J. Austin Wilde and Fission Park Press proudly present: THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT -Part Two- By J. Austin Wilde, K.B.C.S. Super Critical Reactor Axe Man Fission Park Press wildeman@psn.net Copyright 1998 The characters and situations of THE BLACK MAGIC PROJECT are the creation and property of the author, who would ask that any reproduction of this work, other than for the purpose of critical review, first receive his written permission. This is a work of fiction intended for eventual publication (I hope), and while I couldn't afford to sue anyone for infringement at the moment, it wouldn't stop me from finding out where you live and breaking your kneecaps... :p As this is a work intended for publication, Comments & Criticism would be greatly appreciated. A good literary agent wouldn't hurt, either. _________________________________________________________________________ Chapter One 27 Neptune 4193 CE, The Rim States, near the Jasrecht Kingdom border. The Antichrist sailed on through hyperspace. The vast expanse of stellar dust and gas known as the Great Divide was behind them now, and they were in the Rim States. The Rim States were a loose federation of colonial territories under the protection of the United Cluster Coalition. The Rim States were also a good place to be if things were a little hot for you elsewhere. The numerous little fiefdoms and states had little regard for the law outside their own borders, and were so far removed from what was considered 'civilized' human space that few people core-ward much cared about them. Even the more distant Jasrecht and Ramosian nations were considered better places to live. Considering their recent stunt on Berent, this state of mind suited Damage Incorporated well enough. * * * Phineas hummed to himself as he stripped and cleaned his beamrifle. R'Mallo brooded in the lower rack in the outboard, staring out into hyperspace. Music played over the sound system, one of Quattromo's late period piano concertos. Antonio heated up left-overs in the microwave. It smelled good, something James had made yesterday. They all took turns with the meals, but James was by far the best cook among them. He pulled his plate from the microwave as James walked in from the aft staterooms, and threw himself down on their small sofa. "You'll make someone a great wife someday," Antonio said to him. James smirked at him in reply. "Ha. Ha." The blonde starfighter pilot pointed at the plate accusingly. "You'd better save some of that for Griswold in case he wakes up. You know how cranky he gets when he's got a hangover." "Cranky? Homicidal is closer to the truth. Anyway, it's his own fault he got drunk and slept through supper last night." "Ah heard that, ya struttin' peacock sissy!" Griswold rumbled from his rack across the narrow compartment. His legs and feet dangled over the edge because even the oversized rack was too small for him. "Uh, there's still some left, Griswold," Antonio offered. The Giant pawed at his mustache. "Naw, just throw me a beer." Phineas grinned from the rack above R'Mallo. "A little hair of the dog that bit you, Griswold?" "Shut yer hole, ya clown," came Griswold's curt reply. * * * The cockpit of The Antichrist was dimly lit. Crazy Eddie claimed that he preferred it that way, though the fact that he was often too lazy to replace the lights when they failed was probably closer to the truth. The blue glow of hyperspace suffused the compartment; a vast whirlpool of of tachyons before them, and visible only because they interacted with the alignment fields that surrounded the ship to form visible light and low frequency x-rays as they decayed. Many of the sleek touch-sensitive configurable control consoles in the cockpit had been replaced with whatever could be found at hand, access panels were removed, and several mismatched coats of grey paint competed for dominance along the bulkheads, lending the cockpit a disjointed and jerry-rigged look. Exposed cable runs poked out from behind nude supermodel pin-ups. A large plastic crate had been bolted between and just behind the two main pilots' seats, and acted as a makeshift chair complete with webbing strap for a seat-belt. A pair of fuzzy dice hung from the swing arm display above the large circular cockpit window. Crazy Eddie sat in his chair, asleep. Weird Harold occupied the copilot/navigator position on the starboard side, playing chess against himself. If asked, he would declare that he frequently fought himself to a stalemate. Andy appeared from a small airtight door aft. His dark chocolate colored skin was smudged with black grease and dark blue smears of hydraulic fluid. He wiped his hands on a rag and regarded Harold. "Big Greaser sprang another leak," he announced. Weird Harold looked up from his game. "Bad?" "Not really," Andy replied. "But one of these days we're going to have to do an overhaul. I can only do so much with permatex and teflon tape." "No problem, man," Harold assured. "There'll be plenty of time on Galloway for that sort of thing." "We can hope. It's either rebuild Big Greaser or cough up for a a new Main Computer -preferably a JOSHUA unit." "You know the answer to *that,* man," Harold replied with rare inflection in his voice. It was a grimly accepted fact that their financial state would never be adequate to purchase a new JOSHUA model Main Computer to replace their frayed NATHAN unit -and still keep their weapons systems in top shape. It was much cheaper to keep Big Greaser running instead. NATHAN units were skittish in the best of times, and most Horizons in Coalition Naval service had them replaced with reliable JOSHUA models during the Pallas Uthar War. The Antichrist hadn't been one of them. Its NATHAN unit had finally crashed, taking the flight control systemry with it, resulting in the scout's decommissioning. At the end of the war, Crazy Eddie bought the Antichrist as scrap. Then he, Weird Harold, and Andy painstakingly rebuilt the control systems, and tied them into a big, dumb, fluidic processor they named Big Greaser. Big Greaser worked well, if a bit slower, and more importantly, didn't freak out on them during stressful moments. After several months, Weird Harold revived NATHAN. The computer was still incapable of flight control, though it resumed control of the fusion reactor, life support, and other autonomous functions. "Well a man can dream, can't he?" Andy asked wistfully. He finished wiping off his hands and gestured to one of the control consoles. Harold turned to look. The Navigation display flashed and jumped with colored symbols. Weird Harold silenced the annunciator with a wave of his hand across the display. Eddie's eyes opened halfway. "We there already?" he asked sleepily. "Sure, man. Dantiin system outer marker. Estimated time of realspace entry fourteen minutes," Harold replied. "Let's tell them we're here," Eddie said, and punched at the commo panel. "Galloway Traffic, this is Tango-November-Victor-Alpha-Six-Six-Six- India, out of Berent. I am system-inbound at superluminal on the outer marker. I request acknowledgement and approach instructions, over." Instead of hearing the Galloway Traffic Control station or any in-system beacons, they received a constant warbling tone over the speakers. He repeated his message, receiving only that same warbling tone. "What the hell...?" Weird Harold shrugged in reply. Eddie tried once more. "Galloway Traffic, this is Six-Six-Six-India. Anyone awake down there?" Once again, there was no reply. "That's weird," Eddie remarked. "I know this is a jerkwater system, but at the very least we should have triggered an automated response." "Working on it, man," Harold answered. He entered a few instructions into the commo panel. "Got a hyperwave message outbound. Repeats every four seconds. It's compressed text only, no A/V." "Play it," Eddie ordered. "Puttin' it on the swing arm, man." The swing arm display read: UNDER ATTACK BY MILITARY FORCES OF THE JASRECHT KINGDOM. REQUEST URGENT DISPATCH OF COALITION SUPPORT. "What the hell's going on?" Eddie asked to no one in particular. "Beats me, man. It's not even being transmitted on any emergency channels." Eddie scowled at the message. "This doesn't sound like squabbling colonists." "What's up?" Andy asked. "Dunno just yet," Eddie grunted, studying his instruments. "Harold, get on the EW panel and see if we can find out what's in system. I'll monitor the paralight rig. Tell James to get up here." "On it, man," Harold droned in his monotone. Andy went below. James and the rest were playing cards around the low table in the living area. Andy popped in from forward, and Paul threw him a beer. The engineer set it on the table. "James, you better come to the cockpit." The blonde pilot looked up from his hand. "Something wrong?" "The Coalition colony is sending a distress signal on the hyperwave." James got to his feet. "I'd say something was wrong then. Can you contact them?" "Harold is trying." "How long before we drop back into realspace?" "We should be leaving hyperspace in about ten to fifteen minutes." "Well, I guess we'll see what's up when we get deeper in system," James said. The others in the living area began to stow The Antichrist for combat on instinct. "I'll go see what Eddie wants," he added. Up in the cockpit, Eddie and Weird Harold studied the sensor suite and Electronics Warfare rig for any clues as to what was taking place on Galloway. Exploration Corps Atlas archive data was displayed on the swing arm. The data depicted a three dimensional presentation of the system adjusted for the current Standard date, and gave other navigational specifics such as beacons and Traffic Control channels. "What's going on, Eddie?" James asked as he climbed the last rung of the ladder. "No beacons, no message traffic. It's like no one's monitoring the system. I can't get the Rim States colony or the Jasrecht colony." Eddie shrugged. "It's like they're both wiped out." "Pirate raid? The Ramosians?" James offered. "Galloway's a good sized colony, man," Weird Harold said in his tired monotone. "Both colonies had dedicated militias with starfighter support -according to the archives. Pirates would find easier pickings elsewhere. Besides, man, Galloway is an agricultural world; limited industry -local consumer finished goods. The only thing they export besides foodstuffs is lumber and paper products." "That ain't exactly pirate booty," Crazy Eddie finished. "No, it's not," James admitted. "What about the Ramosians then?" "Dantiin's a ways out of the way for them," Eddie replied. "The distress signal specifies the Jasrechts as being the assailants." "Why?" James asked, baffled. "That's the big question. We were supposed to be assisting the Rim States militia because they were having problems with the Jasrechts. Maybe things got out of hand," Eddie offered, although it was clear he was merely speculating at this point. "You're saying they'd blow the Treaty of Manassas over some timberland?" James asked incredulously. "It's colonists, man," Harold said in tone that tried to explain everything. "Well anyway, we're running out of free space soon," Crazy Eddie declared. "I'm going to drop us out of hyperspace on the leeward end of the big gas giant, Dantiin Six. We'll take a peek with our EMS suite and go from there. Harold, anything new on the hyperwave?" Weird Harold studied the commo panel for a second. "Same-o same-o, man. Nothing local other than the distress signal. All out-system traffic is routine..." A brief stream of alphanumerics scrolled across his display. "Whoa, man. Got a flash of encrypted. Picoburst; military comms. Range is indeterminate. Bearing is vague, but I'd put it along a track towards Jasrecht space." "It might be nothing, but then again..." Eddie said, rare caution in his voice. "I'll get R'Mallo, and we'll be ready in the fighters," James said, and started for the ladder. "How close do you want us to get?" Eddie asked. "As close as you can get us," James replied. "Aye." Eddie picked up Antichrist's rarely used intercom mic. Feedback whistled painfully over the Horizon's speakers. "Rig ship for Battle and Emissions Quiet. Everyone into your pressure suits 'cause we're in the shit once again." A chorus of curses rang from below. Eddie cracked a grin. "Take the helm while I get suited up, Harold." "Sure, man." CHAPTER TWO 27 Neptune 4193, the Dantiin System. The Antichrist shuddered as it dropped out of hyperspace in a spray of short lived particles and cerenkov gammas. They were in realspace again, about twelve light minutes from Galloway. The planet was a small blue-green light in Antichrist's 500mm telescope. The Horizon scout trained its full passive EMS array in the space around the planet, noting nothing of interest. "Harold, charge up the active EMS array; normal imaging radar frequencies," Eddie ordered. "At this range?" Harold asked. "Resolution won't be very good." "I don't want to announce our presence with a full paralight sweep, I just want to know what's in orbit around the planet." It seemed reasonable enough. Weird Harold tapped a few keys on the Sensory panel. "Sure man. Emitting now." The Antichrist continued on in space. Twenty-four minutes later, the return echo of the pulse reached their passive array. The data presented itself on the small sensory display. "No spacecraft. Not even satellites. Weird," Eddie said after a moment's review. "It's like the system's dead, man." "Whatever happened here, I think we missed it," Eddie observed. "Everyone can get out of their suits and stand down from Battlestations," he said over the intercom. James' voice crackled over the intercom, "R'Mallo and I are going to stay ready in the fighters. When we come within geosynchronous orbit, we'll disengage and go down the well for a look." "Aye," Eddie agreed. "We're going to pop back into hyperspace for a few minutes to get us closer. Shift hyperdrive to manual," he ordered Harold. "On it, man." Harold's fingers played across the Navigationals. "Hyperdrive at your discretion, man." "Aye," Eddie replied, placing his right hand on the red safety-boxed control. He lifted the box cover up to expose the switch. A warning in a dull synthetic voice played over the speakers. Eddie ignored it. "Here we go," he muttered. The Antichrist jumped into hyperspace as he stabbed at the control. The Horizon shuddered again, a little rougher this time, as it interacted with dust and gas in Dantiin Six's turbulent magnetic fields. Eddie ticked the seconds off in his head before releasing the control. The Antichrist lurched back into realspace as the ship's nuclear potential bled off into hyperspace. They were now only half a light-second from Galloway. The planet's light side greeted them, filling the cockpit's large circular window. It was a pretty world, filled with white clouds and deep blue seas of liquid water. Its land mass was about a third of the planet's surface, in four major continents. "So where's this colony supposed to be?" Paul asked as he topped the ladder. "I'm looking for it now," Eddie said. "Although a lack of navigational aids is not speeding the search." "Hey, man, I've got some short wave radio signals," Weird Harold announced. "They're real faint; I think they're coming from the other side of the planet. I'm just getting scatter off the ionosphere." Eddie consulted the atlas, and compared the images with what he saw before him through the window. "We're on the Rim States side, so your signals must be the Jasrechts." Harold yawned. "Yup. Standard Jasrecht protocols. Gettin' some more of that picoburst crypto on the hyperwave, too." Eddie took control of Antichrist's main 500mm telescope. "I've got this thing trained on the colony's location, but there's too much cloud cover over it. It could be smoke for all I can tell. Harold, see if you can punch up an EMS scan of the area." "Sure thing, man. EMS profile to follow." James called over the intercom again. "R'Mallo and I are going to take a look." "Watch it there, ace," Paul admonished. Down in the docking compartment, James sealed his cockpit and engaged the armored canopy shield. Displays flicked to life at the main console, and a virtual image of the starfighter's surroundings was projected upon the canopy interior. Preflight checks were complete. His eyes closed for a moment as he caught his focus. Blackshrike's two fusion reactors ignited with sharp *cracks* behind him. The muted roar of helium plasma stirred him in his acceleration chair. Instruments shifted as the starfighter switched to internal power. Another brief thought resulted in a loud *snap* as the umbilicals disconnected. The steady thumping of air compressors sounded distantly through the armored cockpit as the docking compartment depressurized. As the compressors stopped, the hollow *thuds* of the docking compartment ventral hatches unlocking and opening reverberated through his gut. "" James asked in the ramanah'han tongue. The olive colored Flamechaser starfighter, J'Razin Kan sat ready aft of Blackshrike. "" R'Mallo's helmeted head said on a tiny window of the canopy display. "Blackshrike detaching!" James announced. He felt the sudden surge of acceleration play tug-of-war with his body as the black starfighter dropped free of The Antichrist's gravity field. Blackshrike surged ahead on four plumes of blue-white plasma. Galloway grew in size outside his canopy. It was good to be free in space again. He rolled for the hell of it, watching Galloway spin before him. Behind him came R'Mallo in J'Razin Kan. The Flamechaser was a beautiful starfighter, its lines daring and exotic. Coming by it for R'Mallo had not been cheap, but the ratalshan pilot had vindicated the purchase in a single dogfight. "Watch the skies my friend, there's time for fancy flying later," R'Mallo scolded him over the tactical net. James grinned. "Feels good doesn't it?" R'Mallo rolled J'Razin Kan wing over wing and smiled. "It does." The two starfighters fell towards the planet. "I don't see anything up here but us," James said after ten minutes of scanning. "Let's try a high level pass over the colony, say about twenty klicks up." "I doubt we'll see more than The Antichrist could at that altitude," R'Mallo replied. "That might be true, but if someone shoots at us, we'll have a little more of a warning, now won't we?" "Correct as usual, my friend." "Don't sweat it too much, you guys," Crazy Eddie broke in over the tac-net. "The atlas says they didn't have any kind of planetary defenses that could reach you from 20 klicks up. Low level point defense guns and a few low altitude SAM batteries at the most." "All the same I'd rather play it safe," James replied. "Well it's your ass, I guess," Eddie conceded. "And I like it just the way it is," James concluded. Both starfighters made reentry burns to put them over the colony at an altitude of twenty thousand meters -at the very edge of Galloway's troposphere. No communications greeted them as they fell deep into the atmospheric envelope, no sensors probed for them as they neared the colony. All was silent across the EMS bands. Blackshrike's telescopic video unit replayed their high altitude supersonic pass over the colony. Even with visual enhancement there was little to be seen. When James replayed the image in longer wavelengths, down into the infrared range, a cold lump formed in his throat. "Agzsmot!" he cursed, using the most vituperative Dhaoghissi epithet he could think of. "The whole place is burning!" "I see it too," R'Mallo added. "Shall we make another pass?" "Yeah. Lower, but keep your sensors peeled. This isn't some freak disaster." **Fucking city was turned into a firestorm,** he thought grimly. "Understood." R'Mallo primed his starfighter's weapon systems. James made his own weapon preparations. Both starfighters tipped over on their wings and dove. The Rim States colony city was wreathed in smothering clouds of smoke and fire gasses. What few structures remained standing were blackened and ruined. James didn't see any signs of survivors. "Who the hell did this?" he asked R'Mallo. Wholesale slaughter was not something the Jasrechts did. Not even to their hated enemies, the Ramosians. "I have no idea," the ratalsha answered. "Shall we land and search for survivors?" James adjusted his starfighter's kirlian sensor to search for life forms. The results were inconclusive, but certainly not promising. "James?" R'Mallo pressed. "Yeah, though it doesn't look good." * * * "Check this out, man," Harold yawned. Eddie leaned over him to look at the sensory panel. The paralight display was going crazy. "Ohshit," he spat. "My sentiments exactly, man." "That thing reading right?" Eddie asked, hoping for a glitch. "Yeah, man." "Then we're gonna have company. A lot of company." Eddie stabbed at the commo panel. "Blackshrike, J'Razin Kan, you guys better climb the well, 'cause we have a lot of Jasrecht ships about to enter realspace in this system." James scowled. "What's that? Jasrecht ships? How many's a lot?" "When you're a Horizon scout and a couple of starfighters, a lot is relative. But just to increase the pucker factor, I'd say twenty capital ships off hand, due in about sixteen minutes." "That's a lot," James agreed. "We'll be right up. Let's break it off and make for home, R'Mallo." "Aye," R'Mallo replied, shoving the throttle to the stops. "I don't like this one teeny tiny bit," James muttered. "Nor do I," the ratalsha agreed. "If the Jasrechts did this as part of a move to seize the colony, they might not want any witnesses." "I was thinking that myself." Blackshrike and J'Razin Kan surged aloft on maximum burns. * * * "Madame Prime Minister, we will be entering realspace shortly." Jasrecht Prime Minister Christina Schaeffer accepted her Naval Attach�'s words with a nod. Her inspection tour of the Royal Jasrecht Navy was becoming anything but routine. She was aboard the starfighter carrier RJNS Indefatigable, their finest ship of the line. The Captain of Indefatigable offered her his seat on the Command Bridge. She declined, preferring to stand near the bank of huge flatscreen video displays that hung over the compartment. The Dantiin system was projected within a holotank measuring ten meters in diameter and standing twelve meters tall. Indefatigable's Command Bridge bustled with activity as the crew prepared to enter realspace and deploy their ships. "Captain Smythe, we are within ten light seconds of Galloway, the third planet." The Navigator said. "Very well, Navigator." Smythe then turned to the carrier's Senior Officer Present, Admiral Corwyn. The admiral brushed at his gold trimmed red jacket and nodded. "Reenter the fleet. Standard Deployment." "Yes, admiral." He turned back to the Navigator. "Signal the fleet to reenter in a Standard Deployment and execute," he ordered. "Here they come," Eddie said. He picked up the intercom mic. "Hey guys, remember when I said you could get out of your suits? I lied. Rig the ship for Battle again." "Make up yer damn mind!" Griswold bellowed from below. Antichrist's EMS and paralight suites observed as the Jasrecht 2nd Expeditionary Force entered realspace. Weird Harold and Andy catalogued the ships as they appeared in bursts of light a half-million kilometers away. "Looks like a line carrier, a battleship, six cruisers, six frigates, four destroyers, a tanker, and a troopship. This is more of a battle fleet than a rescue mission," Andy said gravely. "Active EMS sweeps. Search and imaging radars. Getting some LIDAR backscatter," Weird Harold added. "Put up the shields. Arm the torpedoes," Eddie ordered. "Waste o' time," Paul said from the Fire Control console. "They want us dead, they'll do it." "This might give us enough time to jump out of here. We can outrun a superluminal torpedo," Eddie replied. "We've got enough data for a firing solution without using active EMS," Harold said tiredly. "Good point," Eddie conceded. "Paul, see if you can set up a spoiler salvo to allow us to make a break for it." "You going back the way we came?" Paul asked, thumbing a track ball across the panel to set up waypoints for the torpedos' flight paths. "I'm going to cut across the Dantiin primary's nadir at a distance of four light-minutes," Eddie answered. The retired marine let out a low whistle. "I know enough about astrogation to know that's cuttin' it close in hyperspace." "It's a little ballsy," the pilot of The Antichrist agreed. "But the star's gravity field will distort our paralight signature enough to spoof the seekers on any superlumes they might shoot at us." "What about James and R'Mallo?" Andy asked. "We sit tight until they return," Eddie said. James leveled his climb to put Blackshrike into an intercept orbit with The Antichrist. R'Mallo was on his right wing. Their sensor suites had acquired the Jasrecht fleet above them out beyond Galloway's moon. The ether was alive with hyperwave traffic between the Jasrecht ships. "Hey Crazy Eddie, you ready to recover us?" James called over the commo. Weird Harold answered. "Sure, man." "We're on our way. ETA: nineteen minutes." The sharp click of a microphone button being pressed perked the ears of the Indefatigable's Bridge Crew. It was a sound whose significance Christina Schaeffer had not yet realized. The nasal voice of the Sensory Supervisor echoed over the Bridge intercom. "Bridge, Sensory; new contact designated Echo-One bearing 2-2-1 minus 1-0. Range 1.5 light-seconds. Echo-One is a scout class vessel in geosynchronous orbit over the Coalition colony." "Sensory, Bridge; aye," the Officer of the Deck acknowledged. A grey point of light appeared in the holotank in the approximate position of The Antichrist in relation to Galloway. "Can you clarify Echo-One further?" Smythe asked. "We believe it is a Horizon class, Captain," the Sensory Officer replied. Smythe acknowledged his Sensory Officer. "Very well, Sensory. Any communications with our colony?" The Communications Officer shook her head. "No, Captain, nothing on hyperwave. We're trying microwave band commos and down into short wave, but we're getting a lot of interference from the planet's strong magnetic fields. If they're transmitting, it's a low power signal." Indefatigable's Operations Officer looked up from his cluster of displays to address the admiral. "Admiral, the Steadfast reports deploying gunships and slicks. They will reach atmospheric interface in twelve minutes." The Admiral scowled. "What about that goddamn scout?" Sensory consulted his crew of operators. "We have confirmation on Echo-One based on EMS profile and visual ID. A Horizon class scout parked in geosynch. They have raised their shields. There's no transponder ID on them." New data scrolled across his screen, and the massive holotank displayed two new contacts. "Bridge, Sensory; new contacts Echo-Two and Echo-Three, bearing 2-1-9, minus 1-5. Range approximately 1.5 light seconds." "Sensory, Bridge; aye." The Sensory Officer addressed the Admiral directly. "Admiral, we have painted two starfighters climbing out of the atmosphere on an intercept with the Horizon. Classification is one medium mass starfighter, I believe it is ratalshan; possibly a Flamechaser. The other is a heavy mass starfighter, completely unknown. I've never even heard of anything like it before." "Coalition?" Christina Schaeffer asked. Prime Minister or not, the command crew of Indefatigable turned to her as if she had suddenly materialized on the bridge. Her status as a VIP had faded away once the ship's crew had a real crisis to deal with. Sensory shot a look to the Captain, who nodded his assent. "Ma'am, I couldn't tell you what it is. This starfighter has never been seen before. It doesn't have any signature that corresponds to a Coalition type." The admiral cleared his throat. "Tactical; designate Echo One through Three as hostile until further notice. Fire Control; plot firing solution for Mk.59 torpedoes on Echo-One. Operations; deploy a squadron of starfighters each to intercept the Horizon and the two fighters. Commo; hail them and demand they heave-to and be boarded. I have a feeling they know what's happened here." "Tactical, aye." "Fire Control, aye. Firing solution locked in." "Operations, aye. 52nd and 73rd Fighter Squadrons launching now." "Communications, aye." The Antichrist's speakers crackled as the commo panel played the Jasrecht broadcast: "Horizon class vessel; you are to lower your shields and heave-to. You will submit to the lawful authority of the Royal Jasrecht Navy. Do you understand?" Crazy Eddie picked up the mic. "This is the Independent Scout The Antichrist, out of Berent; ID number Tango-November-Victor-Alpha-Six-Six- Six-India. You don't have any damn authority here, and we're not heaving- to!" He turned to Weird Harold and Andy. "Gimme everything you've got on the engines and get the hyperdrive warming up in the bullpen." Andy returned his hard eyed look with one of astonishment. Eddie answered his questioning look, "You wanna spend the rest of your life in a Jasrecht prison? They're looking for a scapegoat, and right now we're all they've got!" "They're scrambling starfighters, man. Twelve HA-112 Hurricanes, closing to intercept," Weird Harold said, adding weight to Eddie's words. "How much time do we have to get James and R'Mallo aboard?" Andy asked. "They can launch torpedoes at us right now if they want, but they'll be in gun range in nineteen minutes, give or take, man," Harold answered. "That should be enough time for James and R'Mallo to link up," Andy said hopefully. "Not if those fighters come after us. They don't have to fight the gravity well to reach us," Paul observed. "They'll pick us off if we sit still." "We're not gonna sit still," Eddie returned. "Virgil, you ready to light these jokers up?" Eddie called below. "Betcher ass!" the gunner replied from the chin turret. James imaged the Jasrecht starfighters in his mind's eye. They were Hurricanes all right. Hurricanes had good speed and maneuverability, but their weapons were nothing impressive; a twin laser projector array rated at about 100 megajoules, a missile launcher with sixteen intercept missiles, and four hardpoints. Their shields weren't the strongest, though they made up for it with heavier armor. There were twelve of them, a messy if not exactly impossible situation. He could probably handle them in Blackshrike, but there was a line carrier above him that could send another three hundred or so in their place. "How many do you think you can take, R'Mallo?" James asked over the tac-net. R'Mallo's face appeared on the canopy display again. His expression showed none of the anxiety they were both feeling. "As many as need be, r'allriit." The Communications Officer addressed the Command Bridge. "Admiral, the Horizon refuses to heave-to. they claim we have no authority here." "Damn them," the admiral cursed. "They know what's going on here." He pursed his lips in thought. "Operations; have our fighters get in close so they can't jump out," he said sternly. The crackle of the intercom and the rapid flashes of light from the holtanks broke into his train of thought. "Bridge, Sensory; new contacts Papa-One through Papa One-Three bearing 0-9-9 plus 2-4. Range is 4.33 light seconds. Contacts are emerging from hyperspace!" Indefatigable's Sensory Officer registered the classifications as they began scrawling across his flatscreen displays. His operators began compiling plots for Fire Control. A bead of sweat trickled across his brow, though the compartment was kept quite cold. "Admiral Corwyn, contacts Papa One through One-Three are in realspace bearing 0-9-1 plus 2-2. Range 1.97 light seconds. Ships are Coalition warships, including a Gibraltar class battlefortress! They have sortied four squadrons of starfighters!" "Man Battlestations!" the captain ordered. The General Alarm began sounding. Lights shifted to red on the Bridge. "Where did they come from that we didn't detect them entering the system while they were still in hyperspace?" the admiral demanded. Sensory gestured to the holotank with his laser pointer. "It's possible they appeared behind the gas giant Dantiin Four." "That would be consistant with an arrival from the Manassas system," Tactical added. The admiral didn't seem to believe either of them. "Hot scramble all of our fighters. Signal all ships to make sortie and engage the Coalition!" he shouted. "Captain, get us out of hyperparticle gun range so we can get all our fighters aloft." Prime Minister Schaeffer spun the admiral around, an act which turned him scarlet red. "Admiral Corwyn, just what do you think you're doing? At least try to raise the Coalition before you start fighting them!" "Ridiculous!" snorted the admiral. "Wasting time trying to communicate while they gun us down? The Horizon was bait! We fell right into their trap!" "What are you talking about?" Schaeffer demanded. The admiral gave her a look of contempt. "It's obvious that this fleet attacked our colony and butchered thousands of innocent civilians. That's why we didn't detect them entering the system through hyperspace, they were already here! All they did was execute a microjump to give the illusion of entering the system!" "Do you *want* a war with the Coalition?" she demanded. "We may very well be at war already, Madame Prime Minister," he replied coldly. He turned away from her and bellowed to his aide, "Get the Prime Minister a suit! I'll be in the War Room!" CNS Fury and its escorts; one cruiser, two frigates, three destroyers, a tanker, and a replenishment freighter fell towards Galloway. The 1st Flotilla of the Coalition Ninth Fleet (Rim Expeditionary) was decelerating to establish geosynchronous orbit around the planet. Their sensors were trained on the planet, and on the Horizon class scout in orbit. The active EMS emissions from the Jasrechts alerted their sensory operators immediately. "Captain, the Jasrechts are launching fighters," Tactical/Operations Officer Lieutenant Commander Andy Breehan announced. Fleet Captain Gwendolyne Pfister pointed to her Communications Officer, "Can you raise the Jasrechts?" "No, ma'am, they're not responding." "The Jasrecht ships are raising shields and training active EMS on us; targeting and imaging radar. Detecting laser designators," Sensory called nervously. "Raise shields and engage the shield massing integrators. Scramble all combat mecha," she called calmly. "Keep them in a defensive perimeter at one thousand kilometers for now. And keep trying to raise the Jasrechts." Fury's XO took over for her, issuing orders to the ship as Wendy concentrated on the Tactical plots. "All hands man Battlestations, this is not a drill!" Fury's general alarm sounded, a series of hard gonging tones. Over the ship's general announcing circuit came the voice of the First Lieutenant, "General Quarters, General Quarters! All hands man your Battlestations! Set condition Alpha throughout the ship! This is not a drill! Now General Quarters!" "All hell's breakin' loose, man," Harold droned in a slow monotone. "We've got a Coalition fleet behind us and the Jasrechts in front of us. Lots of starfighters launching." "Hurry your asses, guys!" Eddie barked over the tac-net. CHAPTER THREE James Reno watched as the Hurricanes dove at them from above. He and R'Mallo were still accelerating out of Galloway's gravity well to reach The Antichrist. Their options had just run out. "Abort insertion," he called over the tac-net to R'Mallo. "Aye," R'Mallo barked. The Flamechaser leaped off Blackshrike's right wing to put more of a spread between them. Blackshrike's computers fed plotting data into James' mind as he flexed the fighter's feather-array wings for combat. The segments of armored wing stretched and strained as tiny reaction control jet verniers cycled open and shut in warm-up. There were twelve fighters closing to combat range with them, plus another thirty-six well behind them. He clicked his mic button. "Antichrist, you guys get ready to jump out. There's no time for a link-up, we'll have to piggyback inside your alignment field." "You fuckin' crazy, Reno?" Eddie replied, his voice crackling harshly with preliminary Jasrecht jamming. "We're way too small for that." "Maybe, but the Jasrechts won't let us do it the other way." "A Coalition fleet just showed up, man," Harold broke in. "Think we could get protection from them?" "If we do, it might start a shooting war between them and the Jasrects." "Better them than us," Paul shot back, his voice badly distorted over the worsening jamming. The strident alarm of Blackshrike's threat detection system sounded in his ears and mind. Missiles were inbound his position; their seekers had acquired and were homing. "No more time to chat, I've got company." The warble of the missiles' radar seekers sounded in his ears. The Warbook classified them as Sunlance missiles; very fast, very agile, but with second rate seekers and fusing mechanisms. Projected flight paths lit up in three dimensions before his eyes on the canopy display. A burst of countermeasures sprayed from the black starfighter; chaff, flares, and laser emitting dazzlers. At the same time the fighter's Electronics Warfare suite automatically began cycling through jamming sequences. An electromagnetic haze materialized around the starfighter, defying the Jasrecht missiles' murderous intent. R'Mallo's Flamechaser spat a burst of countermeasures on its own, and slipped just to the right and behind Blackshrike to take advantage of the superior jamming systems. James knew his friend would be staring down the volley of Sunlances, ticking the seconds off in his head before he made his break. At two seconds to impact, James stomped on the foot pedals even as he cued the engines to maximum thrust. Blackshrike's vector thrust-plates slammed into position as the feather-array wings flexed to direct vernier jet thrust into the desired angle of force. Starting in a vertical climb, the starfighter slewed over ninety degrees right yaw, pitched the nose 'up' ninety degrees, then slewed over seventy degrees left yaw, before snap- rolling hard into the vertical again. The missiles screamed past, detonating harmlessly as their fusing mechanisms tried to engage the wildly juking starfighter. R'Mallo screamed out of his own evasive manuevers similarly unscathed. Golden fireballs against the distant clouds of Galloway fell far behind them as they continued their climb. "Let 'em have it," James grunted over the tac-net. Even with inertial dampers, the maneuver had been physically taxing. "Launching now," R'Mallo replied. J'Razin Kan spilled a volley of missiles in reply. The Huat'hils' fiery blue streaks of plasma climbed above his fighter to engage the Hurricanes -little more than bright spots of thruster flare against the darkness. With the battle so close to Galloway's dayside, the reflected sunlight of the planet drowned out all but the brightest stars in space, making the sky densely black. Blackshrike released a modest spread of Sklat'hils. James directed them for maximum dispersion, then released them to their own devices. The advanced cousins of the ratalshan Huat'hil missile tore heavenward in pursuit. He watched his missiles close the range with the Jasrecht Hurricanes. They had spotted them, and began to use their own jamming and countermeasures. With any luck he and R'Mallo could break out in the confusion. The first explosions lit up space above him, and he knew at least one Jasrecht hadn't been as lucky as himself. R'Mallo announced another hit a moment later. He turned his fighter on its tail and boosted for a revised intercept orbit to The Antichrist. J'Razin Kan quickly followed suit. "Look, I don't give a grat's ass about that," Eddie barked over the commo. "I'm asking for protection as a Coalition registered starship, capiche? You know, a fucking taxpayer and all that?!" The Antichrist shook as long range missile fire erupted against the shields. Instruments jumped, and sirens wailed for a second. "Goddammit, that's the sound of someone shooting at me!" Eddie explained with a shout. "Six bogeys closing directly aft, man," Harold reported. "Another six sweeping ahead of our orbit to cut us off." "Shields holding," Paul added tersely from the Fire Control station. "The pricks are launching just enough missiles at us to disrupt the the alignment field to keep us from jumping, and without killing us in the process," Eddie snapped. "When those pricks ahead of us get into position, they'll close the range and mass-override the hyperdrive, and that'll be it for us." He slammed the commo mic down. "Screw 'em and their goddamn permission, we're making for that battlefortress! Harold, get on the horn and tell James and R'Mallo what we're doing." "Sure, man." The Antichrist changed course to intercept the Coalition flotilla. Blackshrike boosted on maximum thrust past a bewildered flight of Hurricanes with J'Razin Kan close behind. The Jasrecht starfighters made clumsy attempts to alter their orbits to intercept, and watched helplessly as the two fighters escaped behind a cloud of countermeasures and powerful jamming. The only Jasrecht fighters that could possibly intercept them belonged to the 6th Reconnaisance Wing. Junior Lieutenant Samantha Danker listened over the tac-net as her squadron skipper acknowledged the order to engage. Their squadron of HA-107 Piccolos had the delta-vee to catch the two fugitives, but she had no idea what they would be able to do about them. The Piccolo was a light recon fighter. It carried more sensors and electronic surveillance gear than weapons. "All flights," the squadron commander intoned. "Change course to intercept Echo-Two and Echo-Three. Full weapons release is authorized. Sammie, take the lead." Samantha clicked her mic button as her other hand entered the course change data into the navigation computer. "Roger that." The Piccolo surged towards the distant points of light that were her quarry on a column of plasma. The remainder of the flight formed up behind her. Her squadron commander's intentions were clear: as the only pilot in the squadron with previous dogfighting experience, she would have to be the one to lead the engagement. Not many in his position would have made such a decision, but she could see the wisdom of it. Now if only she felt as confident in her abilities as he did. "I'm painting twelve fighters behind and above us," R'Mallo announced. "The range is very long." "I see them," James confirmed. "They're really burning fuel to catch up with us. They might even make it before we reach The Antichrist." "I didn't think the Jasrechts had a fighter that could put on that much acceleration." "You're right and you're wrong." R'Mallo's eyebrow cocked. "Would you care to explain that?" "They don't have a fighter that can put on delta-vee like that, but they have a scout that can." "Good. I was starting to worry." "Keep worrying, my friend," James admonished. "Those scouts might not have much, but they're still armed, and we're showing them our tails." "Any suggestions?" "Just the obvious," James replied. "Keep climbing out of this well so we can make the most of our drives. We'll engage if we have to." The harsh crackle of jamming broke in over the sound of Weird Harold's voice. "Change in plans," he told them. "We're getting harrassed by Jasrecht fighters." James squinted into the black sky in the approximate location of The Antichrist. Brief flashes of yellow and orange winked in the distance. "Yeah, I can see that. Can you handle it?" "Eddie wants to--" his voice cut out in a squelch of noise. "--Coalition fleet. See you there, man." James winced. The Antichrist was going to flee to the Coalition ships for protection. "We're on our own," he said to R'Mallo. "It seems that way. If we adjust our course to intercept them, the Jasrecht scouts will intercept *us* in three minutes." "We don't have much choice," James returned. "They're our ride out of here." "Ayefirmative. Adjusting course." The two fighters shifted their orbit and prepared to fight their way through the Jasrechts once again. "Jasrecht fleet dispersing into battle formation," Tactical Officer Breehan warned. "Multiple mecha groups closing on our positions." Wendy watched the holotank update with hundreds of small red points of light. The Jasrechts were launching everything they had. It was just a matter of time before their larger ships would have their hyperparticle cannons ready to fire. "What about that scout?" she asked. As best she could determine, the Jasrechts were interested in them first. "They have altered their orbit to intercept us," Breehan replied with a brief glance at his displays. **Interesting...** she thought. **I'm not surprised considering their circumstances.** "Communications, have you reached the Jasrechts yet?" "No, Captain, they haven't responded. Even with the jamming, we should still be able to get through. They have to be ignoring us." "Keep trying," Wendy ordered. "Inform them that we have no hostile intentions, but will defend ourselves if necessary. Fire Control; prepare to fire a full torpedo spread -target their battleship. Operations; signal the fleet to prepare for a full gun salvo, and I don't want a single Jasrecht fighter getting through our perimeter." She watched the holotank continue to update as more Jasrecht mecha launched from the carrier. Advance elements were already attacking the scout and preparing to intercept the two unidentified starfighters. "Any guesses as to who the unknowns might be?" she asked her XO. "Not a clue," Bright replied. "Pirates or smugglers perhaps." "Captain!" the Communications Officer cried from the Communications cluster. "What is it?" Wendy asked urgently. "One of my techs is in contact with the scout. They claim to be a Coalition registered starship, and they are requesting protection from us." "That might be a bad idea," Bright warned. "They might very well be the ones who stirred the Jasrechts up." "I agree to a point," Wendy said tersely. "But I don't have any idea what brought this nightmare about, and chances are good that those three unknowns do. I want some answers so I can tell the Jasrechts something that will get them to stand down. Tell them to approach." "Aye, Captain." The Communicator relayed the orders. A reply was swift in coming. "Captain, they are under attack and they want to know if we'll protect them." Wendy closed her eyes. "Yes." She cast one more glance to the holotank before giving orders to Breehan. "Operations; dispatch four squadrons to intercept." **Being outnumbered four to one might get the Jasrechts to disengage without a fight.** "Jasrechts are preparing a hyperparticle barrage," Sensory warned suddenly. Wendy's blood ran cold. The new shield massing integrators were about to get their first acid test. "Fire Control; prepare a return volley," she said evenly. "Hey man, the battlefortress just said they'd help us out," Harold reported. The Antichrist bucked as missiles exploded against their failing shields and laser beams creased silently around them. "About fucking time!" Eddie snapped. "How are the shields holding?" "They ain't," Paul replied. "The bastards keep hitting our upper quarter, so they don't get much of a chance to regenerate." "Can you get a shot at them, Virgil?!" "None of them'll slip underneath us for a shot!" the gunner replied. The Horizon rocked harder as an explosion burst through the shields to spray across the upper hull. "They must have figured out that our dorsal guns don't work," Eddie realized. "I can fix that." He threw the control yoke over hard. "Hit 'em hard, Virge!" The Antichrist snap-rolled, showing its belly to the pursuing Jasrecht Hurricanes. The inertial dampers, never up to par on a good day, began to hiccup, forcing the crew to hold tight or get thrown out of their seats as their internals jiggled. Virgil, manning the chin turret remote below them in the bow compartment, now had a clear shot at them. The quad-gausscannon began spitting nickel-iron slugs rapid fire. The loud chattering of the weapon mount rattled through the deck plates like a chorus of jackhammers. "SURPRISE!" he shouted at the fighter locked in his gunnery display. A Hurricane flew apart as the stream of slugs blasted through the shields and turned the wings into metal and composite confetti. Virgil changed targets as the tumbling ruins of the starfighter deployed its escape capsule. He managed to hose another fighter with gausscannon fire before they could react. "That'll teach you to get complacent!" he shouted at the scattering fighters. The second one exploded into a silvery cloud of plasma from a fatal reactor crashout. "Just tell me which way to roll," Eddie called over the intercom. "If nothing else it'll get them to keep their distance. They have to be close to empty on missiles by now." Samantha imaged the larger of the two starfighters in her mind as she closed the range. They had changed course for the Coalition flotilla, a maneuver that would bring them right into her lap. As the red targeting circle appeared before her eyes on the display, she wondered if it was a done out of pure desperation, or confidence in their ability to fight twelve scouts at once. She squeezed the weapon release trigger and prayed it was the former. The Sunlance missiles streaked from her ordnance bay. The rest of the flight followed suit. A staggering missile volley was their best tactic against the heavy fighter. She didn't have many illusions about a dogfight. James kept calm in spite of the several dozen Sunlances inbound. Ballistics cues posted themselves on the canopy and in his mind as the computers sought the best possible evasion strategy. It wasn't looking good. Instead of charging straight at the volley, which offered more relative motion between himself and the weapons for a better chance to spoof the fuzing mechanisms, he was running from a volley that could lock-in on his hot aft end. He needed to jam or destroy at least half of the incoming missiles to even have a chance. J'Razin Kan was already jamming on his wing. He spared a glance over his shoulder to see the olive colored Flamechaser drifting apart for more separation against the missiles. R'Mallo's discipline was commendable, but in this case unnecessary. There was no need for both of them to stare into the abyss. "There's too much heat coming in," James said tersely to his friend. "Squeeze your engines for all they're worth and break for it." "Our jamming systems work better in proximity to each other," R'Mallo countered. "I'm not going to jam them." "Say again?" the ratalsha cried. James didn't reply, instead imaging his starfighter in his mind. Blackshrike snap-rolled as the wings folded against the large engine/weapon pods and two legs dropped out of the undercarriage. The fuselage folded in half as two metalshod arms sprang forth. A sensor head turret popped up into place as the starfighter completed its transformation to a Soldier -a humaniform robot twelve meters tall. R'Mallo's starfighter pulled away as Blackshrike spun around to face the volley and fired braking jets from the engine pods. He knew the starfighter was a variable configuration type, but he hadn't seriously expected James to choose this particular moment to use it. Blackshrike drew its beamrifle and a large kite-shield. The shield had its own defense field generator which sprang immediately to life as the mecha hunched behind it for protection. The particle beam rifle's sharply pointed focusing tines crackled with energy. Great blooms of electromagnetic energy erupted from the jamming systems as the Soldier stared down the incoming volley. James fixed the lead Sunlance in his mind's eye as the range meter ticked away furiously. The beamrifle began spurting violet bolts of charged particles rapid fire. Soundless explosions blossomed forth into golden fireballs almost immediately, engulfing the black and silver Soldier in heat and light. END OF PART TWO