The Exile: A Military Sci-Fi Series (Omega Taskforce Book 3) Read online

  “I have six on my scanner,” Sterling replied, pulling in behind one of the Sa’Nerran fighters and opening fire. The small attack craft exploded, showering the combat shuttle with fiery debris. “Make that five,” Sterling corrected, though without any hint of boastfulness. “With these things buzzing around, there’s no way I can dock with the Invictus before the destroyers arrive.”

  Banks pulled the portable computer console out of Razor’s backpack and slotted it into the shuttle’s systems. “I’m uploading the data from the alien cruiser to the Invictus now,” said Banks, tapping out a short sequence of commands into the computer. “I’ll run an analysis and try to extrapolate anything that looks like navigational scan data.”

  Sterling nodded then glanced over his shoulder. His chief engineer was now strapped into a seat in the rear of the shuttle. She was still unconscious, but was being attended to by Lieutenant Shade. However, at Sterling’s instruction, Shade kept a pistol close by. He had no way to know whether the firewall had failed before or after he’d torn the neural translation matrix from the head of the Sa’Nerran commander. If there had been a moment when the two interfaces were connected without a protective barrier between them, he had no idea what effect that might have on Razor’s brain. However, he wasn’t taking any chances. If Razor showed any sign that she was about to turn then she’d have to be put down. It was that simple.

  Sterling focused back on the controls and the Invictus soared into view ahead of the combat shuttle, plasma blasts flashing into space from its turrets. A Wasp was hit and exploded, burning a fiery trail through space to Sterling’s right, like a comet. He adjusted course to stay close to the Marauder, in the hope that its more accurate and powerful guns would make short work of the Wasps. Slotting in behind the Invictus, Sterling then tapped his neural interface and reached out to Commander Graves.

  “Commander, we have the data and are running an analysis now,” Sterling called out to the temporary commander of his ship. “But until we have a new course, we’ll have to stand and fight. Can you handle those destroyers?”

  The Invictus initiated a full-power turn, putting itself between the combat shuttle and two of the attacking Wasps. Blasts from the Sa’Nerran fighters thumped into the Invictus’ regenerative armor, but it was as ineffective as firing BB-gun pellets at a rhinoceros. Focused fire from the Marauder’s turrets then obliterated one of the fighters, while the other narrowly evaded being hit. The alien combat ship panicked and turned away from the Invictus, allowing Sterling to pick it off with ease.

  “We can handle the destroyers, Captain,” Graves replied. His tone was so level that the medical officer sounded almost bored. “I would recommend you dock before they are in weapons range, however.”

  Sterling was about to answer when the shuttle took a hit and was buffeted like a dodgem car at a fairground. He glanced at the damage control console and saw that their armor had absorbed the bulk of the energy. The weapons systems of the older-generation Wasps lacked the punch of their modern equivalents and the damage was minor. Even so, Sterling knew they couldn’t last long, especially with three destroyers closing fast. Sterling then glanced at the scanners and saw that the alien warships were already within weapons range. However, Sa’Nerran Destroyers hadn’t yet opened fire. Sterling guessed that their alien commanders thought they were being smart by waiting until they were within optimal weapons range. However, they were unwittingly playing into Sterling’s hands. When it came to close-quarters fighting, the Invictus was devastating, combining the grace of a ballerina with the punch of a heavyweight boxer.

  “Finish off these Wasps then prepare for an emergency landing in the docking garage,” Sterling replied to Commander Graves while also firing at, and missing, one of the nimble alien fighters.

  “Understood, Captain,” Graves replied. “We’ll be waiting.”

  Sterling was about to close the link then he remembered about Lieutenant Razor and her possible neural injuries.

  “And Commander Graves, as soon as I’m back on the bridge, I need you in the medical bay. Lieutenant Razor is injured.”

  “I will alert my medical team, Captain,” Graves replied.

  Another volley of plasma shot out from the Invictus, clipping the wing of one of the Wasps. The fighter spiraled out of control then collided with the Marauder, bouncing off the dorsal armor like a bug hitting a windshield.

  “One last thing, Commander Graves,” Sterling continued, as the burning remains of the Wasp sped above them. “Keep Lieutenant Razor restrained and watch for any signs that she is turning. If that happens, you know what to do.”

  “I understand, sir,” Commander Graves replied, with barely a breath of pause before his answer. Perhaps more than anyone else on the ship, Graves had the least trouble with taking life. Considering that he was the officer responsible for keeping the crew alive, Sterling had always found this perversely amusing. Though mostly he found it disturbing. It was another reason why the stone-cold doctor creeped him out.

  “I think I’ve found the raw data from the cruiser’s navigational archives,” said Commander Banks, momentarily distracting Sterling from watching his ship make mincemeat of the remaining Wasps. “Fortunately, it looks like nothing has come this way for a long time, so it's a good chance this is Colicos’ shuttle.”

  “Send the data to Ensign Keller and get him to plot a course,” said Sterling, pulling out of the shadow of the Invictus, ready to initiate the docking maneuver.

  “Aye, Captain,” replied Banks, returning to work.

  Only a single Wasp now remained and the diminutive ship was running scared. However, Sterling was not about to allow the infuriating combat craft to escape. Like a fly continually buzzing around his head, he was determined to squash it. Increasing power to the engines, Sterling pulled in behind the Wasp and locked on. Beyond the engine glow of the fighter, now within visible range, were the three Sa’Nerran Destroyers. The safe and perhaps even smart thing to do would be to let the Wasp escape and return to the Invictus. However, that wasn’t Sterling’s style. Fleet had spent too much time trying to be smart and playing it safe, and look where it had got them. This was a war and as far as Sterling was concerned there was now only one rule of engagement. It was the same rule that had allowed the Sa’Nerran Empire to turn the tide of the war. The rule was simple; kill the enemy, any way you can.

  Plasma blasts flashed out ahead of the combat shuttle and the Wasp exploded. Sterling turned hard and rammed all available power into the engines. Alerts rang out and plasma blasts from the destroyers flashed past their windows. However, Sterling was unafraid. All the alien destroyers were doing was depleting their own energy reserves. The more power they wasted shooting at the shuttle the less they had to take on the Invictus.

  “Stand by, Invictus, we’re coming in hot,” warned Sterling over an open comm channel to the ship.

  The shuttle bay had already opened and the Invictus had slowed to allow the combat craft to approach. Even so, their relative velocity was dangerously high, but it was the only way to get the shuttle back on board, without making the Invictus a sitting duck.

  “Hold on, Lieutenant,” Sterling called back to his weapons officer. Shade then planted herself in the seat opposite Razor and grabbed onto a combat harness. She had a pistol on hand, resting it across her lap, ready to use it should the engineer’s neural interface show signs of corruption.

  Sterling glanced at Banks, but there was no need for them to exchange words, verbally or through their minds. Both had experienced emergency combat landings before. Both hated them.

  The shuttle hammered into the landing bay of the Invictus and began to carve through the metal decking toward the end wall. A magnetic net caught the craft, arresting their forward momentum as suddenly as a pigeon flying into a window. The harness bit down tightly across Sterling’s chest and he felt the breath being literally squeezed from his lungs. Forcing another breath into his bruised chest, Sterling popped the emergency escape hatch and
unbuckled his harness. He could already see a medical team approaching, carrying a grav-stretcher for Lieutenant Razor.

  “Stay with her, and keep her under guard until we’re sure she’s clean,” Sterling said to Shade, as he stumbled toward the hatch. “Commander Banks will handle the weapons control station until you return.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Shade replied, briskly.

  Ordinarily, he would expect that an order denying Shade the opportunity to kill the enemy would generate a measure of discontent. However, it was clear that Shade considered their unconscious engineer to be a potentially greater threat at that moment in time. As usual, her judgement was sound. The Invictus could handle three old destroyers, but if their chief engineer was turned and retained her knowledge and access of the ship’s systems, one rogue operative reaching the engineering level could wreak far more havoc than three aging alien warships.

  Sterling jumped out onto the deck of the docking section and raced toward the main elevator, with Banks hot on his heels. He could feel the inertial negation systems working on overdrive to counteract the effect of the Marauder’s high-energy maneuvers, and he could feel from the rattle through the deck plating and thrum of the engines that the ship was being pushed hard. A tremor ran through the deck as the elevator doors opened and Sterling ran inside. He recognized it at once as the result of their forward plasma railguns firing a full spread. A series of thumps then pounded the Invictus’ hull. However, Sterling knew that these weren’t the result of incoming fire, but from incoming debris.

  “Graves has already got one,” said Banks. She could feel the ship just as keenly as Sterling could. “Hopefully, he'll leave some for us.”

  Sterling loved how Banks could sometimes steal the thoughts from his mind, even when they weren’t connected through a neural link.

  The elevator doors swung open onto deck one and Sterling raced outside. “I take it you remember how to fire our plasma guns?” he said, smiling back at his first officer.

  “Just watch me,” replied Banks, picking up the pace and catching up with her captain.

  The door to the bridge swished open and Sterling’s ears were assaulted by the sound of consoles bleeping, weapons firing and plasma blasts thudding into their regenerative armor.

  “Captain on the bridge,” Commander Graves called out, immediately giving way to Sterling.

  “Razor is en route to the med bay,” Sterling said, jumping onto the command platform. “Lieutenant Shade has her under guard.”

  “Understood, Captain, I shall prepare my butcher’s knives,” Graves replied, immediately setting off toward the exit.

  Sterling almost called out to the doctor to reinforce the notion that he wanted Razor kept alive, but a blast from one of the two remaining destroyers focused his attention on more pressing matters.

  “Time to impress me once again, Ensign Keller,” Sterling called out to his helmsman, while Banks relieved the crewmember at the weapons control station.

  “Aye, Captain,” Keller replied, briskly. “Good to have you back, sir.”

  A wide grin appeared on Banks’ face and she glanced at Sterling, eyebrow raised. However, despite her bravado and tough-talking, Sterling knew that his first officer found their helmsman to be endearing too.

  Keller drove the Invictus in pursuit of one of the alien destroyers, embarrassing the Sa’Nerran vessel with the Marauder’s superior agility and speed. Banks waited until the glow of the destroyer’s engines almost filled the viewscreen, then unleashed a full spread from the forward plasma rail guns. The blasts tore through the older alien warship like a tank shell smashing through an old garden shed. A series of hard thuds rocked the deck and Sterling saw that their aft armor had taken a pounding. The remaining Sa’Nerran destroyer was directly on their tail. Unlike the Wasp, which had chosen to flee, this warship was not about to turn and run. Sterling respected its choice to stand and fight. Perhaps the alien commander believed it had a chance, Sterling wondered. Or perhaps it was too prideful or stubborn to back down. The outcome would be the same, either way.

  “Ensign, hold your course and initiate a full-power y-axis turn,” Sterling called out to the pilot. “Let’s end this the old-fashioned way. A duel, face-to-face.”

  “Aye, sir,” Keller replied. Sterling could sense the excitement in his voice. The young officer was learning to control his anxieties and live in the moment. Sterling glanced across to Banks, and saw she was ready. The fire was back in her eyes.

  Sterling grabbed the side of the captain’s console then felt the kick of the ship’s thrusters. The starfield outside the viewscreen became a blur and moments later they were staring down the throat of the Sa’Nerran Destroyer.

  “Fire,” ordered Sterling, gripping the sides of his console more tightly.

  The flash of plasma lit up the viewscreen as both vessels attacked. Sterling felt the impacts of the blasts land on the Invictus, but their regenerative armor soaked up the energy. The destroyer, however, was reduced to a burning cloud of wreckage.

  Sterling glanced down at the scanner readout and saw that no other Sa’Nerran ships were in range. They’d found a back door into the alien’s territory and with the Sa’Nerran armada engaged in Fleet space, there was barely anyone home.

  “Do you have our next waypoint, Ensign Keller?” Sterling asked, glancing up at his helmsman.

  “Aye, sir,” Keller replied. “Long-range scanners have detected an aperture. Based on the data retrieved from the Sa’Nerran cruiser, that’s where Colicos went.”

  “Then set a course, Ensign, and take us there at maximum acceleration,” Sterling replied.

  The helmsman acknowledged the order as Sterling pushed himself away from his console and drew in a long, calming breath. His heart was still pounding in his chest from the adrenalin and excitement, but for now, at least, they were in the clear.

  “We have a few hours until we reach the aperture,” said Banks, who had moved back over to her own console beside Sterling’s. “Repairs are under way, but we’re still in good shape.”

  Sterling nodded, then glanced to the rear of the bridge, where Lieutenant Razor would normally be.

  “Let’s check on our patient,” he said, meeting Banks’ eyes. “The last thing we need right now is to surge deeper into enemy space without a chief engineer.”

  Chapter 22

  The prognosis

  Sterling and Banks walked into the medical bay to see Lieutenant Shade standing guard over the Invictus’ chief engineer. Razor lay unconscious in one of the surgical beds. Shade’s pistol was holstered, but her hand remained on the grip. Commander Graves, as usual, appeared less concerned, and was across the other side of the room, peering down into the eyepiece of a microscope.

  “What’s the prognosis, Commander?” asked Sterling. He nodded to Shade, who took two steps back to make room for himself and Commander Banks. However, the weapons officer still did not remove her hand from the grip of her pistol.

  “Lieutenant Razor has not yet turned,” Commander Graves replied, without looking up from the instrument. “That is all I can tell you at this moment.”

  “Not yet suggests that she still might,” Sterling replied, wary that his medical officer’s response might come with a caveat.

  Graves picked up a medical implement that Sterling had never seen before and removed a computer chip about the size of a matchstick from the tray beneath the microscope. He finally looked up and met Sterling’s eyes.

  “The truth, Captain, is that I do not know what will happen to her,” Graves admitted, moving over to the side of the bed where Razor was lying. “Currently, Lieutenant Razor is stable and her brain shows no evidence of alteration. However, a detailed analysis of her neural interface suggests that there is some low-level corruption.”

  Sterling cursed under his breath. Graves was being cagey about the seriousness of his engineer’s situation, but it still wasn’t the news he was hoping for. Commander Graves then held up the medical device that he’d picke
d up from the tray of the microscope.

  “The corruption is currently restricted to a small section of the neural device, but my analysis shows that it is spreading slowly,” Graves continued. He turned the engineer’s head to the side and delicately placed the device in his hand across Razor’s neural implant. “This chip will disable the Lieutenant’s implant. It may be dangerous for others to link to it at this stage.” The matchstick-sized chip then appeared to melt into Razor’s implant, like butter melting into hot toast. “It will also alert us, via the ship’s computer, if the corruption reaches the point at which it begins to affect her brain. A paralyzing shock will then temporarily incapacitate the Lieutenant, but only for a couple of minutes at most.” Graves placed the medical tool in a tray next to the bed, then gave Sterling a look that he’d seen dozens of times before. It was the look of a doctor who was about to give a terminal diagnosis. “At that point, Captain, there is only one course of action that we can take.”

  “I understand, Commander,” Sterling replied, moving beside Razor and peering down at the softly iridescent skin on her face. “Do you know how long we’ve got?”

  Commander Graves initially looked relucent to make a prediction. In many respects, Sterling realized it was no different to giving a life expectancy prediction for another kind of terminal illness. There was always uncertainty. However, the ship’s medical doctor eventually gave an answer.

  “Based on my studies of the brains of people that were turned by the generation-one neural control weapons, it may take several months for the corruption to Lieutenant Razor’s interface to reach the same level.” The doctor paused, and Sterling waited for him to deliver the inevitable stipulation to his estimate. “However, the rate of decay may accelerate as the corruption takes hold.” The doctor shrugged. “In truth, Captain, this is as much a technological issue as a medical one. The person on this ship who is best equipped to ‘treat’ Lieutenant Razor’s condition is Lieutenant Razor herself.” Then the doctor raised his eyebrows, seeming to come up with another suggestion on the spot. “The only other who could help is, of course, the inventor of the device, James Colicos.”