Incursio (Oolite Saga Part 3) Page 3

  ‘This isn’t on the programme…’ his wife complained from beside him. ‘Who is he?’

  Jim rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of Jean Equinox?’

  His wife looked blank. ‘No, is he well connected?’

  ‘He’s a musician. From Anle.’

  She looked down and sniffed. ‘Anle? Oh dear. Poor fellow. I guess this is his chance to drag himself up out of the gutter…’

  Jean brought out his instrument, a small antique construction; wood, with a mere four tensioned strings. He positioned it at his shoulder in what looked to be an awkward fashion, with another tensioned pole poised ready to be drawn across it.

  The conductor was still making introductions.

  ‘…a piece of his own composition and a treat for the rest of us. May I present, Jean Equinox, on violin, with The Mystery of Raxxla!’

  Jim started involuntarily, leaning forward himself to scrutinise the musician. Without hesitation the music started. It was a deep and meaningful melody, wrapping itself around the audience and transporting them deftly into space; into mystery and enigma. The music was astonishing, the expertise demonstrated by the orchestra overwhelming. Jean was furiously playing, his fingers and hands a blur of motion, yet the sound generated was pure, unhurried and intoxicating.

  Jim felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up and a shiver ran down his spine.

  My God, he’s talented. He could have been there, it’s as if he knew what it was like…

  ‘Not very tall is he?’ his wife whispered. ‘And they could have brushed his hair before he came out…’

  ‘Quiet!’ Jim snapped. His wife looked offended.

  It was too late. The magic had been broken. Jim was back in his seat, not flying through the depths of space hunting for a lonely forgotten world.

  ‘Do you always have to spoil everything?’ he muttered under his breath.

  ‘It’s such a dirge!’ she responded.

  She shook her blonde hair and took out a compact, checking her lipstick and eyeliner. The opulent sea-borne Orevian gems sparkled at her neck, complimenting the low cut shimmering white dress she wore. Her eyes, a startling bright blue, looked back at him without comprehension. She looked perfect as always, the epitome of what the wife of a successful professional should look like.

  ‘Sonia…’

  ‘What? Look, the Pasquals are leaving!’ she began. ‘We need to make sure we catch them before they go! I haven’t secured anything for the end of the month yet…’

  ‘Sit down! Quiet!’

  She looked at him crossly. ‘Well, I…’

  People around them were look across with irritated glances. She subsided, crossing her arms in a huff. Jim sighed; he’d suffer her pent up frustration later.

  Yet another row…

  The music continued unhindered. Jim was just beginning to relax and enjoy it when the holofac screen behind the orchestra flickered. The star-scape vanished and was replaced with the image of a familiar news announcer.

  I can’t even get five minutes peace! What can this possibly be?

  Clearly it wasn’t part of the rehearsal, the orchestra looked up in surprise and bewilderment. The news announcer’s voice sounded out. The orchestra stopped playing untidily, looking around at each other in bewilderment.

  ‘We apologise for the interruption. We are bringing you breaking news from the Tionisla system.’

  Jim stared at the images that appeared in front of him, a cold hard tension growing in the pit of his stomach.

  It was an old ship, though it had been maintained meticulously. A design from more than a decade before, already regarded as something of a classic. Snub nosed and angular, it had been elegant once but fashion had moved on and left its design behind. It remained a head turner, out of rarity only.

  Any thoughts that it was an easy target would have quickly been dispelled by its response when under threat. It was a 'sleeper', an understated ship packing a punch far above its weight. One to avoid.

  Twin wing-mounted military lasers were the only visible modification. Hidden discreetly along the fuselage were the spikes of shield enhancements, stealth technologies and non-standard ordinance pods. The characteristic stains of laser impacts marred the paintwork, duralium hull and lettering. Clearly a ship that had seen action.

  Seconds before, the old Mk1 Vampire had materialised in the depths of the Tionisla star-system, arriving by witch-space – that mysterious mechanism for traversing vast interstellar distances in the blink of an eye. It had angled itself quickly towards the planet, triggering its local space 'Torus' drive, aiming directly for the aegis – the safe zone around every planet in which the space stations orbited.

  Ahead the famous Tionisla Graveyard glistened like a galaxy in miniature, a sparkling array of tiny dots from this distance, a spiral slowly rotating about a central core of light. To be interred there was the mark of astonishing wealth; to be part of that vast floating mausoleum set you apart from the merely rich. There you could find the ships, tributes, statues and shrines of those that had tried to make a permanent mark on the universe, unsatisfied with their mortality. You'd also find the traps left for the unwary or those with a view to grave-robbing.

  To the right, glowing on the dark side of the planet like a small moon, was the vast construction that was the Tionisla Chronicle Array, essentially a huge transmitter, beaming news, information and opinion across the chart. Not the last word in sophisticated entertainment, yet it was arguably one of the most successful media outlets.

  The pilot spared neither any consideration. Both constructs were part of a familiar backdrop, nothing looked out of place. In common with most combateers the pilot was only interested in what was unusual; a ship flying on an odd vector, groups of vessels hovering around an asteroid, the tell-tale flashes of light in the darkness of space; the signature of a battle.

  Thin, pale-skinned and delicately-boned hands adjusted the throttles and navigation controls with a quick and practised air, setting the auto-pilot to manage the approach. Satisfied that everything was in place their owner sat back in the pilot's chair and surveyed the main viewer with a frown. One hand brushed through simply cut dark-brown hair, revealing a narrow, attractive but otherwise unremarkable human woman’s face, unadorned with any form of make-up or jewellery; no earrings, no bangles, no piercings.

  No ring…

  Nothing save a thin necklace supporting a tiny data cube.

  The only other feature of particular note was her eyes, a deep brown with a hard, cold and distant look to them; eyes that didn’t match the youthful appearance. A woman not yet old but no longer young.

  Rebecca Weston had been in space a long time, there was little that took her by surprise. A simple run to Tionisla should have given her no qualms at all after fifteen years behind the helm of a space going combat vessel.

  Who am I kidding? This might be it. Tionisla is where it happens after all. So where are they?

  She bit her lip and zoomed the scanner in and out. It remained blank.

  Nothing.

  Rebecca was en-route to Tionisla because she had been invited to a behind-the-scenes preview of a new ship. The Isis Interstellar Corporation shied away from marketing and direct publicity, preferring to sell their expensive and unique vessels by word of mouth and cultivation of clients with which they fostered long term relationships. Their ships were exclusive, on limited production runs and hand built. Second hand examples were cherished and much sought after. There was no such thing as an entry-level Isis. For a given amount of money you could buy tougher, faster and more powerful – but you wouldn’t get an Isis. Isis ships were bespoke, personal, unique.

  Rebecca had been obsessed by ships from a young age. Born in space, she had never lived planet-side for any length of time and her first memories of childhood were of looking out of a station viewpoint and seeing trading vessels jockeying for position in the docking queues. Back then most of them had been named after snakes: Cobras;
Adders; Pythons; Sidewinders. She'd known them all off by heart. Simpler times.

  Before the war.

  She fingered the necklace with her right hand, maintaining a firm grip on the flight controls with the other, idly turning the cube about in her fingers. She remembered an intelligent stare, greying hair, a wistful innocence and a caring expression.

  He never understood this… and it was such a long time ago.

  She also remembered the blazing argument, fury whiter and hotter than the core of a Pulsar.

  And we never spoke again after that…

  Rebecca focussed back on her flying. It wouldn’t pay to day-dream. Space had always been dangerous. Bad stuff had a habit of sneaking up on you if you didn’t pay attention. Rebecca had lost count of the fights she'd been involved in over the last decade. No matter where you went or what cargo you carried, there was always someone who thought they had a right to take it from you. That meant you needed weapons, shields and missiles, a plethora of expensive and sophisticated hardware. It also meant fear, uncertainty, doubt and stress.

  But this paled into insignificance next to the 'threat'.

  Ships sometimes just disappeared, travelling into witch-space and never coming back. Ships ambushed by packs of hunters intent on nothing but destruction. Planets raided for supplies and raw materials, without thought for the consequences. Traders, pirates, police, navy, civilians – everyone was a target, no one was safe. You never knew where they would strike next, who they'd hit, what they'd do.

  Mankind had been at war with them for centuries but it had really only been a skirmish up until two years ago. Rebecca recalled as a young woman how she had once looked forward to a fight with them, as a test of her prowess.

  Prak I was dumb – lucky to still be here. That was before we knew what they were capable of.

  Rebecca's hands trembled on the controls. The Vampire twitched in response, nosing down and up as her knuckles cracked.

  Thargoids.

  She checked the scanner one more time. Still blank. The reassuring thrum of the engines echoed through the old ship. Tionisla grew slowly in the forward viewer.

  The narrowband comms crackled. Rebecca tweaked the reception, suspicious of anything happening around her. She could make out no direct comms but something was happening nearby, just out of range of her scanners. She triangulated the position. Portside, 284 degrees.

  She flicked on the port side video link. Sure enough, she saw flashes of light in the darkness. The death knell of a ship.

  PingPingPingPingPing!

  Rebecca jumped at the distinctive sound of a Remlok distress beacon.

  Damn.

  She was duty bound to assist. A remlok survival mask was your last hope in the event of a catastrophic disaster. It was designed to keep you alive if you'd lost your ship, your escape pod, even your spacesuit. All pilots had to respond immediately to the call of a Remlok.

  Telemetry came in a moment later. A Python was forty thousand clicks behind her and a Boa with its escort thirty five clicks to starboard. She was the closest, having avoided the main spacelane into Tionisla for a quick transit.

  'So much for arriving early,' she snapped, adjusting the course of the Vampire to intercept the distant beacon and informing the other commanders that she'd handle the rescue.

  She triggered the torus drive and the Vampire leapt forward, Tionisla sliding off to starboard as minute space debris flashed past, vaporised by the shields. It almost looked like stars rushing past the ship.

  The drive cut out less than thirty seconds later, jammed by the presence of another vessel. Rebecca scrutinised the viewer for a moment, before locking the targeting scanners.

  Cobra Mk4, Mass 150 Metric, Speed 0.0 LM.

  ‘The new one,' she mused to herself. She hadn't seen the new Cobra yet. Was it the hunter or the hunted?

  A moment later the targeting computer answered her question for her.

  Legal Status : Clean. Bounty 0.0 Cr

  She could see the signal from the Remlok, it was about two clicks away from the Cobra. There was nothing else on the scanner. Rebecca immediately performed a scan for gravimetric emissions, the signature of a cloaked ship but nothing appeared.

  She nosed the Vampire forward, wary of a trap, pulling into visual range.

  The Cobra was spinning out of control, surrounded by a cloud of debris, gas and frozen fuel. A jagged gash was all that was left of the starboard flank of the ship. Past the starboard outrigger engine the hull was entirely missing. Rebecca could see four or five hull breaches without even trying hard. The Cobra was utterly wrecked.

  'You spend thirty years waiting for the fourth version of the thing - expecting it to be great,' Rebecca muttered under her breath. 'And it's a dud.'

  She could see the cockpit was open to vacuum, it looked like the pilot must have been sucked out into space during whatever it was that had befallen the ship. Hence the Remlok.

  There were scorch marks up and down the hull. In places the duralium hull plating had been ripped clear of the superstructure, revealing the criss-crossing supports beneath. Rebecca had never seen a ship so badly damaged yet still even vaguely intact. Missiles obliterated ships completely in her experience and lasers almost always triggered a complete destruction of the vessel too. This was something else…

  Yet somehow familiar. Where have I seen damage like this before?

  She guided the Vampire towards the Remlok signal, gently coasting inwards to ensure that she didn't run down the pilot. The salvage system aboard the Vampire activated on proximity and guided the unfortunate pilot aboard.

  The ident computer beeped.

  Life signs weak but stable. Medi-comp activated.

  Congratulations. You rescued Commander Cheyd from Enrienge.

  Leaving the ship on autopilot, Rebecca dropped down to the Vampire's small cargo deck. The medi-comp equipment had already organised itself in the bay and was busy working on a small figure, already supported and moved onto a bio-bed.

  Rebecca looked at the life sign indicators and then studied the pilot in some surprise. He was small, not even as tall as her, with a shock of white hair around his thin face. It wasn't so much the hair that surprised her; it was the colour of his skin, a shocking cobalt blue.

  The medi-comp interfaced with the Remlok and the transparent skin that had protected the creature from the vacuum of space folded away back into the Remlok Mask. The Mask detached with a slight puckering sound.

  The creature's eyes flickered open, revealing bright penetrating yellow irises. A gasp of surprise escaped him as he caught sight of Rebecca.

  'Who? Where am… ?'

  Rebecca stepped forward slightly.

  'Rebecca Weston.' She gestured around her. 'This is the Eclipse and you're lucky to be alive Commander. Lie still, you were hurt pretty badly. The medi-comp is working on it.'

  'Cheyd Vlos'Oplyn,’ the creature replied, with a gasp. ‘Commander Cheyd, erstwhile of the Holdstock. Cheyd will do. I guess I owe you my life.'

  'I guess you do,' Rebecca said. 'I'm afraid your ship is fragged. What hit you? Doesn't look like a pirate attack.'

  Cheyd managed to shake his head. 'Here in Tionisla? No.'

  'Them?' Rebecca said, visibly tensing.

  'If you mean the Thargs. Yes,' Cheyd said.

  'What did they hit you with?' Rebecca demanded.

  Cheyd looked distant for a moment, before shaking his head.

  'I never even saw them coming. One moment my scanner was blank, next there were five Thargoids around me, flying in formation… '

  Five Thargoids. This is it. Just as Rebka said…

  '…They came out of nowhere. I evaded of course, I figured I was in good shape. I was flying a new ship after all, designed with this sort of fight in mind. Great ship you know; mil spec shields, ion cannons, nanite reinforced hull… '

  'But?' Rebecca demanded, interrupting.

  'They fired something, I don't know what it was… I've never seen anything like
it. A stream of energy. Took the shields out in the first hit… The second blew out all the on-board avionics. The third blasted out the cockpit and I hit space commander. I didn't get a single shot in…'

  'An energy stream?' Rebecca looked up and away, thinking hard.

  ‘Bright white… Definitely not a laser.’

  White? Thargoid weapons are green. It can't be. Rebka never said anything…

  'I've been talking to you longer than the whole fight lasted. It was weird. They shot me to pieces but I don't think I was the target. They didn't deviate from their course by an iota. They had some kind of omni-directional turret I guess… '

  The medi-comp machinery hissed, applying injections to the commander.

  'Where?' Rebecca cried. 'Where were they headed?'

  'In system.’ Cheyd closed his eyes, fighting to stay conscious as painkilling and sedative drugs were pumped into his bloodstream. ‘Straight for… Tionisla.'

  'Oh Prak.' Rebecca swore and ran for the bridge.

  Rebecca jumped into her pilot seat and buckled in, triggering the engines and ramping them up to full power. The Vampire tore up away from the wreck of the Cobra and headed in-system, towing a trail of flaming injected exhaust. The moment she was out of range she triggered the torus drive, hurtling towards the planet.

  ETA Tionisla Aegis, 3.5 minutes.

  She fingered the necklace around her neck before pulling it away. The small cube tumbled free. She rolled it around in her hand for a moment before inserting it into a small receptacle on the Vampire's console.

  A holofac image appeared. A woman, old, grey and lined; deep brown eyes glowing with a mischievous twinkle.

  'Hello Rebecca. What can I do for you this time?'

  'No time for games, Rebka. It's 3151. I'm at Tionisla. Thargoid war, remember?'

  'I remember it well. Station five?' Rebka's eyes narrowed. 'You ready?'