Ashlyn Chronicles 1: 2287 A.D. (11 page)

“Sir! I’m monitoring an enormous shockwave of plasma and gasses from the missile’s explosion!” said Science Officer Casey with a raised voice. “Its magnitude is off the scale.”

“Helm, evasive. Turn us around,” ordered Steven. “Casey, how long?”

“At full impulse, it will catch us in four minutes and twenty-two seconds.”

“Casey, give me a full update.”

“The Harrison drive will be off-line for twelve to fifteen hours. We are currently at 56 percent power after our engagement with the flagship. The shields are too weak to withstand the wave. The wave also has a series of strong radiation swells behind it. Even with the ramjet deflecting the radiation, it’s going to tax our systems beyond lethal limits.”

“Ok, people. Give me some options!” barked Steven.

Spawned by the remounting pressure, Brooks gave a deep sigh. “I hope you’ve got another miracle up those long sleeves.”

“Miracles come from God, Brooks. If he does exist, he’s no friend of ours! We’ve walked this trail by ourselves, sacrificing our friends and families with each step.” Steven’s anger over the billions of dead and the resulting hardships that they had all been forced to endure, over the last years, had left no room in his heart for believing that God might choose today to come to their rescue.

“Admiral, if I take the lasers off-line I can use the generator to squeak an extra 4 or 5 percent power to the shields.”

“Thanks, Chief, anything will be a help. Casey, put the wave on the main viewer. Plug in the data and have Gena run sims to see if a reconfiguration of the shields might help.”

The monitor showed a great, red circle gaining on them. All objects behind it were lost to the convulsing cloud that led the wave.

“Sims complete, sir. The best scenario shows that a reconfiguration of the shields can theoretically improve the probability of them holding by 34 percent. We need to create a pointed wedge around the ship with the point extending about 300 meters off our stern. The highest concentration of energy needs to be focused on the point and decreasing as it sweeps backward, essentially splitting the wave above and below us. But, sir, even doing so, the wave is still too strong,” said Casey.

“Just tell me if you have the time to do it?” inquired Steven.

“I think so, but I’ll need the chief’s help, and the alteration of the computer needs to be done at the mainframe in Section 2.”

“Do it!”

“Permission to accompany them?” asked Brooks.

“Granted.”

***

“Ease back on your thrusters a bit, Foxy Lady. We’re pulling up alongside you. In a moment, you are going to feel a jolt as I extend my shield around you and bring you inside the bubble. I’m getting a read on your ship’s atmospheric pressure now. Time to sit back and enjoy the ride. You’ve earned it! And let me tell you, it’s time you changed your call-sign from Lady Fox to Lady Luck.”

“That bad, huh?”

“And then some!” Briggs studied her fighter, wondering what divine power had kept it in the air. The craft’s fuselage had been pummeled until it resembled the dimpled skin of a golf ball. Large portions of her fighter’s heat shielding had fallen away to be lost in the ocean below. Even the underlying coats of thermal paint had been sandblasted away, revealing much of the polished steel alloy layered beneath.

Exposed circuitry sparked and crackled in a half-a-dozen places.

The fighter’s wing-flaps rattled like the doors of an old barn during a winter storm, and the rear-rudder was no more useful than the ragged tail of a homemade kite. Adding the fact that she had held her craft steady with two of her three engines destroyed. “They say Jesus walked on water, but you, Foxy Lady, have the wings of an angel.”

It was then that he noticed an expanding crack in her cockpit’s canopy. “Ash, your canopy is about to blow!”

Knowing he had to roll the dice, his computer not yet having gotten a final read on her cabin’s internal pressure, he took his shot. “Gena, extend shields around Ashlyn’s fighter!” shouted Briggs.

In the fraction of a second that it had taken him to give the order, Ashlyn’s craft exploded in a thousand pieces.

***

“Reduce all ship’s functions to minimum, including life support. Evacuate and darken crew’s quarters. Shut down all non-essentials,” said Steven.

“Aye, sir,” said Mr. O’Brien. “Sounding evac on decks three through five. Reducing life support to minimum on all remaining decks. Sir? How about if we divert the Sharkfin energy cores? It isn’t much, but combined, they may add two or three million terra-watts to our available supply.”

Steven gave Mr. O’Brien a half-smile of acknowledgment. “Damage control, get all available teams down to the Sharkfin launch bays. Divert the power from the Sharkfin energy cores into Avenger’s supply. I also want you to clamp the Sharkfins down. The concussion might be too much for the magnetics alone.”

“Aye, aye, sir. On our way. We’ll get it done.”

“Jenkins, send two waves of three Intercepts at the nearest point of the wave directly behind us, thirty second separation, 4 degree spread. Perhaps we can punch a few holes in it.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Loading intercepts. I’ll have to detonate them manually!”

“Give it your best shot, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir. Launching.”

“Sir, when the shields go off-line for reconfiguration we’ll be vulnerable to a hull breach. I recommend using the forward laser array to clear a path,” said Mr. O’Brien.

“Negative, we can’t spare the energy for the shields or the laser. You ever play chess, Mr. O’Brien?”

“Don’t you mean poker, sir?”

“Not at all. A great poker player is nothing more than a lucky liar. Chess, however, is a game for gentlemen. It is a game of skill and calculated maneuverings. We will not breach, Mr. O’Brien. You have my word on it.

“Helm, ETA?”

“Count is three minutes and two seconds.”

“Comm, open the ship-wide address.”

“Channel open, sir.”

“To all hands, this is the admiral. We have successfully destroyed the enemy fleet and the missile launched at Earth, but the missile’s shockwave is now chasing us. I need you to shut down all energy sources that are not critical to Avenger’s survival. A final warning alert will sound thirty seconds before impact. Batten down. It is going to be a rough ride. May God watch over you my friends; you have performed beyond all of my expectations.”

Steven felt hypocritical speaking of God and yet he knew that for those who still had faith, the words were appropriate.

“The shields are off-line,” said Mr. O’Brien looking up from his science monitor. “And the laser’s generator is now tied in with the main power supply.”

With the shields down, dust and debris grated against the hull. Shrill screeches reverberated throughout the ship like the scream of an angry banshee. Driven by anxiety and fear, everyone on the bridge turned to look at Steven, whose calm demeanor instantly assuaged much of their concern.

“Time to impact, one minute and thirty seconds,” said Mr. O’Brien.

***

“Sea Base, this is Briggs. We lost Ashlyn. Her ship—” His anguished voice failed him. His head dropped. He felt like someone had just kicked him in the balls. It seemed an eternity before he spoke again, “We’re returning to Sea Base. Requesting permission to have the 2
nd
team take our watch on laser detail.”

“Permission granted,” said Stratton. His heart was heavy, his voice as dead and tortured as Briggs’. His thoughts went to Steven, wondering if even now Steven could sense that Ashlyn had died.

***

“Intercepts arriving in 3—2—,” said Jenkins, his finger pushing the button that detonated the missiles. Through the rearward-view monitor a series of tiny bright flashes erupted, only to be swallowed instantly. “The first volley detonated 120 meters in front of the wave.”

Jenkins turned to look at Steven, almost as if he expected to see an affirming smile of well done. Instead, he saw that Steven was white as a ghost, his eyes closed, his brow tensed, and his clawed fingers gripped the armrests.

“The section of the wave behind us has weakened by 4.7 percent,” said Mr. O’Brien, peering into his monitor.

“Sir? Admiral? What is it?” said Jenkins.

“Something’s wrong!” said Steven. “It’s Ashlyn.”

***

“Warning. You are under attack,” announced Gena.

“What the hell?” Briggs studied his scanners and saw nothing. “That’s impossible! We’re the only ones up here!” Another possibility dawned on him. “Gena, activate my underside hull camera. Highlight the area where the attack came from.” Briggs searched the region Gena had highlighted. It was a mess. Sea Base’s lasers systematically targeted the largest pieces of streaking meteoric debris.

Suddenly, Gena zoomed in, locking onto a small, red fireball. “Target located.”

It was smaller, slimmer, than Briggs had expected. It reminded him of a soldier during a dropping exercise.

“She’s alive!” he yelled over the open comm. Hitting the turbo, he raced after her. Her speed was already intense and he was unsure whether he could catch her in time.

Almost in unison, his team boisterously insisted that he was wrong, that it was impossible. He knew they were right; it was contrary to all logic. Sea Base’s pilots wore no armor, no official uniform, and out of all the pilots, Ashlyn wore even less. The team, as they did each morning, attended a short briefing before heading out. Each member of the team made a point of engaging her in conversation, stretching out the moment so they could ogle her. That day, like the others, Ashlyn was not wearing any under garments, and her tight, thin, black exercise stretch was teasingly see-through in all the right places. As always, she left them panting. Knowing that she wore so little, it was hard to fault the team’s logic. She couldn’t be alive. There was not a single reason to believe what his eyes told him—only his gut instinct declaring that it was a controlled flight.

He tried the comm, hoping against hope that she could hear him.

Briggs had narrowed the gap to two kilometers when he realized he was running out of room to catch her. Not forgetting that she had been blinded, he knew there was nothing she could do to help herself. It was up to him.

Dropping the limiters on his craft, he pushed hard. His craft glowed red; the nose of his ship was in flames as it super-heated the air before him. To the members of his team, who were watching, he appeared as little more than another fireball shooting through the sky. An alarm started to sound, warning him that the heat shielding on the nose of his craft was beginning to disintegrate.

Within moments, he was beside her. He tried to extend his shield around her, bringing her inside.

“Unable to comply. Material composition is unknown.”

Unknown,
he repeated to himself. “Gena, time until impact?”

“Twenty-three seconds.”

“Gena, disarm warhead and fire Intercept—now!” Briggs saw the Intercept race ahead of him. “Gena, detonate launched Intercept!” As he rocketed through the area of the explosion, he grunted, pulling hard and fast on the controls to bring his nose up.

“Good luck, Foxy lady. It’s up to you now.” His ship swooped low, pulling up just twenty-eight meters above the surface. “Gena, track the unidentified object, and note the object’s point of entry into the ocean.”

***

Ashlyn had hoped that someone had seen her signal. She’d taken a few dozen random shots with her armor’s laser, hoping to draw attention. All she could do now was wait. She focused her senses, trying to take the path of least resistance, trying to create as little heat buildup as possible.

She had never expected to have reason to use the locket Tynabo had given her on her 24
th
birthday. Now, she was thankful for his insight. The locket held a technology that was banned for more than a century. Tynabo had said little when giving it to her, starting the conversation with, ‘Don’t ask questions.’ He then explained that it was designed to work exclusively with her brain’s wave-pattern and that it was for emergency use only.

When she had pushed its center blue stone, activating it, she was mentally crossing her fingers. The speed of the device surprised her. The adaptive nanotech built a slender, form-fitting, armored suit around her just a fraction of second before her craft exploded.

With her blindness making it impossible to see what abilities her armor offered her, and realizing that there was no transmitter, Ashlyn rattled off several more voice commands before she stumbled onto one, which the minimalistic AI could recognize and respond to. “Activate laser.”

Ashlyn could sense the nanotechnology fighting to replicate and replace the armor’s shedding, outer layers. It was a race. So far, the armor was winning.