old ships. Maybe we should cut them loose from the Union. I doubt the Faction would survive a month on their own.”

  “That’s borderline factionalism talk, Doc,” Featherstone said. Then his personal communicator chirped with a message from the command deck.

  Featherstone marched out of the med-bay. He opened the communicator on his holo-stage as he walked along a corridor toward the command deck.

  “Major Featherstone here. Go ahead,”

  “Incoming message from battalion command.” Knole’s holo-image hovered above Featherstone’s wrist. “Colonel Lawrence for you, sir.”

  “Put it up on the command deck stage.” Featherstone turned a corner and walked a few paces along the cross-corridor until he reached the entrance to the command deck. He was walking in huge strides as he entered the deck, directly behind his command chair high on its plinth.

  Stepping around the command chair without breaking his stride, he walked toward the main holo-stage that dominated the front of the command deck.

  The stage currently showed the lifeless Faction ship floating dead in the void. In the corner of the holo-image was a small holding screen with a still image of the colonel waiting for Featherstone.