Sagitta Page 4

  “Does she race a lot?”

  “For a sixteen year old she’s pretty good.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, you kids have only been driving legally for what, a year on a learner permit?” He patted Morgan on the back. “She doesn’t race on dirt like you guys, at least not until today. She does autocross and go-karts, just like her dad and I used to. But I looked her up. She’s really good. I was surprised when Ed told me not to let her race.”

  Morgan was silent for a minute. Both he and Lutstone gazed over at the commotion around Victor, which was finally starting to die down. Morgan kicked at the dirt. “Mr. Lutstone, would the medics have come if I hadn’t called you?”

  “Of course. I got the alert from her car before you called. Help was already on the way.”

  Morgan looked at the finish line and scowled. You still did the right thing.

  “I’ve seen that face in the mirror a few times,” said Mr. Lutstone. “Let it go. You can’t win every race.”

  Geez, he’s just a fountain of wisdom. “I know.”

  Mr. Lutstone prodded Morgan’s shoulder. “Besides, it seems you’ve gotten a new friend.”

  “Do you really think she likes me?”

  Lutstone laughed. “Yeah, I think she just might. Don’t screw it up.”

  Chapter 4

  The communications console was beeping. Mog looked up from the viewscreen where Mauria smoldered, knowing no one would answer the hail. Grasping the railing surrounding the command platform, he hauled himself up.

  He shuffled to the back of the bridge and climbed the steps to the upper deck. There, Laleg’s body was strewn across the communications station, pinned against the controls by an I-beam that had fallen from the ceiling. Mog gently removed Laleg’s hand from the control board. His arm fell to his side where it hung limply.

  “Go in peace, friend,” Mog whispered.

  The bloody radio board was alive with flashing lights. Apparently the murderers wanted to talk. Mog wasn’t sure if he was up to it. He looked at the tactical station. Nali wasn’t there. He lowered his gaze. There was a pool of blood on the deck where she lay. Hearts pounding, he looked for the rest of his officers.

  The two science stations next to tactical were buried beneath a pile of radiation shielding and fallen ductwork. The officers that had been manning them were nowhere to be seen. Kremp, however, appeared unharmed. He was strapped into his seat, staring off into space. Mog peered over the railing. The lower level of the bridge was partially hidden by a dense layer of smoke. Debris were scattered all around. Three lifeless men lay on the deck, their limbs extended at odd angles. At the helm, Meela stared up at him with a blank expression. He looked back down at the com console. Accepting the hail couldn’t possibly cause any more damage.

  He tapped the blinking button. It would take a few seconds for the translator to relay the Ta’Krell’s message. No living Maurian had ever seen a Ta’Krell or heard one speak; the mysterious aliens seemed content to let the computers do the talking. Thus, Mog was shaken when he heard not the computer’s artificial voice but the soft vocalizations of a living being.

  “Maurian vessel,” it said with perfect pronunciation. “We know you have a hidden base in one of the adjacent sectors. Prepare to be boarded. We will be removing your vessel’s computer core. If you cooperate, you will be put to death quickly and without pain. If you resist, you will be tortured until we acquire all information we desire, and then you shall be ejected into space.”

  Mog blinked, astonished by the speaker’s perfect Maurian. “We’ll die before we give you so much as a crumb. Come, board my ship if you dare. End what you’ve started.”

  Although his voice was calm, his black fur bristled and his hands trembled. Let the swine board! He’d tear out their throats, if they had throats, until he no longer drew breath.

  “Strong words,” said the Ta’Krell. “But they are the words of a fool. You must understand; we will find your outpost known as Sledgim. If we do not learn its location from you, then we will learn it from someone else. And when we find this hidden world, we will do to it the same that we have done to Mauria. Such is the fate of the race of Ramas.”

  Mog couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Is that why you did this?” he gasped. “You butchered us because of some story? What do you know of Ramas?”

  “The galaxy must be purged of the unclean. This is the task of the Ta’Krell.”

  Mog ran a hand over his ears. He had just heard the answer to the question that every Maurian had been asking since the Ta’Krell had appeared at the edge of Maurian space four months ago. And I’m not sure I understand it at all. It was clear that they knew of the holy books. But can they actually be those Ta’Krell? I don’t believe it. They’re using the story, but why? To what end?

  “How can you justify what you have done?” he said.

  “Divine right.”

  The enemy severed the connection. Mog slumped against the console. On the screen, the cruiser circled around to face the Narma Kull. A group of small boarding craft detached from the underside of its hull and came towards his ship. I can’t believe it has come to this. He keyed a command into the com console.

  “Attention all decks,” he said. “We’re being boarded by enemy troops. It seems we’ll finally get to meet our daemons in the flesh. My crew, I thank you for your service in the name of Mauria. Despite the outcome, we….” He felt tears threatening his eyes. From the front of the bridge, he could hear Meela sobbing. “Despite the outcome, we have earned more honor than any Maurian in the history of our race. Our people are not dead! Our efforts here have allowed thousands to escape. Although we face our end, they will live on.”

  He ended the transmission and surveyed his bridge. If it were possible, he would destroy the Narma Kull as soon as the Ta’Krell boarded, taking the invaders straight to the grave. Without a functional power grid there was no way to cause an overload.

  The boarding party was nearing. Across from Mog, Kremp was reciting a prayer while scraping the tip of his service pistol against the charred bulkhead. Meela’s sobbing intensified. Mog sat down in Laleg’s empty chair. At least this hell would soon be over.

  The engineering station chirped. He looked over at Kremp. The engineer’s eyes widened as he observed an energy status monitor, and the pistol fell from his hand.

  “Commander,” said Kremp, his voice incredulous. “Main power just came back.”

  Meela stopped crying. Mog dragged a claw across the com board, his engineer’s words echoing around in his head. And then the meaning struck home. He was on his feet in an instant.

  “Get us clear of that cruiser,” he barked. “Maximum sublight, any heading.”

  Meela didn’t move. She just sat there, a statue adorning the front of the bridge.

  Mog growled and flung himself over the railing, landing hard on the lower level of the bridge next to the command platform. He grabbed Meela and shook her. “Now, Meela, now!”

  Her head jerked up, and her eyes locked focus on his. “By Ramas’ grace, we live,” she said.

  She looked down at her controls. A second later, her nimble fingers danced over the navigational panel, bringing the vessel back to life. Mog’s breath caught in his throat as he felt the ship shudder. Would the Narma Kull hold together for the jump into hyperspace?

  The coils within the Narma Kull’s sublight engines energized just as the first boarding craft was about to dock. The craft fired its port thrusters in an attempt to evade, but it wasn’t enough. There was a slight tremor as the tiny ship smashed into the Narma Kull’s curved bow. Mog envisioned shredded fragments of the vessel’s hull bouncing off the curved contours of his ship as it advanced.

  By now, the Narma Kull had obtained a considerable velocity. The remaining boarding craft were veering out of the way, clearing the path between the two starships. Mog saw a collision coming and grimaced. At nearly three times the size of the Maurian vessel, the Ta’
Krell cruiser wasn’t about to be swept out of the way.

  “Turn, Meela,” he muttered, as his ship plowed through two more boarding craft. “Turn.”

  “I’m trying,” she said. “Something’s wrong with the exhaust nozzles. Switching to thrusters.”

  A tremble in the deck announced the firing of the RCS thrusters. Mog tensed. The Ta’Krell cruiser was filling the viewscreen, and his ship’s turn rate was much too slow. They weren’t going to clear it!

  A gray beam of shimmering particles lanced out from the underside of the enemy ship. Mog stumbled. The bulkheads screamed in agony.

  “Graviton beam,” said Meela. “They’re pushing us away.”

  The Narma Kull was coming apart at the seams. Part of the bridge’s support structure fell from the ceiling, smashing a row of consoles only two feet behind Mog. The deck throbbed beneath his footpads. Through it all, he remained focused on the viewscreen. The underside of the Ta’Krell vessel was sliding off screen. They might just make it.

  Just when he was sure his ship would disintegrate, the shuddering subsided. A status display on the port bulkhead indicated zero velocity. Mog wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or angry. They hadn’t died, but now they were helpless once again. There was no way the Narma Kull could jump to light speed while trapped in a graviton beam. He tried to recall a method of defeating a graviton beam without weapons, but nothing came to mind. If only his ship still had its shields, then maybe they would be able to disrupt the Ta’Krell’s lock. There had to be another option.

  “They’re hailing us again,” said a voice from the upper deck. “Should I accept?”

  Mog turned to see Kremp leaning against the com console. “No. The last thing I want to hear is those bastards gloating over their catch.”

  “They probably want us to shut our engines down so they can real us in,” said Kremp. “I say we….”

  “Wait a minute,” said Mog. “That’s it!”

  He had found the option he was looking for. He had been in a similar situation ten years ago, although then the roles had been reversed.

  “Sir,” said Meela, “There’s no way the engines can break us free; their graviton beam is too strong.”

  “I don’t plan to fight the beam.” He rounded the command platform, brushed off his chair, and sat down. “I plan to drive us straight into it. If we shut down the engines, they’ll be able to pull us in. When we’re close enough to their belly, we fire the ventral thrusters at maximum power. The thrust, combined with the pull of their beam, should give us enough momentum to overload their shields and crash into their beam emitter.”

  “A collision with that vessel could destroy us,” said Kremp.

  “We’re dead if we don’t try it.” When the engineer didn’t respond, Mog knew the man wasn’t convinced. “Look, I know it seems we don’t have a reason to keep fighting. Mauria is gone. Most of our people are dead. But what about those who survived? It’s our duty to protect them. That means we have to live, if we can.”

  Meela bowed her head. “Mauria is gone, but Sledgim still lives. A good cause.”

  “Save Sledgim, save our race”, said Mog. He swiveled around to stare at Kremp.

  The engineer bowed his head. “Switching to dorsal cameras.”

  “Meela, kill the engines,” said Mog. “Ventral thrusters on my command.”

  The bridge stopped shaking. Mog watched quietly as the underside of the Ta’Krell vessel grew larger on the viewscreen. It was strange; he had welcomed death ten minutes ago, but now he wanted to live. Part of his determination was born of the desire to protect the remaining Maurians, but there was also something more. His face hardened. If he survived this, he wouldn’t rest until every Ta’Krell that had ever raised a finger against Mauria lay bleeding at his feet.

  “Two hundred marks,” said Meela.

  “Not yet,” said Mog. “We can’t give them any time to compensate.”

  “One hundred-fifty marks,” said Meela. “One hundred. Seventy-five.”

  “Sir,” said Kremp. “Sensors show four secondary graviton beams powering up. If they get those beams on us, we won’t be going anywhere, and we’ll be swarmed by their boarding craft.”

  “Five more seconds,” said Mog.

  Kremp’s face contorted. “Sir.”

  Mog held up a hand. “Quiet. One more second. Yes, that’s it. Now, Meela.”

  He grasped his armrests as the Narma Kull began to shake. He vaguely heard Kremp say something about the hull stress exceeding tolerances, but he couldn’t make out the entire message over the sound of the ship’s protests. The whole bridge angled downward, and a proximity alarm screamed from the helm console.

  A tremendous clang reverberated through the hull. The lights died, and all the display screens flickered out. The ship gave one final shake, and then everything was still. Both Meela and Kremp were praying. Mog glanced about, not sure if it was safe to let go of his chair.

  As if to answer his question, the power came back on with a reassuring hum. Peering through the smoke, he saw Meela working her console.

  “Report.” he said.

  “Sensors down,” said Kremp. “We obviously hit them, but I can’t tell if we hit the graviton emitter or not.”

  Mog ran to the helm. “Dorsal thrusters, give us some room.”

  “Already done,” said Meela. “We’ll know soon enough if we took out their graviton beam.”

  A second went by, and then another. There was no lurch, no slowing down. They were free, and the starfield on the screen was clear of all obstacles.

  “Get us out of here,” said Mog. “Full hyperdrive, any heading.”

  “Aye sir, full—”

  Meela couldn’t finish her sentence, because the Narma Kull was hit by an enemy barrage, and everything started spinning.

  “Stabilizers gone,” said Meela. “RCS not responding.”

  “Inertial suppressors are overloading,” said Kremp. “Hold on, they’re firing again.”

  Mog ducked as more wires fell from the ceiling. “Meela, hyperdrive now.”

  “Sir we can’t,” she pleaded. “Not until I get this spin under control. We could phase right through a star or a black hole or—”

  “Do it now or we’re dead.”

  She bowed her head.

  An aura of energy enveloped the Narma Kull, distorting the image on the viewscreen. Plasma bolts burst into thousands of colors as they streaked past, and the stars melded together into dazzling streaks. Then, with a brilliant flash, space seemed to fold in on itself, pulling the ship into a starless abyss. Mog slumped against the railing, utterly drained. They had survived the day, but for what? What future is left for us?

  ∆∆∆

  Mog stepped away from the painting of General Thelius and wondered why he had been admiring it, and why there was a painting at all. He looked around. The room was luxuriously furnished, with tapestries, paintings, and photographs on the walls. What is this?

  He took a step towards the center of the room. The floor was soft, some sort of artificial forest floor. He extended the claws between his toes and dug in. It feels good.

  This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to feel good. Rooms weren’t supposed to be comfortable. This was war.

  He found his green officer’s uniform on a hook next to the door. He donned it without hesitation. Was he on a ship? It didn’t feel like one. He went to the windows and parted the curtains to reveal the dim glow of a planetary atmosphere. There were small buildings with flat roofs, covered in snow. This isn’t Mauria. There were no trees. Two ice-capped mountains rose above the desolate tundra in the distance, their white cloaks broken occasionally by gray cliff faces. He yanked a curtain off its rod and threw it to the floor.

  There was a pad on the windowsill. He picked it up. It displayed a medical discharge form. His ears twitched as he read the first line: Sledgim Trauma Center, Memory Restoration Division.

  He dropped the form as a wave of recollection rushed over him
. Mauria was a smoldering ruin. The Narma Kull was plowing through boarding craft. They were in hyperspace, flying a disjointed course and masking their engine signatures. He gave the order to adjust their course to Sledgim, the hidden mining colony and last military base of the once mighty Maurian Empire.

  He backpedaled, crashing into the wooden bed frame and falling onto the mattress. The rush of memories continued, becoming more fragmented. He was arriving at Sledgim, but for some reason it looked like Mauria. The doctors said there was something wrong with him, some sort of syndrome. They had taken him forcefully from this ship.

  He blinked. He now remembered it all; the brain scans, the terrible food, and finally this recovery room. They wanted him to stay here for another month. They never answered any of his questions.

  That was going to change. He would make them take him to his ship. He would find his crew, make repairs, and then—

  He tried standing, but his legs wouldn’t support him. He fell back into the bed, completely exhausted. His head swam as he recalled the doctor’s words. Your memories will be out of sync for awhile. Just go with it. You will be with us in the present soon enough.

  ∆∆∆

  Mog’s dreams of revenge were interrupted by a chime. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. He was in a dimly lit gray room. To his left, the small alarm clock continued to sound. He silenced it with a gesture and stood.

  The room felt strange and familiar at the same time. There was a sound—a humming, almost sub-audible, and the slightest vibration coming up through the floor. With a jolt, he realized he was in his quarters on the Narma Kull. There was his desk in the corner, and the old wooden lamp his grandfather had fashioned from the planks of a long forgotten sailing ship. Pictures of his family adorned the walls. He paused, looking at the one where his father and mother cradled the bundle that was his younger brother.

  Dead. All dead.

  He crossed to the windows and looked out, confirming his suspicions. He remembered it all now. The treatments had worked. The doctors had said it would take some time every day for him to return to the present. They had warned him to expect frantic moments of forgetfulness, rushes of memory, and delusions, especially in the early hours of wakefulness. The trauma of Mauria’s fall would always be with him, although in time the episodes should decrease in severity.