(Part I)

While Stellar-Guard forces die among the stars defending Earth, I & my crew face our end half a galaxy away. In a wormhole separating a peaceful, pre-space-travel civilization from genocidal mauraders. The signal I followed—Earth’s last, best hope—may have led my own species to extinction.

But what other choice did I truly have?

river of stars

the price we pay

among them

“Incoming fast movers, bearing 733-Mark 57, spiral closure!” Nguyen reports. A bead of sweat gleams at his hairline.

“Deploy countermeasures,” Cyrus orders.

“Aye, sir. Countermeasures away!”

As fiery starburts trailing ionized gases speed off and spread out along the vectors of the incoming missle fire, the ships along the wings curve inward. The first score of missles meet the expanding cloud of ionized glasses. The mass of explosions scatter the particles of gases, leaving the ship unharmed.

“Helm, set maximum axel rotation, Clock-Y, & set a lateral, semi-spiral along the tunnel ceiling,” I order, “Tactical, pulsar torp spread at enemy positions from the wings in. I want those ships funneled inward, then pound the center.

“Aye, Captain!” O’Brien and Nguyen answer together.

starfire

the first shutters as

foes meet

The pitch of the sublight engine’s drone sharpens as the Truth spins and spirals up. The pulsar torpedos—controlled swarms of compressing organic nanites generating nova-hot radiation—strike the outward ships along the wings. Whatever shields protect them buckle under the first wave of PTs, leaving the rest to find their marks. Explosions spread debris throughout the enemy formations, causing more damage and chaos. As I anticipated, the remaining ships in the wing formations collapse toward the center.

But our strike comes at a cost. ” The counter-measures reduced the incoming missle strikes. Our PDCs roar to life, precision partical bolts that strike as many remaining movers as possible. But they won’t stop them all.

& They can do nothing to stop the incoming laser and partical beam fire from the undamaged ships.

partical blasts

the electric storms

erupting

The bridge shutters from the strafing of energy against our shields. My seat restrains bite into my breasts, even with my armor deployed. Our fast rotation helps disperse the worst of the damaging bombardment. But every successful hit slowly erodes shield integrity.

As if reading my mind, our ship’s Alternate Consciousness (AC) calls out, “shields holding at 90%, captain. PDC’s wiped 96% of fast movers. Remaining inbound, ETA 10 seconds, current heading.”

“Helm, tighten our spiral to full. Tactical, target the center ships,

“Initiating full spiral,” O’Brien answers, and I feel pressed into my command chair before the inertial dampers compensate.

“Targets locked,” Nguyen says.

“Fire!”

tight beams

and particle burts

resultant fire

Our primary and secondary canons shear through the shields and hulls of the lead marauders. Exploding ship after exploding ship splatter shards of debris toward other vesals in the armada’s formation.

But the Truth took several reams of energy fire. Relays from some stations explode in sparks. Lights flicker. Alarms sound.

“Mr. O’Brien, put some space between us and the lead ships. Mr. Nguyen, covering spread.”

“Four movers inbound! Contact imminent!” the Sojourner Truth AC reports.

“All hands, brace for impact,” Cyrus comms to the crew.”

even amid

unrelenting fire

deadly strikes

The jarring of multiple impacts, the roar of explosion against our straining shields. The tremors knock Larson from her chair. More consols burt as uncontrolled energy surges through them. An officer screams.

“Damage report, Sojourner,” I order the AC.

Materializing in her familiar, holographic avatar of the historical Sojourner Truth, the AC responds, “shields down to 60%, 20% armor shearing, hull integrity holding at 85%. Reports of mild casualties on lower decks. Structural regeneration in progress.”

“We can’t take too many more hits like that, Cleo.” Cyrus says. It’s not a good sign when my XO calls me by name.

beyond

the florescent green

black of space

“No, we can’t, Kurt,” I answer my XO, “but we’re going to, anyway.”

For a long moment, he returns my steady gaze. Then, he delivers a subtle nod. “Yes, captain.”

“Helm, come about, then close with the enemy, full sublight,” I order.

He hesitates. “Captain?”

“You have your orders, Mr. O’Brien,” Cyrus adds.

“Aye, sir. Coming about, increading to full power.”

“Mr. Nguyen, unleash hell,” I command.

With a grim smile, he says, “Aye, captain.”

I glance around at the command crew. O’Brien, tired, but determined. Nguyen, aloof, yet fierce. Larson, shaken, yet resoloved. I could not have asked for a better, more dedicated crew. And not just these bridge officers.

All of them.

“All hands, this is the Captain,” I say, as the comm system automatically relays my message to the entire crew, ” We have begun our final attack run. While this isn’t the way we imagined our mission would go, we are where we are. Know that we’re saving a world today, an entire people. & I could not be more honored to serve with you all. Johnson, out.”

fiery light

seeing their faces

through tears

The ship lurches forward. Every weapon aboard fires. Particle beams pierce through shields and steel. PTs and PDCs alike shred scores of starcraft. But more enemy ships swarm around, enveloping us in cascades of fire.

“Shields down to 30%. 20%…”

“Acknowledged. Nguyen, Keep firing!”

The shuddering continues non-stop, as spark-outs on the bridge and detonations throughout the ship repeat again and again. A flicker of light, and the shields die. Even as more enemy ships explode under our assault, I watch the canopy brighten with incoming energy fire, see the hairline cracks, hear the hiss of escaping atmosphere. Then a barrage of missles that escaped PDC and counter-measures strikes home. A deafening explosion follows, then the rush of air as the hull cracks open…

the birth

of a new star

far from home

White light, all around. The ship—& my crew—are gone. I stand, alone.

Until I’m not. She walks toward me, her eyes burning with that rage she reserves for my most egregious of crimes. Stopping a pace before me, hands on her hips, she pierces me with that look that has withered me so many times before.

“What have you done?” asks my mother.

within

the shadow of death

Earth

(To be continued)

Sanaa over at dVerse hosts Tuesday Poetics, where we write sci-fi poetry.

The Pub is open! Come join us!