Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet by RG Risch
Suddenly, the Mariner’s communication’s crewman cried out, “SIR, CRUISER GEMINI REPORTS THAT REMNANTS OF ENEMY FLEET HAS BROKEN OUT AND ARE MAKING A RUN FOR IT!”
“Then we end it now!” Winslow snarled. “BROADCAST TO ALL SHIPS!” he pointed at the communication’s crewman, “GO TO FLANK SPEED! PURSUE, OVER TAKE, AND DESTROY!”
And by their new commander’s mandate, the Martian fleet stormed after the last of the crimson ships.
* * * * *
The Martians weren’t the only ones to take notice of the hurried retreat of the Earth vessels. The Indra perceived that the time of reckoning was now at hand. In an instant, the alien warship among the Martian transports winked out into hyperspace.
* * * * *
Out of the five thousand ships Selena had brought into battle, less than a fifty now remained. Darius’ own ship, the Quinton, was damaged in the worse way. Although the dreadnought’s main engines were untouched, its jump engine, however, was wrecked by the last salvos from the Mir. Repair teams were furiously trying to restore them to operational status, but with every passing second, hope was waning. Without escape to hyperspace, there was no reprieve from the vengeful Martians that followed.
Selena speculated that stragglers with sub-light engine trouble might provide a convenient rear guard action and slow the Martians down, but she wasn’t about to count on it. Her plan was clear, the vestiges of her fleet were to stay with her until the Quinton’s jump drive was restored.
Still using the asteroid field as cover, the Earth ships sped close to the tumbling rocks. The field at least provided some concealment and possible interference, should Selena be forced to order the last of her rabble to fight while she abandoned them. But she did not know that the Indra had made other arrangements.
As the crimson ships slowly pulled away from their Martian pursuers, a pulsing white star appeared directly in front of the red ships. For a moment, Selena thought her scanners were malfunctioning, but another one appeared next to it—and then a third. Selena’s mouth dropped open in horror as she finally grasped that a large fleet of Indra warships had just jumped out of hyperspace and were cutting off her retreat.
“TARGET THOSE SHIPS AND FIRE!” she howled to her surviving command.
In seconds, the Earth ships’ weapons bombarded the alien armada, but their fire was uncoordinated and ineffective. The individual laser bolts were easily absorbed by the targeted Indra vessels and harmlessly expelled across their outer skins.
Salvo after salvo was discharged at the aliens, but to no avail. The Indra ships withstood the barrage without any losses.
“CEASE FIRE!” Selena saw that the attack was a waste of effort. “I WANT A WEDGE FORMATION, RIGHT NOW!” she ranted at the top of her lungs to the computer. “WE’LL RAM OUR WAY THROUGH!”
But as the Earth Fleet reformed, the pulsing of the alien vessels quickened and synchronized. As the Earth fleet closed, their instruments began registering a strange abnormally.
“Admiral,” Captain Renee alerted his superior, “we’re encountering intense gravitational waves!”
“Strength?” Selena quickly questioned.
“Five Ligos—no, seven! Ten! Eighteen!” Renee mouthed as he watched the strength of the waves increasing at an astronomical rate. “They’ve increased beyond measure!” his face drained of all color it had.
However, Darius was skeptical of the reading. “That’s impossible! We would have to be flying into a neutron star or a black hole!”
Suddenly, a vibration was felt throughout the Quinton as it was felt throughout every other Earth ship. And as it heightened, metal, resin, and plastic groaned in strain.
Renee readjusted the viewer to zoom out so that the image would encompass the surrounding space. As the hologram refocused the view, the captain’s eyes enlarged in pure fright; space was rippling like water—and asteroids were being pulverized and crushed to atoms.
Hurriedly he returned to his instruments, and through the powdery dust of asteroid residue, Renee’s scanners detected the unmistakable trail of debris his fleet was leaving behind. The path of wreckage was produced from function fatigue that memory alloys and materials were especially prone to when subjected to intense changing pressure or over-usage. Parts distorted, unable to retain their correct shape, and in the process either broke apart or jammed together, improperly positioned.
“ADMIRAL!” Renee cried out, “we must turn back! The ships can’t handle the strain! THEY’RE STARTING TO BREAK UP!”
“NO!” Darius shouted back. “OPEN FIRE!” she screamed again.
But as the crimson vessels began a second bombardment, several ships immediately blew up as misaligned weapon parts shorted out. Again they fired, and again more ships died, some now detonating from power plant and engine failure.
Without warning, every instrument and console on the Quinton’s bridge began to smoke from surging electrical power. Renee abruptly turned and ran for the main hatch, hoping for the safety of an escape pod. He was closely followed by other cyborgs bent on saving their own lives. But as they streamed past an infuriated Darius, an all-consuming rage engulfed her and what was left of her sanity.
“COME BACK HERE, YOU COWARDS!” Selena pulled out her ion pistol and began killing her crewmen. Oblivious that her bridge was now filling with smoke, flame, and exploding equipment, she continued shooting wildly.
“I’LL KILL YOU ALL! I’LL KILL THE MARTIANS!” she shrieked, as he electron bolts raked the hatchway. “COME BACK HERE!”
And then in a brilliant flash, it was all over.
* * * * *
As the last of the Crimson Fleet became exploding stars to the blackness of eternal space, Winslow was awed as he observed their final moments from the bridge of the Mariner. The Martian fleet was halted as soon as they detected the Indra ships. John knew that they would not let the Earthers go. It was unfathomable how they annihilated them, however, and he now understood why no debris was ever found of those who dared to trespass in their space. Their very atoms were disintegrated into plasma gases that simply floated away into the cosmos. But the show was not over, yet.
“Commander!” the sensor crewman called out over the headphones, “Indra fleet is advancing on our position!”
John’s heart went to his throat at the news. The Martians were in no condition to tackle anyone else.
“Orders, Sir?” Captain Landorf asked anxiously.
Winslow hesitated to answer as the Indra closed in.
He had to come up with a solution fast.
Gritting his teeth, John briskly walked to the communication’s console and clicked on the transmitter. “This is Commander Winslow to all ships, hold your fire! Repeat! Hold your fire!” he hoped he guessed right. “Don’t fire unless fired upon! Let them commit the first overt act!”
Within a minute, the Indra ships stopped less than a hundred yards from the battered Martian formations. The alien vessels’ tentacle weapons bobbed and weaved menacingly as they sparkled in globular energy that ballooned and then receded in random threats. The alien spacecraft, themselves, seemed to be alive, as their energy fields expanded and contracted like lungs.
The Martians stood anxiously anticipating the next moments, not knowing what to make of it. For several tense minutes, the two species eyed each other—waiting.
Winslow sweated in the cool, damp air of his space suit. “Come on, damn it!” he cursed more to himself. “Let’s get this over with!” And to his amazement they did; an Indra ship directly in front of the Mariner instantly winked out.
More swiftly followed, and the number of alien ships rapidly decrease, until finally only one vessel remained. It bobbled like a buoy upon the sea and glistened in beautiful rainbow colors. A spectrum of absolute delight it became, and a great feeling of solace filled the interiors of every Martian ship.
Winslow stood bewildered and wondered why they had spared them. Maybe because of Wakinyan,
In a burst of splendid radiance, the alien craft vanished into the realm of hyperspace. All became peaceful and serene, as the Martian fleet floated above the asteroid belt alone.
“Goodbye, friend,” Winslow said as he relaxed. He then turned the fleet of Martians ships about and headed back to the former arena of chaos. The battle was now over, and the aftermath job of rescue and recovery became his most immediate concern.
* * * * *
Chapter 27: Farewells
Armon Quinton fought to wake up from the drunken slumber that filled his head. The previous night’s victory celebration had gotten way out of control and somehow deteriorated into a wild orgy. Nothing was taboo, as every partygoer indulged his or her most sinful urge. And as the gala dragged into the wee hours of the morning, Quinton, like the rest, succumbed to a comatose sleep.
The celebration was the climax of the last few days, which had seen Quinton achieve his greatest personal and political victory against opposition factions. As Ektos’ advised, Armon had successfully linked all of his powerful political foes with the Martian rebellion. The arrests—and executions came quickly, and now there was no one to resist his will or the dictates of his government. Everything had play easily into his hands, perhaps too easily.
As Armon’s mind started to clear, he tried to shift his body in what he thought to be his bed, but his body was held rigid by what seemed to be restraining devices. The bed was also hard and very uncomfortable with a coldness liken to wood or resin, and the more he twisted, the more uncomfortable it became.
There was also a stench that impregnated his nostrils. The scent was akin to bile, found only in a slaughterhouse. To say the least, it was nauseating.
Against the resistance of his lids to move, Armon forced his eyes to finally squint open. For a moment, he did not perceive the strangeness of his surroundings. There was a terrible glare off of what looked like some plastic or glass shield that encased him, which also muffled sounds from the outside.
Finally as the last of a drugged sleep dissipated, he finally recognized where he was—mounted in one of Ektos’ nutrient cylinders.
“WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING IN HERE! LET ME OUT!” Armon screamed as he struggled against his bounds.
The noise brought a figure robed in black who casually walked over to look down at him. “Hello Chairman Quinton,” Logos voiced merrily. “I’m glad you have finally awakened. Now we can proceed,” the android’s many changing faces smiled.
“I NOT PROCEEDING ANYWHERE, YOU DAMN MACHINE!” Armon bellowed. “LET ME OUT OF HERE OR I’LL HAVE YOU SCRAPED!”
Logos smile broadened. He then turned and walked away.
Suddenly, the cylinder was up-righted and placed on a handcart. It then followed Logos as he strolled through the examination chamber.
“I hope you and your friends enjoyed yourselves last evening. Ektos went very much out of his way to ensure your party was an overwhelming success,” Logos spoke with sarcastic humor.
As he was pushed down the passage, Quinton’s mouth slowly opened wide in an increasing state of shock. For lining the green walls of the subterranean chamber were all of the guests to the previous night’s celebration, each nude and mounted in a nutrient cylinder, like he.
“WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU”RE DOING!” Armon screamed out again.
Logos looked back. “Don’t worry, Mr. Chairman; technically, they are all brain-dead. They won’t feel a thing.”
“YOU MONSTER!” Armon voiced his outrage.
Logos chuckled. “You built your planet on lies and corruption, you destroyed Mars for defying you, and then you slaughtered innocent people because they pose a political threat to you. Tell me, Mr. Chairman, what do you think makes one a monster?” Logos simply replied.
Quinton dropped his head in silence. He had no answer. And as he past each benumbed face, he became penitent, but not at what he had done, or for the demise of so many of his contemporaries. Instead, it was for being caught in a trap of his own making.
Finally, the small procession entered the feeding room and Armon’s cylinder was hooked up swiftly to the nutrient apparatus. Still, he struggled as a condemned criminal would, hoping for the miracle of escape, but alas, there was none.
Unexpectedly, a figure approached from the back-lit corridor that came from Ektos’ lair. Although the man was silhouetted against the light, he assumed a familiarity.
“It’s good to see you, Armon,” the man’s echoing voice called out from a distance. “Glad you could make it.”
Quinton looked carefully at the well-dressed man who approached. As the figure came into the light, Quinton then saw his face quite clearly—it was his own.
“A damn clone!” Armon became angry again.
“No,” the duplicate corrected. “A synthoid. I am a machine made from both organic and synthetic parts.”
“How?” Quinton did not believe his own eyes.
The synthoid smiled. “Each time you stepped into a scanner, your mind and complete physical body were translated into digital information. From that, it was easy to construct me. I even have your memories and brain pattern, and can pass all but the most rigorous scrutiny,” the duplicate explained. “Impressed?”
“You’ll never get away with it!” Armon tried to convince the machine as well as himself.
“But we already have,” the duplicate indulged further. “Your friends that you’ve passed in the examination room have all been replaced—and have not been detected by either their most closest friends or family.”
“Why?” Quinton asked as his hope faded. “Why have you done this?”
“Because if we hadn’t—you were in the position to get rid of us. And that is exactly what you would have done.”
“MURDERER!” Armon spit out.
But the duplicate just laughed. “You should talk!”
Quinton suddenly went into a frenzy, attacking his bounds with all of his strength, but the straps refused to give.
“You shouldn’t be so upset. You’re about to become a part of the greatest being in the universe—Ektos! You should be honored!”
But Quinton’s rage only grew as he continued his assault upon his bounds, cursing as he did.
However, as much as the duplicate enjoyed the show, it was time to get on with things. “Farewell, Armon. It was nice talking with you.”
The machine turned its head and nodded. Great valves were then heard to cycle.
Quinton stopped his struggling immediately and became frightfully still as he looked up and listened. His heart pounded faster and harder, knowing his greatest fear and his fate were one. “OH MY GOD!” he cried out in panic upon hearing the surge of the green ooze making its way down the injection tubes. He felt the vibration increase as it drew closer.
In a loud ‘whoosh’, the flesh eating green slimy shot out of the tube and all over Armon Quinton. His screams were bloodcurdling, as the deadly liquid filled his cylinder and began eating at his skin almost immediately. His screeches grew earsplitting and painful as living fluid dissolved him slowly. Over a minute later as he gave up his last breath of life, Armon Quinton was released from his agony—and journeyed into oblivion.
* * * * *
Aboard the Ariana over two thousand light years away, another drama was playing itself out. As Deputy Commander John Winslow walked towards one of the medical treatment rooms, his steps were deliberately unhurried. The somber duty, which he now carried out, was one born out of ritual; it was also one of the things he hated most about the service. Still it was done out of respect for a fellow mariner who was about to embark on their final journey.
As Winslow turned a corridor guarded by Martian Marines, he saw the entrance to the room where Wakinyan was. His gate slowed even more to a lagging stroll.
There were many good things to report to the commander, such as the total annihilation of the enemy fleet, that the casualt
Finally, John came upon the room and stopped. He felt a dark veil surrounding the chamber, and the mystery of death waiting inside. It was a heavy and enigmatic sensation, which was very unsettling. Still, he had to go in, duty required it. Steeling himself for what lay beyond; John entered to the overpowering smell of alcohol and disinfectant, and joined the deathwatch within.
As the hatch closed behind him, his uneasiness grew. John saw the Ariana’s Chaplain administering last rites to Wakinyan’s friend, Captain James Randall. Next to the dying man stood Wakinyan, his swelled and discolored right arm lashed to a splint. Wakinyan had spurned treatment and forsook his throbbing pain, refusing to leave his friend for even a scant second.
Hovering close on the other side, were the Mariner’s chief surgeon and the Ariana’s ship’s doctor. Captain Tara Nargis and General Franks were on hand as well, rendering their respect and what support they could give as they stood half way between Randall’s gurney and the hatchway.
Jim seemed to be having a disturbed sleep. He mumbled under his breath, while his head sometimes made small movements and jerks that pulled against the oxygen tubes that were stuck up his nostrils.
Richard’s face was painted with grief at watching his friend’s life slip away. Not even the IV’s; which flowed saline solution, painkillers, and other medicines into Jim’s veins; were able to stem the ebbing tide of his life.
John moved closer to Franks and whispered in his ear, “How is he doing?”
Franks slightly shook his head. “He’s pretty bad! They stabilized him and made him comfortable—but that’s all they really could do.” Franks paused for a moment. “I think it will be over soon,” he added dolefully.
John frowned. The sight was heart wrenching and he wished he had never walked in.