Remember the Starfighter (26 page)

Ouryan vessels were well-known in the galaxy for being some of most powerful and fastest ships of the Alliance. To fight one head-on, piloting a lone starfighter, would certainly not end well. Making matters worse, the vessel behind them possessed some kind of stealth technology. It would not be long before the enemy would trail them again, approaching undetected with its weapons ready to fire. This he knew.

Even as they had safely made the jump back into hyperspace, Julian wrestled with what to do now. The Ouryan had known his name and rank, as it tried to convince him to give up the android. What else did it know? He looked at their current course to the New Terran fleet at Amredies Prime, and wondered if their destination had already been compromised. Accessing the different star charts, Julian weighed his options, trying to devise a new plan. But unknown to him, there was a more pressing problem, one he could not avoid.

“What is the Ouryan collapser?”

The android was still connected to the ship’s power node. More metallic veins had extended from her arm, taking root in the ship’s wall. He looked at the android startled. According to the Ouryan, she contained inside her a power of possible Endervar origin. It began to explain why she could so easily funnel energy to the ship.

“Answer my question,” the android demanded.

Julian hesitated. He knew very well the dangers of revealing too much. But he had to say something.

“The collapser is a weapon,” he answered. “It’s so powerful it can destroy an entire star system.”

“And I am a threat to it?” she said. “How?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I demand an explanation,” she replied, her voice growing louder.

Julian tried to be patient, thinking of how to best explain it.

“By using the collapser, the Alliance can stop the Endervars,” he said.

“You mean it can destroy entire star systems controlled by the enemy?”

“Yes,” he admitted. “It’s the only weapon capable of destroying a shielded planet. As I understand it, the plans were nearly finalized, but—”

“You would destroy your own people?” the android asked in disbelief. “You would kill billions of lives?”

“It’s not that simple. Things are different now. Before you came, we thought no one could have survived on worlds lost to the Endervars. It just didn’t seem possible.”

“But the Alliance, they are moving forward with this plan to deploy the collapser?”

“I don’t know, I really don’t.”

“According to that transmission, it seems so,” she said. “This is unacceptable. This cannot happen.”

“Listen, I know you are concerned, but you have to trust me on this—”

“I apologize,” the android said. “But you must understand captain that I have few reasons to trust this situation, or you.”

“I’m here to protect you,” Julian said. “That’s all I’ve been doing this whole time.”

But the android was unconvinced.

“I can protect myself,” she said, her words laced with anger.

She was done talking. The android moved her gaze away and toward the cockpit window. Julian could hear the engines rumble, a sign that the ship’s acceleration was changing.

“What’s happening?” he said, returning to the control console. Julian inputted the commands, expecting the vessel to reply. Every button and dial, however, had become unresponsive.

“I have fully synched with the Lightning and taken control over the ship,” she said, the veins from her hand growing in thickness.

“What?”

Julian looked at the ship’s display. Across one of the glass monitors, he could see that their hyperspace route was now being recalibrated. Numbers flashed over the coordinates, dozens of different locations cycling over through the database. Finally, the new destination had been set, as the engines stabilized. The ship’s trajectory was now headed to the Alpha sector, more than 7,000 light-years away, a yellow star, deep inside Endervar territory. Formally, it was known by the Alliance simply as 387-3M. But to all of humanity it was better known as the Sol system.

It was clear that the galaxy was far different than what she had imagined. Little peace or cooperation seemed to exist anywhere, the Endervars controlling one section of the galaxy, while desperate people fought amongst themselves in what was the rest. The android had become embroiled in a political dispute that held her both captive and threatened her existence. Minutes ago, she had just been told, the very people tasked with protecting her cared little about life. They much rather destroy her homeworld, defying every directive core to her own being.

In the end, she felt she had no choice — not only was her own safety in danger, but that of Earth itself. Within seconds, the ship became a part of her. The android’s nano-machines had gone beyond supplying power, and moved to control the ship’s core systems, already having embedded themselves into the computerized architecture and quickly undoing the once secure command protocols. Full access had been turned over to her, as the android’s data streams fed through the ship’s inner-workings.

She looked at the human pilot now, only feeling anger. He could not be trusted, nor could anyone else from the Alliance. They had already decided to commit genocide and threatened to disassemble her. Why had her creator ever believed in humanity? They were weak and violent. She would never admit it, and would even try to shun the thought. But within her so-called emotions, she hated them, wishing she had never been a part of them. Whether it was a product of her errant subroutines, or something genuine, she could not say. However, the feeling was there, if only temporarily, stirring behind every process, as she looked to find a way out of this disaster.

“Arendi,” the man said. “Please. You have to listen to me.”

“There is nothing else for you to say,” she replied, analyzing the pilot’s behavioral patterns. He had become distressed, finding that nothing on the ship was in his control. His heart rate had become elevated, as sweat began to appear on his forehead. He took off the outer layer to his uniform, and threw the clothing down on the floor.

“We’re on the same side,” he said, pleading with her.

The android said nothing, barely moving now, as she ignored his remarks.

“Haven, my homeworld,” the man continued. “It will be one of the first worlds destroyed by the Ouryan collapser if deployed. Before you arrived, I thought my planet to be dead. But according to you, people still live on Endervar-controlled worlds, is that correct?”

The man looked at the android, his hands open, begging for a response.

“Is that correct?” he said louder, not wanting to deal with her silence any longer.

“Yes,” the android finally said.

“That’s why I took this mission. I want to stop the Ouryan collapser, I want to save Haven. And with your help, maybe we can do this.”

“Then why, minutes ago, did I detect you changing our flight trajectory away from the New Terran fleet at Amredies Prime?” she asked.

“I don’t think it’s safe,” he said. “The Ouryan, he knew my name and rank. They must know we’re heading there. There’s got to be a dozen other Ouryan ships waiting to intercept us if we approach.”

“This no longer matters. I am intent on returning to Earth.”

“And do what?”

“We will prepare contingencies,” she said. “It is clear, we were wrong… wrong about everything.”

“Well, you won’t get far. As long as that Ouryan ship is out there, you’re in danger. At best, we maybe have a day or two before it catches up with us and attacks.”

She did not wish to concede it, but the man was likely correct. It would take several more days, perhaps even weeks, before her systems were at full operational capacity. Until then, the likelihood of her survival and her safe return to Earth remained low when factoring in the vessel trailing behind them.

She, however, knew all this, and wanted to reject it. Her machine part had analyzed the threats, and compiled all-known possibilities. The conclusion was obvious: If anything, she needed to remain here, in the unknown, to try and stop the Ouryan collapser.

She did not wish to accept this, the human side to her conflicting with every thought in her mind.

“What do you suggest?” she said.

“I need control of the ship’s navigational database, along with all intelligence on Ouryan ships, give me that at least,” he said.

“Why should I trust you?” she asked bluntly. “How do I know you won’t betray me?”

The man cut through the questions, wanting to settle the doubts for good.

“I’d rather die than let this mission fail,” he said without hesitation. “I swear I’ll protect you. My homeworld depends on it.”

His stress levels remained high. But nothing in the android’s behavioral scans indicated he was lying. She could only conclude that his conviction was true, and yet still, she wanted to find another reason to refuse — to continue on course, despite the odds.

“You’re far more powerful than me,” the man added. “I know. I can see that clearly now. The ship is still yours. It can’t run without you. But just give me access to those maps. That’s all I’m asking.”

She could not deny the pilot’s logic. The android nodded, releasing control of the select command protocols. The pilot went to his seat, reading through the vast collection of stellar data. He did not speak again for the next hour, keeping his thoughts to himself. But the android monitored the data he accessed, noting that the pilot was focusing on two different star systems, one closer than the other.

“You may not like this,” the pilot said, breaking his silence. “But I have a plan that with any luck could work.”

They would never reach the fleet at Amredies Prime. The human had another plan, one that would stop the Ouryan vessel. Julian explained the details, knowing there would be risks. Given the circumstances, the android had to agree.  Relinquishing full control of the ship, she returned the Lightning back to pilot’s command. Arendi then began preparing the energy reserve.

It was not what she wanted. But there was no other choice. Here, she must stay, the android concluded — in the unknown.

After following the target’s energy trail, the Ouryan vessel appeared out of hyperspace, with stealth systems fully engaged. The agent, however, soon realized that there was no need for the deception. The Lightning was there in visual range, completely abandoned and bereft of power.

Perplexing, the agent thought. Stellar charts put its location in Gamma Dyrannus, a destination in the near-opposite direction of the New Terran fleet. The human captain had been wise to avoid Amredies Prime, the system now home to an Ouryan taskforce. But why had the captain come here, only to abandon his ship? No life signs could be found, or any evidence of communication waves. A closer visual analysis showed ruptures in the ship’s hull, indicating a possible attack. Or perhaps more likely, an internal overload.

What was important, however, was that the entire cockpit section had gone missing. It was then clear that the human captain had been forced to flee the ship in the vessel’s lifeboat. Further scans detected a new energy signature extending out from the Lightning into a course deep within Gamma Dyrannus.

The Ouryan vessel followed, with shields and stealth systems still powered on. It was not long before the vessel had detected a heat signature, finding the lifeboat in mid transit. A trajectory pinpointed its heading to be a nearby planet, the database listing it as a former Kilanthian colony. An odd choice for refuge, but the agent surmised that the captain had been left with no option. If only they had been faster. Then perhaps, they would have avoided the Ouryan agent’s gaze and their soon-to-be capture.

As the lifeboat continued on its course, the Ouryan vessel lowered its shields and stealth systems. The ship then fired, not with a weapon, but a tractor beam that latched on to its target, forcing the escaping craft to stop in mid-flight. Despite whatever resistance its engines could muster, the lifeboat was trapped, defenseless to prevent the approaching Ouryan vessel from laying claim to its prize.

In a way, it was an anti-climactic end. The Ouryan agent had expected at least one last stand-off with the human captain. Inevitably, however, the opposition had run out of resources; all the captain had left was his escape pod. The agent could only watch in disappointment, knowing that this human had met his match, reduced to hiding, and running. The last card the captain had to play was to issue an emergency distress signal, asking for help.

Pathetic, the agent mused, witnessing the man’s desperation.

“So much for a challenge,” it said. “Why not just admit defeat human?”

It would be the last thought the Ouryan agent would think, at least in its current form. As the lifeboat emitted its emergency distress call, a hidden encrypted signal also went off. This was not a plea for help, but instead a coded message containing a series of commands. Hundreds of thousands of kilometers away, the once dead Lightning awoke, responding to the orders.

It happened in what was only less than a minute. At nearly the speed of light, the SpaceCore vessel came charging at the Ouryan ship, using the last of its stored energy reserve. Not simply to attack, but to totally annihilate, a full-on collision course plotted. In terms of size, the human ship was but a fragment against the mass of the Ouryan vessel. This, however, meant nothing to the Lightning as the craft became a weapon in itself, every fiber of its structure escalating the destructive damage it would bring. When the scans detected the incoming object, it was too late for the agent, the target all too vulnerable with both its shields and stealth systems down. In a flash, the Ouryan vessel shattered into pieces; the once imposing starship had exploded in space.

Julian saw the impact out from the cockpit’s exterior cameras, feeling the lifeboat free of the tractor beam. For a moment, the craft seemed to spin off course, diving away from the carnage. Gradually, however, it slowed as directional thrusters stabilized its position.

Behind them, he noticed nothing. The Ouryan vessel’s fiery demise had been consumed by the vacuum of space. The threat utterly destroyed, left to forever wander as mangled debris. Its destruction had come at the cost of the Lightning, a ship now among the pieces trailing behind Julian’s lifeboat.

He didn't wish to indulge in the sentimentality. While the Lightning may have given them a fighting chance, there was still more work to be done. After viewing the debris, Julian directed the lifeboat to the destination ahead, preparing the craft for re-entry. On the display, he could see a red planet surrounded in white and brown smoke. Gamma Dyranus III was its standard designation, a world that was long ago abandoned by most accounts. But to Julian, the planet had always been known by another, albeit classified, name.

“There it is,” Julian said. “Legeon Base.”