Chronicles of a Space Mercenary - excerpt

CHRONICLES OF A SPACE MERCENARY - by - Ronald Wintrick

The thing I hated most about working for the government, any government, they all seemed to think alike, was that then they invariably thought that they owned you. Patriotism, duty and all those other words that meant they thought they were entitled to what was yours. All meaningless trite to a world-less vagabond like myself. My ship was my home and I needed no other.

“They’re waiting for a response, Captain!” Tanya Serensen said, my strong First and the meanest bitch I have ever met.

The war was over. We were, had been, part of the Federation forces which had unsuccessfully attempted to unify the four hundred and seventy-two known human worlds. We had been smashed ruthlessly, to put mildly what had been a lost cause from the beginning. I had been paid handsomely with trade goods and supplies; semi-precious metals and fuel rods, to be exact, plus I’d brought my ship, Last Chance, and my crew through without a scratch. So I had not complained when everyone started signing peace treaties.

The problem began when I informed my erstwhile employers that with hostilities ended, so too were my obligations. I had fulfilled to the letter our contract. I owed them nothing more. They had not agreed.

There were now three of my former allies, positioned in attack formation outside Last Chance’s hull. Not only did they not feel as if I had not completely fulfilled my end of the bargain, but I was getting the distinct impression they would not be satisfied until they had added Last Chance herself to their now depleted arsenal. I guess they felt, that with all the losses they had suffered, that Last Chance would be a welcome addition to their much depleted Navy. I guess they hadn’t quite learned their lesson about attempting to force their wills on unwilling subjects. Some people are simply incapable of understanding. Especially people in positions of power, like governments, for example.

“You bastards!” I snarled. I should have known these ungrateful hypocrites would try to back stab me, especially now that every planet was a law unto itself, only answerable to itself, and they angry at the defeat they had suffered. They were quick at jumping on the bandwagon of self governance, now that no unifying government held sway. That was for sure.

“Is that your response?” Tanya asked, no inflection in her voice.

“No!” I snapped. The crazy bitch would repeat it too, if I didn’t specifically say no! A first impression of Tanya Serensen would never give you the insightful depth that existed behind her innocent appearing, stunningly beautiful face. Blond hair, blue eyes, body and face of a love goddess, barely fifty kilos soaking wet, but as vicious as a Tarnian Bola Raptor when angered, and if you’ve ever been to Tarnia you know there is no living creature meaner nor better able to defend itself. That’s my Tanya, in a nutshell. A very tough, unbreakable nutcase.

“What are we going to do?” Demanded David Bren, my Science Engineer, when I didn’t immediately make a decision. Bren is a mathematical genius and quite able to compute our odds, no matter which decision I ultimately made; whether we fought or fled, against the three Class Four Katon Destroyers which were arrayed around us now in a roughly triangular formation. Not that it took a mathematical genius to figure these odds. We were fucked, and that was the long and the short of it! To fight would be bad. To flee, worse. To surrender, the worst! They weren’t going to let us survive to go running around telling anyone who would listen how we had been robbed by the honest, law abiding Katons. They had their tourism and immigration to think about, but they also needed ships to patrol their borders. Hell, I was seriously worried, and I, Marc Deveroux, am usually quite unflappable. There was really only one answer.

I keyed ship’s intercom; “Battle Stations. Delegate targets. Fire on orders only!” I looked into Tanya’s cool blue orbs and winked my left eye. A left wink meant to be prepared to fight. The wink was redundant, of course. There was no other option but to fight. She smiled at me serenely, the calm before the storm.

“Tell them,” I said, “that we surrender.” I smiled my own smile back at Tanya, my goodbye, if that was what it would come to, but we had been through so many such tough scrapes, that it seemed impossible that this one could really be the end.

“You damned maniac!” Bren yelled, jumping up from his seat at his computer console, glaring at me furiously, but he shut his mouth on whatever he had been about to say when Coto, my pet Xiong, chittered insect-like at him from the ceiling above me where it was resting. Impossibly, and as comfortably as I was myself sitting in my own seat, it clung effortlessly to the seamless, smooth ceiling panels like a fly, or spider, and this under full gravity. I was not one of those Captains who preferred his ship’s gravity at near zero for the comfort it provided. I liked my full gravity, and even more, upon occasion, to keep my body fit. Coto clung to the ceiling now under that full gravity, as if on some invisible perch.

Coto appeared to be some kind of sick hybrid of ant and spider, except on a mammalian scale. Six legs, segmented brown body with bristly short black hairs, lusterless matte black eyes (it was impossible to tell where Coto was looking) and razor sharp pincer mandibles. Though only the size of a small dog, it could be a vicious killer if antagonized, and it didn’t like anyone yelling at me!

Xiongs were considered partially sentient, able to use simple tools when it was necessary, but having been adapted to survival so well from the beginning (they had been at the top of the food chain on their own world until humans arrived) that they hadn’t needed to evolve further. I had saved Coto from a gang of boys with shock-sticks and the aggressive little creature had been my loyal friend and protector since.

Not that I needed a protector.

Tanya ignored the little drama and passed along my message.

“Prepare for boarding!” The Bridge speakers relayed immediately, aggressively.

My answer was to buckle the acceleration harness of my Captain’s chair. David sat back down, looking as petrified as he always did before a confrontation, but he buckled himself in as well. Tanya was already secured.

“Melanie, Janice, Manuel?” I asked over ship’s intercom.

“What’s happening?” Manuel Terrarium asked. “Why am I looking down the barrel of a photon cannon? What the hell did you do now?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I said sarcastically. “The Katons want to confiscate Last Chance. I think you can guess what will happen to us if we let that happen.”

“It looks like they’re succeeding.” Melanie Vang said.

“Do you have a plan?” Janice Ortiz asked. “One that doesn’t involve breathing vacuum or copious bleeding!”

“No.” I said. “Be ready to fight. There are no odds in surrender. They’ll kill us sure as I’m Marc Deveroux. Anyway, there are only three of them, so the odds are in our favor.” I thought I sounded convincing, and no one contradicted me, though Bren was staring daggers at me from his station. If looks could kill . . . !

Maybe I am a maniac and maybe I sometimes enjoyed risking the lives of everyone around me (as well as my own), but there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that we didn’t stand a snowballs chance in hell once we’d surrendered Last Chance, and ourselves, to the merciless Katons. Our time remaining in this life could at that point be measured in the number of steps it would take to march us to the nearest airlock. No. Surrender was not an option.

“Forward Destroyer moving in to dock.” Tanya said. “Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.” The hull rang as the pilot of the Katon Destroyer brought his vessel up against Last Chance’s docking locks.

“Engage locks. Seal all airtight hatches.” I told them. Bren’s fingers moved over his keyboard and we heard the locks engage gratingly and seal with a clang. Our two ships were now one. Locked together. Our Fates inseparably intertwined. That left only the two unengaged ships able to fire on us from their attack formation, and even they would have to worry about damaging their own comrade if and when they did, or the secondary fusion reaction if we were destroyed while the two of us were still mated. The Katon ship now locked to our side was as fucked as we were, because I did not feel for one moment, not one second, that the two remaining Katon ships would refrain from firing just out of consideration for their comrade. When we opened fire, they’d return it, in spades.

We had no time to dally. The engaged ship could blast or cut through the lock in only moments. If I gave them those moments.

“Fire on free targets!” I yelled into the com, at the same time engaging Last Chance’s main fusion engine, throwing the controller over hard to thrust away from the Katon locked onto our side, hoping literally to rip it loose and fill it with nothing. Fill it with the vacuum of space and the joys of explosive decompression. If they had not thought to seal their interior airtight hatches, it would be all over for Destroyer number one. A rather gruesome way to go!

The thrust threw me back in my seat despite Internal Gravity. It could only compensate for just so much. Last Chance groaned desperately under the dangerous stress as she tried to pull away from the ship attached to her side, and failed, the metal straining but somehow holding, the Destroyer coming along for the ride with us.

The two loose Destroyers, shown on separate view screens, were glowing with stripes of luminescent green death as Last Chance’s plasma cannons poured the green fire into them at such close range, the gelatinous plasma smeared across the hulls of the ships sticking where it struck and eating into the thick armor like napalm on flesh. Nothing but nothing could scrape it off once it adhered. The thick armor of the Katon ships boiled away into space in billowing clouds as the plasma tried to eat its way down into those ships.

The image on my right hand main screen (Last Chance sported two main view screens plus twelve smaller, secondary screens) showed the Destroyer to our stern taking fire from both Janice and Melanie’s rear guns, though the way we were beginning to rotate, those targets would soon swap positions, and the Destroyer on the left screen would be under those twin guns, Janice and Melanie’s, which were mounted above and below the main rear fusion engine. The Destroyer now under those guns was losing armor quickly. It was taking a hell of a beating.

Melanie and Janice were pouring their fire into the same area amidships on their joint target, hammering the same spot over and over again until the whole section was glowing green fire and which was rapidly creating a huge sink hole in the side of the ship. Atmosphere exploded outwards from the red-hot and green glowing area as the Destroyer lost hull integrity, blowing a green and yellow flame many meters out into space as the red hot plasma ignited the escaping oxygen into open flame.

I shoved my controller back over to avoid throwing us into a complete spin and to maintain those two stern guns on the damaged ship as long as I could, and in the hope that I could get the bow Destroyer under Last Chance’s photon cannon, at whose controls Tanya was eagerly awaiting the opportunity to fire the powerful weapon.

As powerful as the plasma cannon were, they were but a minor nuisance compared to the energies of the photon cannon. The photon cannon was too large to track independently, however, its mounting fixed and immovable, so if I wanted Tanya to get off a shot I had to bring the enemy under our nose, even if only momentarily, for the opportunity to become reality.

The bow Destroyer realized my aim and lit her own engine, shooting past us before I could give Tanya her chance, but we striped her with green fire as she flashed past, but doing insignificant damage.

“Destroyers falling behind!” Bren yelled.

“We can see that.” Tanya said, glaring at him for a moment while she had nothing else to do, angry that she had not been given her chance.

The Destroyer we had hulled was floundering behind us, but the second Destroyer, having spun out to our side and having missed its first opportunity to fire its photon cannon at us, either out of surprise or the fear they would hit their own companion locked to our hull (a plan that paid off for once) were thrusting side-wise to get around behind us and realign their main gun again, evidently willing to risk their companion now in their own fear and anger.

I couldn’t allow them a shot down our fusion engine. One such direct hit would mean the end for a certainty. Maybe for them as well, as they looked to be well within the blast radius, if I were any sure judge. Space battles were seldom fought at such close ranges. They were usually long over before two such vessels could get to such intimate proximity. It was much easier to target the photon cannon on a long distance target than it was to try and twist around to get it within your own moving targeting brackets. Such contests were normally determined by which ship possessed the largest capacity to generate fusion electricity, because that ship would have the longest striking ability. I on the other hand, am quite familiar with this close in infighting. It was my style. Last Chance was far too small to engage the larger vessels she most frequently found herself contesting. And anyway, I wasn’t interested in a victory that included my own destruction.

Last Chance’s plasma guns were firing wildly, their green streaks of fire fanning off into space around the second Destroyer as I pushed Last Chance hard into her spin, the Destroyer riding our side helping our spin as I fought to get our gun on our enemies before they finished their turn and got their big gun on us. A battle of orientation, of maneuverability.

“Be ready.” I told Tanya calmly, but it was hardly necessary and I doubt she even heard me. Her entire concentration was centered on her fire control screen and the ship I was slowly putting in the cross-hairs of her photon targeting brackets. She was smiling suddenly.

Last Chance was swinging around rapidly now, her exterior cameras, under Bren's sure control, tracking the second Destroyer, keeping us on target.

Suddenly the Destroyer whipped across the screen. Whipped across the red targeting cross-hairs. Tanya stabbed at the fire control on her console. The pencil-thin red beam of the condensed particle stream flowed out along the the cross-hair targeting bracket, following it even as Last Chance continued to turn, the beam curving away into space, and then it cut across the nose of the Destroyer, separating it cleanly from the rest of the ship.

There was time only to begin seeing the sections separate before the Destroyer exploded in painful brilliance and the video dampeners blocked the screens to save us retinal burns.

“Hit their photon cannon!” Tanya said cheerfully as the screens slowly brightened and we could see where we were going again.