Skies Over Tomorrow: Constellation (21 page)

In the path of the recon team, with Alpha Omega Nine having drawn nearer to the belt, the residual tsunamis of dissipated planetoid fragments confronted them. Chunks and pieces whisked by at the onset, with a few thudding into and deflecting off the shell of the mech. The pilots managed the gunsuit's brief spasms; however, as Rehana pressed it on into the celestial swells, debris of crystallized mineral dregs, molten earth rubble, and Zeta Squad remnants, flung out from the explosions that devastated the asteroid field, pelted the Guardian. In turn its impulsion slowed, as the cockpit shook with an incessant and erratic rhythm.

Eventually, having pushed through, the shaking tapered off and Alpha Omega Nine's emergence from the stellar fronts coincided with a clearing view of space, as it regained its drive and dashed for the asteroid field. Shelter was so close, however, the Guardian's lead over the alien mechs had narrowed.

“Rehana,” Vincent said, seeing the blips on the radar screen were steadily moving to the center of it.

“I know, almost there.”

“We need to do something now,” Vincent then said, as blips swirled about the middle of the display.

“Just hold on,” Rehana said, forcing the controls for an angled trajectory, to dive the Guardian into the belt. “Fire Astrals on my mark.”

“Just say when.”

As the Guardian took refuge among the asteroids, its hyper-boost was cut. “Fire.”

“Missiles away,” said Vincent, and as Alpha Omega Nine paced the variety of meandering boulders, eight cruise missiles flared from its rear-mounted pod. Two crashed into asteroids while the remaining six gathered above the belt, and once the target drives of each locked in an alien craft, the formation split, and they all sought after their respective target.

The missiles navigated through the churning maze with methodic grace, swirling and swaying about the planetesimals. In a pincer-like maneuver in two instances, a pair slammed into a xenomech and disintegrated its defensive posture in a starry explosion. A third xeno, knocked out of control from a warhead's deflected impact, twirled on fire as it smashed into an asteroid and broke into pieces. The remainder of the group outmaneuvered the missile blitz, and after the leader shot down the last warhead, they recommenced their pursuit of the Guardian.

While its subordinates executed a flanking maneuver, the lead xeno lulled on a nomadic planetoid with its sights on the Federation gunsuit. Because neither Rehana nor Vincent could visually spot the alien crafts, though the radar of the recon unit marked their positions, they halted their movement—until the leader made herself visible. Alpha Omega Nine launched after its primary target.

“Get on the RLF, Vincent.”

“Rehana, it's a setup! Damn it,” he said, readying to helm the weapon system.

The lead xenomech turned and countered with a rushing offensive.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Vincent said. “The other two are on our six!”

Rehana piloted around tumbling asteroids, through the relentless crossfire, evading both the barrage of shots and the shock waves of exploding planetoids. “Fire last Astral batch, linear pattern,” she said.

“Missiles away!”

The second dispatch of shooting stars brought a momentary hiatus to the melee, as with the diffusion of more planetoid fragments, the xenomechs switched to defensive tactics in anticipation of the four warheads, which blazed upward, beyond the asteroid field until they were just twinkles; but then turned back to restart the skirmish. All four missiles, however, hailed down after the same xenomech, catching the subordinate unit in the open as it fled for cover. As each one slammed into it, the impact of the initial explosion intensified until there was just a fireball out of control, which careened into an asteroid and dissipated into dust. The leader and her last subordinate, having escaped the second counteroffensive, were quick to resume their hounding of Alpha Omega Nine.

“Focus on the leader,” Rehana said.

“The other one is coming around fast.”

“Status of the RLF.”

“Rapid Laser Fire charge is full. Give the word and I'll let it rip.”

“Not yet. Let's draw her closer.”

“Well, she's definitely getting closer.”

“Just hold on.”

“I lost her!” Vincent said. “I've lost the leader!”

“Find her.”

“I got her!” he said, and then they both were jarred by an impact to the Guardian. Sparks erupted throughout the cockpit, and the recon team found themselves adrift.

“What was that?” Rehana said, short of breath from having the wind knocked out of her.

“Don't know,” said Vincent. “Definitely not a rock.” The visor of his helmet cracked from his head slamming into his center console. “Come on, get control. We're about to hit one though.”

Rehana fired a combination of auxiliary thrusters to stabilize their orientation. “How's the RLF?” she said.

“Still good, and here she comes,” Vincent said. “The other one is circling around, coming in low at five o'clock.”

“Bad idea. Let's get out of here.” Rehana thought the asteroid belt would be an ally.

“Rehana, they've moved off, but still trailing.”

She looked to the side monitor. As they moved out from the asteroid field, the indicator showed the movements of the two blips were delayed, as though the xenomechs were tracking the Guardian—as a phantom detail would do. She reversed course.

“What are you doing?” Vincent said, as Rehana piloted the Guardian behind an asteroid.

“We can't lead them to the Alto.”

“We're running out of options here.”

“I know.”

“Great, they're on the move again.”

Rehana blasted the Guardian from the cover of the planetoid, as she said, “Get a lock and hold.” The recon unit moved to intercept the subordinate xeno.

“What is that?” Vincent said. On one of his monitors, he saw a close combat weapon of some sort extended from the right extremity of the xenomech; the blade glowed with the same intensity as the energy waves, as he looked to view it from the perspective of the AED.

“Do you have a lock, Vincent?”

“Locking on. Locking on. Got lock!”

The alien craft poised to slash Alpha Omega Nine, as Vincent's finger hovered above the trigger button.

“Fire,” said Rehana.

Turrets on the shoulders of the Guardian revealed themselves as it faked its direction and flanked the xenomech. The short-barrel cannons discharged and milled the alien craft in a shower of light. It was quick to disengage, yet unable to escape the precision strikes of the RLF, especially with the recon unit giving chase. The lasers lacerated the armor of the xeno until they penetrated and passed through it.

“That's a kill,” Rehana said, seeing the xenomech slow and become aimless. Upon its collision with an asteroid and breaking apart, the turrets concealed themselves. “How's the RLF?”

“Down to forty-three percent, and recharging.”

“Vincent, where's the leader?”

“She's gone,” he said, checking the radar. “Wait a minute.”

Another impact jarred the cockpit. Its force caused Rehana to face-dive into her console and shatter the transparent visor of her helmet, and left the Guardian in a spin like a soda can in zero gravity. A series of alarms cried out.

“You're not going to believe this,” said Vincent. “Our lower-left adjunct has just been severed.”

Rehana fired another combination of trajectory stabilizers to stop the nauseating roll and turn the gunsuit upright. When she regained control, the cockpit jolted again. Sparks blazed about, more alarms sounded, and various gauges and lights blinked in Morse code to her and Vincent. Through wavering smoke, the visual and audible indicators all translated the anguish of the Guardian. The pilots were shunted by the impact shock of a third hit that left Alpha Omega Nine dead in space. The cockpit was red with warning and emergency lights, and its AED degraded to just a few active panels.

“She must find it amusing to toy with us like this,” Vincent said and coughed. “I'm stabilizing the reactor. Flight control is at twenty-two percent. Life support is down to thirty-seven. Eighty percent of the shell is fractured, and we have shell ruptures in the thorax, fore and aft. Overall, we're screwed.”

“What about the RLF?” Rehana said and removed her helmet. A shard from its shattered visor cut her face, and a stream of blood ran from her cheek to her chin, and dripped to her lap.

“The EX generator is still charging, which is the good news.”

“The bad news?”

“The left turret is off line, which diminishes its effectiveness with just the right one.” Vincent then said, “The only thing I can do to up the RLF's strength is redirect a few subsidiary systems to boost the generator to a full charge. It'll take a few minutes. It's at fifty-eight percent now.”

“Do it.”

Vincent smiled. “Already on it because I just knew you'd say that,” he said. “It is done. We need three minutes, and the leader is coming around again. Can you turn us about?”

The Guardian stabilized itself and turned to face the last xenomech, lining it up in the cross hairs of the RLF as best as it could.

“Fire whenever you're ready, Vincent.” On the main monitor, Rehana watched the lead xenomech fade into view while descending on an attack vector, readying its blade. “Fire at will,” she said. “You hear me?”

“We're at seventy-three percent.”

“Come on, shoot.”

“I think you should try relaxing now,” he said.

Rehana smiled, though very anxious.

“Eighty-eight percent.”

The xeno was within 900 meters.

Rehana reversed the Guardian to buy time.

“Keep it steady!” Vincent said, as the target lock vacillated with its acquired aim.

650 meters.

“I would like to make it back to the Alto and call my sister.”

“You will.”

400 meters.

“Firing,” Vincent said, depressing the trigger button.

The right turret popped up on the shoulder of the Guardian, and its barrel swiveled toward the alien mech and lashed out. The quick fire of the RLF whipped the xenomech, and as it evaded the counter in earnest, it sustained quite a few hits while continuing to advance its attack.

“Come on, Vincent.”

The laser dispersal rate began to slow, falling from fifty beams per eight seconds to ten.

“The generator's down to twenty percent,” he said.

“Keep it going,” Rehana said.

The power plant was pushed into its red zone, and on the verge of shutting down, flashed a warning of its impeding failure which Vincent knew if spent, would not recharge. The beam rate dropped from ten to five and lasted only a few seconds before the turret served one last round. “That's it,” he said, “the generator's kaput.”

Rehana reversed the Guardian, bracing for the final blow; however, fifteen meters out, the xenomech's blade lowered and faded, and as its momentum brought the recon team face to face with its pilot, the weapon retracted up into its arm. Rehana and Vincent beheld through the tinted canopy of the perforated xeno, the extraterrestrial in a state of suspended animation, entwined by cords that were attached to her semi-clad form at various points. Her hair floated in the fluidic suspension of the cockpit. Then her eyelids lifted open, and she stared at the Guardian for a few seconds. When the alien pilot closed her eyes, the xenomech withdrew.

“Vincent, why do you think she spared us?”

“I've no idea. Let's just be happy to have luck on our side.”

Rehana watched as the xenomech dove into hyperspace, disappearing into the universe. “Let's get out of here,” she then said.

Crippled, Alpha Omega Nine coasted out of the asteroid field. The damage to the gunsuit was extensive from appearance alone. With areas of its shell splintered, gaping breaches exposed electronic and mechanical systems, and its amputated extremity sparked and smoked from live power cables and leaking pressurized valves and hydraulic pumps. The mutilation of the exterior could only allude to the impairments of its hi-tech innards and the injuries of its pilots. Though Rehana felt nauseous and the sides of her chest burned, she managed to pilot the Guardian back aboard the Alto.

Rehana released a sigh, and the exhaling breath comforted her chest, as the thought of how much longer she and Vincent would have to wait for their superiors crossed her mind. She wanted to rest. Upon their return to the Alto, they were taken to the infirmary, where the doctor gave them a quick fix, and then they were ordered to the colonel's parley chamber.

The lieutenant tried not to show her hurt, but when she reached for the glass of water between her and Vincent, the tenderness of her sides made it difficult to bend forward. Her throat parched, she moistened her lips.

“Vincent,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.

He saw her finger pointing, and then he grasped the glass of water and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, and took a long drink. Swallowing the water, she felt it chill the sides of her chest and comfort her bruised ribs. She placed the glass back on the table after having quenched her thirst, and sighed again.

“Where's the colonel?” said Vincent.

Rehana shrugged her shoulders. It hurt her to move.

“I'm ready to get this over with.”

“You and I both,” she said.

Just then, they heard the conference doors open from their rear, and they stood and saluted. The colonel, his adjutant, Major Gordo, and a civilian—a woman they occasionally saw around the ship—entered and took seats opposite of the two pilots at the elongated, oval table.

“Have a seat,” Colonel Moore said, sitting with a straight back and his arms folded across his chest. “Lieutenants Hayes and Craver. Why did you violate your mission directives—this time?”