Into the Black: Odyssey One (19 page)

Weston cursed once under his breath, “that figures. Any response to the hails?”

“Still nothing, Sir. . . . Captain, they just increased their velocity…,” Waters sounded even tenser suddenly. “Sir! Sensors are reading an energy build-up from the same locus as the alien ship!”

“Ping them,” Weston’s voice echoed coldly across the bridge.

“Aye, Sir. Tachyon echo location going active.” A moment later, Waters voice continued, “we’ve locked their position into the combat systems.”

Waters stiffened at his console, reading the numbers that flashed past his eyes instinctively, “Incoming!”

“Launch drones! Sideslip two hundred meters to starboard!” Weston called up the intel that Waters was privy to. “Prepare to engage the enemy vessel. Give the Archangels the green light, and tell Commander Michaels, Godspeed.”

“Aye Sir.”

The Odyssey’s Cee-Emm field pulsed once as the navigation computers briefly transferred a large chunk of power into the generators, and fired up the maneuvering thrusters. The small, but powerful, thrusts pushed out from the port side and the big ship groaned and shuddered as its remaining mass objected to the maneuver.

The objections were futile though, as the big ship slid diagonally, away from its previous position, even as the blast shields that protected the enclosed flight decks rumbled open against the silent backdrop of space.

The Odyssey’s flight deck buzzed, as the Archangels screamed out into space, their twin reactors blazing as the nimble ships formed up and flew ahead of the Odyssey. The big ship’s thrusters burned hard, pushing the Odyssey to the side.

“We’ve slid by two hundred meters Sir, and the ‘Angels report that they’re forming up for a strafing run, on your command,” Roberts said.

“Good. Have them-” Weston began.

“Captain! The drones are gone, Sir! They just… vaporized…,” Waters muttered in shock, “I’m trying to compile the last few seconds of information that we got from them… It looks like they registered a very powerful energy signature intersecting our previous position.”

“Analyse it, Waters. I want to know what it was,” Weston told him, and then turned back to Roberts. “Have the Angels fly point for us, until further notice.”

“Aye Captain.”

Weston watched as Waters passed the data to the labs for analysis, and waited impatiently for the response. On the screen, the Archangels maintained their range from the Odyssey and Weston knew the pilots were waiting for his order to engage the fighter’s combat interface.

“Captain, the analysis is coming back. The energy signature is one of…,” Waters paused a moment before continuing, “a very powerful class one laser.”

“Class one? That’s it?” Weston’s expression was incredulous.

“Yes S… Sir,” Ensign Waters stammered a bit, “they’re pumping more power through the beam than I would have thought possible, but it’s still only a class one.”

“Adjust the forward armor plates to compensate and increase to combat velocity,” Weston touched a button with his thumb. “Weston to Stephanus,”

“Aye Captain?” The answer came back from the lead fighter.

“Ensign Waters is transmitting frequency data on the laser the bogy is using. Adjust your armor resonance and engage combat interface.”

“Aye Captain,” Stephanus switched over to the squadrons frequency a moment later, “Alright boys and girls, we’re clear for combat maneuvering. Engage the interface.”

Good natured groans sounded across the channel as a few of the pilots mock objected to the order, Stephanus himself hated pressing that button, but it had to be done. Depressing a small covered bottom on the side of his seat, Stephanus hissed in pain as two molecular thin needles snicked out of his helmet and enter the back of his neck on either side of his spinal cord.

The so called ‘Interface’ consisted of two very sensitive conductors that acted as neural sensors after they had penetrated to either side of the spinal cord. The needles themselves were thin enough that the specs claimed, an operator would barely able to feel the entry, though most pilots swore differently, and were certified not to cause undue damage to the nervous system.

In return, they continually monitored the pilot’s nerve endings, and interpolated gross motor functions into a sophisticated program that allowed the ‘Angel’s to very precisely adjust their maneuvers.

System initiation complete, Stephanus flexed his muscles carefully, trying not to think about the foreign objects in his neck, and turned back to the task at hand.

“Okay team, readjust the cam-plates to the frequency they sent over and give me a flying wedge in front of the Odyssey. Match her speed and bring all combat systems online,” Stephanus switched back over to his direct channel to Captain Weston, “we’re ready here Cap. You sure they’re only using class one’s?”

*****

Back on the Odyssey, Weston had been asking that question himself, “looks like it, Steph, all the scans match.”

Weston watched the tight formation of fighters on his screen shimmer as each of the sleek little craft altered their armor to reflect the laser frequency that the Odyssey had detected. Seconds later, the tightly formed squad had visibly shifted color to adapt to their enemy’s lasers.

Weston listened to Stephanus’ acknowledgment and then closed the channel, “Waters, what’s the estimated time to intercept?”

“Eighteen minutes sir, until then we can easily evade any shots they take,” the Ensign responded crisply, his nerves having either faded or been placed somewhere else, for the moment.

“All right, we wait,” Weston said, trying to sound calm as he watched the countdown to contact.

The tension rose on the bridge, as the clock ran down and the two ships closed the gap between them. Outside, the Archangel fighters maintained their formation as the rapidly approaching ship appeared on their less powerful scanners.

*****

Stephanus adjusted his scanners slowly, as more information was transmitted to his fighter’s onboard systems about the target. The enemy vessel had some way of scrambling most of the sensors they used on it, resulting in apparently random profiles and energy readings. The reaction on his fighter’s tachyon array was having the same issues as the larger one on the Odyssey. Neither system seemed capable of detecting the approaching vessel unless it varied from its course or, of course, powered weapons.

The pilot frowned; most materials had some tachyon signatures that could be used to get some type of lock, at almost any range. The incoming ship must not only be constructed of a material that was transparent to tachyons, but its energy systems must be incredibly well shielded as well, since energy fields normally disrupt local tachyon fields.

Stephanus’ fighter banked slightly as a course change was ordered by the Odyssey, the squadron all moved in unison as the big ship altered course behind them. The enemy intercept was less than five minutes out when their scanners picked up the smaller groupings of signals that erupted from the enemy ship.

“Weston to ’Angel Lead, we believe the target vessel has just launched fighters. Be warned they have adjusted their course again to intercept and are still not answering our hails.”

“Confirmed, Odyssey. Angel squadron has gone to combat maneuvering and is ready to provide cover,” Stephanus couldn’t help the rather large part of him that was eagerly waiting for this encounter. He already knew that the Archangels were best on Earth, now they were getting a chance to take on the neighborhood bully in a much bigger neighborhood.

“Odyssey, ‘Angel Lead is requesting permission to break formation with ’Angel’s two and three, to scout ahead.”

“Denied. Angel Lead, we’ll meet them together,” Eric Weston’s tone was dry, but Commander Steven ‘Stephanus’ Michaels recognized the old ‘follow orders you idiot’, admonition hidden under the tone.

“Yes Sir,” Stephanus sighed, it was worth a shot.

Three minutes to intercept.

Behind them all, at the back of the Bridge, Milla Chans had gone pale as she watched the intertwining of graphics on the sanitized computer screens in front of her. To her mind, part of it at least, they were already dead. The Drasin was faster than the fastest ship… No, they weren’t faster than this ship, she had to remind herself. However the Captain didn’t seem to have any intention of running.

It was insane. It was suicide. And yet she couldn’t manage to open her mouth to object to it. Part of her wanted to do nothing more than run and hide, lest the same thing happen to her and these people as had happened to her comrades before. Another part, however, wanted to do anything, even if it were futile, to kick the Drasin in the teeth.

She shivered, knowing of course that it wasn’t her choice to make.

At t-minus sixty seconds the Odyssey’s scanners began to go wild as they reported massive energy surges from the alien vessel’s general location. Before the crew could respond, the result of the power surge had already become evident.

The Odyssey shuddered slightly and the Bridge Crew stiffened in their chairs.

“Captain, we just took several direct hits. Class one lasers, all of them,” Water’s said tensely.

“Same frequency?” Weston had already called up for damage reports.

“Aye Sir. Minor damage to forward armor. Estimates say the forward armor reflected over ninety-eight percent of the power away from the Odyssey,” Waters frowned. “The two percent that was left was enough to ablate away several layers of armor.”

“Fine,” Weston hated to ask stupid questions, but he knew this one had to be asked, “Any chance those were comm lasers?”

“Negative Sir. Not unless they habitually use power levels consistent with a quantum thermal explosion for communicating with other species,” Waters replied dryly, then immediately flushed as he realized that he had just joked with his Captain.

Weston chuckled silently, “if they do then it’s probably safer to have them as enemies than allies.”

A soft round of laughter circled the bridge, killing a small amount of the tension, as Weston nodded firmly a second later and spoke aloud.

“All right, full power to the forward defence array. Inform me as soon as you have a clear lock on the target using standard sensors. And keep hailing them.”

“Aye Captain.”

Thumbing a control on the panel of his armrest, Weston opened a channel to Stephanus, “’Angel One, this is the Odyssey. You are clear to attack, keep your squad out of the fire zone between the Odyssey and the enemy Capital vessel. Good luck, Steph.”

Chapter 12

Stephanus felt the brief kick of the fighter’s acceleration push him back into the seat before the Cee-Emm stabilizer activated and the pressure equalized. He didn’t have to check, to know that the other fighters were still in perfect formation around him. They were all Archangels and that was all he needed to know. He had led them against more than one enemy group; he knew his people and he trusted them.

As the sleek fighters rocketed toward their target, the alien battle group took careful note of the approaching ships and casually sent a half squad to intercept the twelve incoming ships.

Stephanus blinked twice as he looked at his screens, “Four! They’re sending four fighters to intercept us?”

Archangel eight, a young man nicknamed ‘Brute’, was quick to respond, “Yeah, don’t seem hardly right. You’d think they would treat us with some respect…, at least in our first encounter.”

“Their loss, Brute. Let’s frag ‘em and leave the debris for someone else to worry about,” this from the fourth Archangel, a reckless woman who went by the, aptly chosen, call sign ’Flare’.

“’Angels three, four and eight, you’re with me. The rest of you stay on vector to intercept the aliens’ primary fighter group,” Stephanus banked hard, slipping out of the formation and accelerating toward the four hostiles coming after them.

The four fighters slipped easily into a tightly stacked diamond formation, the front and rear fighters offset vertically so they didn’t block each other’s shots. They approached the curiously shaped fighters the alien ship had sent to intercept them, each pilot trying to ride the edge of tension and relaxation that created the optimum reaction time.

The alien fighters, for their part, remained solidly on an intercept course for the bulk of the Archangel squadron and ignored the four fighters burning on vector, toward them.

“All right, I’m sending you your targets. Finish them fast and head back to the main group,” Stephanus figured that either the aliens were seriously underestimating them or they had something else up their sleeves.

The other Archangels acknowledge the order and locked onto their assigned targets, on Stephanus’ order they broke their diamond formation and flew in toward their individual targets.

Brute broke onto the tac-net seconds later, “I think they just locked on, sensors can’t confirm it, but my instruments just went nuts.”

“Roger that, stay clear and be ready to go evasive.”

Brute acknowledge quickly, but Stephanus could see his emotions echoed as clearly in his flying, as if he had a sign pointed at him saying ‘nervous’.

“Relax Brute, you’ll screw up your stabilizers flying like that,” Stephanus advised him firmly, noting the shaky flying with annoyance. Brute knew better than that.

Being nervous was fine.

Flying nervous was not.

Brute’s sheepish chuckle was echoed quickly in his flying as Archangel eight quickly smoothed out and resumed its original intercept course.

Steph smiled, “Better, Brute.”

On their scanners the Archangels watched as one of the alien vessels altered course, slightly toward them.

“You think he’s going to swat us?” Even Stephanus chuckled at the irreverent smirk he heard even over the tac-net.

The chuckle was cut off abruptly when Brute let out a shocked yell and his fighter rocked violently in space, “I’m hit! The cam-plate mods were useless!”

Commander Stephanus cursed under his breath, automatically linking his HUD into Brute’s systems and checking the other plane’s diagnostics. In a flash he found the problem.

“Brute! Calm down, have your system analyse the frequency and readjust. The fighter isn’t using the same frequency as the capital ship!” Stephanus watched the Archangel shudder in front of him, reading the fear and panic in the planes demeanor, just as he would have read it in the pilots face, at another time. The hit didn’t look bad; luckily Brute had managed to evade a continuous beam.