Torian Reclamation 2: Flash Move (22 page)

Belle-ub turned back around, smiling. “Yes. It will, in fact, be
the
historic occasion of this time period.”

“I’m surprised,” Jumper said, “to learn that Sheen will be playing. I’m certain none of the normal Sheen would enter, so I assume your sect is providing its own champion? It isn’t you, is it?”

Belle-ub’s smile faded. “You don’t consider us normal?”

“I didn’t mean—”

“What you suggest would not be considered fair by many of the entrants,” Belle-ub said. “The Belle Sheen are not playing.”

Jumper cocked his head. “I thought I heard you say three Torian races.”

“Yes. One entrant for the natives, one for the Earthlings, and one from another race who lives on Amulen—whom most are not aware of. They were brought here as sleeping captives, same as the Earthlings were.”

“Wait a second,” Jumper said. “Earthlings? Who’s playing for the Earthlings?”

“You, of course. Your friend should recover in time to spectate, but his weakened condition will likely render him a less-than-optimal representative champion. Unless you wish to enter the female?”

“What makes you think any of us want to play? I agreed to lead your expedition—which, by the way, proved to be dangerous beyond all expectations—in exchange for Hol4 being set free. Now we’ve returned. Where is Hol4?”

“He will be released from his work contract first thing tomorrow and brought to you. What he chooses to do from there is up to him. But consider this. There are many thousands of workers in the agritents. Some foolishly attempt to leave their contracts early, as Hol4 did. You have now helped him to do that legally and honorably. But how many more could you also help, if you were to emerge as champion?”

Jumper thought for a second. “Are you saying if I win your tournament, as my prize I could ask that all the agritent workers who wish to leave their contracts be set free?”

“Yes.”

“Let me think about that,” Jumper said.

“You have all night and all day tomorrow to think and make your decision. I’m confident you’ll make the right one. There are no other Earthlings here. If you wish to have a champion represent your race in the tournament, the three of you must decide which of you it is to be, by whatever means you will.”

Belle-ub turned around and waved his hand in the air. Another red Sheen came over from the nearby huts.

“This is Polwin4. He will show you to food and lodging, and take you to your two friends. I regret I will not have the luxury of much slumber tonight, as is available to all of you.”

Polwin4 then led Jumper, Lakor5, and the driver through the village. They stopped at a food cart next to a fire pit. Jumper said tulros to Lakor5 and the driver after stuffing his pockets with biscuits, dried meat, and pyrus fruit. Polwin4 then led him farther back through the huts and shacks.

Jumper noticed there were aliens in the village. Two different races were milling about the fire pit where Lakor5 and the driver had stopped to eat. Jumper thought he recognized one of them from his studies, but he couldn’t remember the name. They were orange and heavy with antenna-looking appendages on the sides of their heads. The others were similar to Torians in appearance, with leather, scaly skin—but shorter and slightly green, with bigger noses.

He saw more As Polwin4 took him back through the maze of the village. One race had a torso that resembled a thick-barked tree trunk. Another wore helmets with face shields that had small blinking lights so you couldn’t see their eyes. And still another looked human, except they had two chins and no ears. Interspersed through it all Jumper saw more red Sheen, Amulites of varying skin tones, plus an occasional Banorian.

Finally, he saw Kayla. She was sitting by a fire pit in front of three small thatched huts. There was a food cart next to her and she was eating. When she saw Jumper, she casually pointed to the hut on the far end. Jumper nodded as he passed her and entered that hut. Polwin4 left.

Belle-ub’s two companions were kneeling next to Alan, who was lying in a wide hammock. Jumper heard snoring and realized Alan was asleep. His skin color had regained some of its pigment, but not enough. One of the Sheen had a bowl of some kind of paste in his lap. The other held a small rectangular electronic box above Alan and was reading the numbers that were lit on its small screen. When he saw Jumper, he pointed to the entrance and they both followed him out.

The one with the instrument said, “He’ll sleep the night through now. I have connected this monitor to his implants and uploaded a new program. We applied some medicine that should heal him, so we expect him to be much better in the morning. But this monitor will alert us if his condition worsens and we will return if necessary. Otherwise, we will return in the morning to reassess his condition. Do you know what caused this?”

Jumper shook his head. “It happened right after he swam in the swamp, as we all were forced to do. He swallowed some murky water, I think, and was spitting it up. But obviously, whatever is wrong with him is not just from consuming unclean water, as he has since weakened both physically and mentally.”

The two Sheen looked at each other and shrugged.

“Your species is different than ours,” the one with the instrument said. “Be grateful you have aquatic ability. We shall research what we can and return in the morning.”

Jumper thanked them and they left. He then sat next to Kayla by the fire pit and ate the food in his pockets. Kayla wanted to know about what happened with Belle-ub. Jumper told her most of it, but omitted the part about an Earthling being invited to play in the tournament.

They spent some time watching the night sky, talking about the day’s events, and joking about the appearance of the different aliens they had each seen in the camp. Finally, neither of them could keep their eyes open. They checked on Alan one last time and then retired to each of their own huts.

But Kayla soon crept into Jumper’s hut. Jumper had sunk into the hammock and was almost asleep.

“What?” Jumper asked.

She climbed into the hammock with him. Jumper was instantly overcome with mixed emotions, including an involuntary physical reaction.

“I’m still afraid of the felidor,” she said.

Jumper put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. She snuggled closer in response.

“You were good with that laser today,” Jumper said. “Real good.”

Kayla didn’t answer and they both fell asleep.

*

Brandon cleared the lower hanger and made a sharp left turn away from it, without drawing any direct enemy fire. Not that he could tell if there was any response by the enemy. The scene in front of the station was chaotic. What did Olut6 call it, defense pattern 109? There were barrages of missiles coming at the station in random patterns, REEP blasts in the space between, and Torian fighters chasing the strays afterwards from both behind and in front. They had gotten better at this exercise since the last time Brandon was involved in it a quarter-century earlier. Not many hits were scoring, and the fighter-craft-sized missiles were much smaller than those from the huge Azaarian warships of long ago. The occasional missile getting through was causing only minimal damage and Brandon could see that Cardinal-4 was not in as much immediate peril as it seemed from inside the bunker.

The dark shape of the enemy ships was disconcerting, though. Torian fighters were harassing them, but they had a difficult time getting close enough for an effective shot. With the enemy arranged in a ball formation missiles were the best option for the Torian fighters, as they could be fired from a safer distance. But safe missile firing distance sacrificed accuracy and surprise. The enemy ships were good shots with their lasers and able to shoot down most of the threatening Torian missiles. Others would simply pass between them.

Mip7 noticed that as well.

“How can our guys be missing so many shots with the attackers arranged in such a tight formation?” he asked.

“They can’t get close enough for accurate tracking,” Brandon said. “So they’re basically aiming them manually. And the enemy is not in as tight a formation as they seem to be. Their dark shapes aide with that illusion. I’d venture a guess there’s fifteen to twenty ship lengths separating them in every direction. That gives any random missile fired less than a 10% chance of scoring a front-side hit. There’s a better chance of scoring a backside hit after passing through their front.”

A small explosion occurred from inside the enemy formation.

“Like that,” Mip7 said.

“Right. My guess is they have practiced this tactic, though, and can track the trajectory of our shots and plot whether any part of their formation is in a missile’s path. Those are the ones they shoot down. See, there. They just shot one down that looked to be passing between them, probably because their technology projected a possible hit on their rear side.”

Mip7 nodded. “That makes sense. It’s an interesting defensive position—only they’re using it to attempt an attack the station. How can we combat that?”

“Localized REEP blasts,” Brandon said. “From the ITF1 cannons. But they must be fast, and it’s dangerous. The aliens are fairly quick in their reactions. I don’t think I’d risk it. What the enemy’s doing now is wasting ammunition, in my opinion, unless they have some ulterior motive. Admittedly, they’re also costing us the same—but we’re home and they had to travel, so we have an infinitely larger supply. I expect they’ll give this up soon.”

Brandon turned on the intercom for the rear REEP turret.

“General, you want to get a close look at the enemy position? Maybe you’d like a shot at them?”

Mip7 smiled coyly at Brandon. He smiled back. This was kind of fun, after all.

“No,” Olut6’s voice on the speaker said. “We have higher priorities. Get us over to that infernal satellite that’s attacking Banor. Fast.”

“Fast?” Mip7 asked.

“You heard him,” Brandon said. He swung the ship around the back side of the station and pointed it at Banor. Then he hit the dag drive. The planet rushed at them and instantly became big. Brandon took them out of dag and surveyed the scene.

“Wow,” Mip7 said. “Manual dag plotting. You
have
been practicing.”

“There,” Brandon said. He pointed to Mip7’s right and turned the ship.

A squadron of Torian fighters was making a run at a dark, elliptical object—not quite as dark as the enemy ships, but much larger. The fighters dove on it in groups of three. All nine pilots connected with either lasers or missiles, some both, resulting in temporary yellow explosions on the satellite’s hull, which appeared to bounce right off. The object didn’t return the fire, but instead fired down upon Banor.

It wasn’t like anything Brandon had experienced on any of the game simulations. When the enemy satellite fired at the planet surface, it first looked like a large red laser. But then it would break and a long segment of red light would continue streaking down into the planet’s atmosphere, at near-laser speed.

“Ever seen anything like that?” Mip7 asked.

“No,” Brandon said as he gradually approached it. “Those are the longest, fastest light-missiles conceivable. I can only imagine the destruction they’re doing. Extat. My wife and daughter are down there.”

Two ITF1’s suddenly dagged out directly above the satellite, facing upward. They were there for a moment and the space underneath them distorted. Then the ITF1’s were gone again. The top of the satellite surged with bright white light for a second. Lasers then fired from it into the empty space above it.

“Good boys,” Brandon said. “That’s what I’d do.”

But the enemy satellite resumed firing upon Banor.

“That was a direct hit at close range from two REEP cannons simultaneously,” Mip7 said. “How can anything stand up to that?”

Brandon shook his head. “I don’t know. General, you still with us?”

“I heard,” he replied on the speaker. “See what’s on the chatter.”

Brandon turned the ship’s radio on to the local military command frequency.

“Extat,” a voice could be heard saying. "Captain, there’s still no visible effect.”

“All right,” a different voice said back. “We’ll stay out of the way for a few minutes and see if the ITF1’s can do anything more. Meanwhile, let’s get underneath it for now and try to pick off some of those Erob-awful missiles.”

“That’s Captain Jol2,” Mip7 said. Brandon nodded.

“They’re much too fast for us, Captain,” the other voice on the radio said.

“I know, extat, but we’re going to try anyway!”

Brandon turned the radio volume down and said, “I wonder if the enemy can intercept our transmissions.”

“That’s a negative, Brandon,” Olut6’s voice said on the intercom. “I’ve gotten confirmation from ground control there’s no organic life on board that thing.”

“A drone,” Brandon said. “Drone from hell. We’re coming up on it so we may as well hit it with a drive-by. Then try to figure something out. Hold on.”

Brandon accelerated to near-maximum local propulsion. First he came up at the underside of the satellite, but then pulled up and came across the top of it at the last second. When they were above it, a laser fired from beneath the drone at the angle they were originally approaching from.

“Go,” Brandon said. He and Mip7 then let loose with lasers from both sides of the cockpit. The beams tore a path of light across the top of the object’s hull. They cleared it, and Brandon took the ship lower so it was even with the opposite side. A laser from the top of satellite then fired straight up where they had been a moment before.

The REEP cannon went off from the rear. Brandon wasn’t expecting that. Apparently, neither was Mip7, as his head cocked. Olut6 had taken a shot of opportunity.

Brandon stayed on local propulsion and swung the ship back around when they were safely away from it.

“Nice quick shot, General,” he said to the intercom. “Did you hit it?”

“Of course. I blasted it directly, and the thing barely shook. Extat. This is where I need that Earth brain of yours. Any ideas?”

The satellite fired three more shots at Banor. Jol2’s squadron was hanging below now, close to the atmosphere, and fired haplessly at the large red missiles that streaked by. They were pitifully slow and missed by a wide margin.