Chronicles of Aria Prime, Episode One Page 2

  Chapter One

  “Transmit your message again.”

  Colonel Christopher Nash ran his hand through gray-flecked brown hair as he leaned back in the command chair of the PSC Trident.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Signaler Theresa Stanton. She thumbed a setting on her console. “Freighter Stingray, this is the Pegasus Stellar Coalition cruiser Trident. We have received your distress call and are standing by to assist with engine repairs. Please respond.”

  Nash looked around the small, hexagonal shaped bridge as he waited. From his central command chair, he could see every workstation with a simple twist of the head. Directly in front of him sat the pilot and signal stations. To his left sat the weapons console, and to the right the research and executive officer’s stations. He drummed his middle finger on the armrest of the command chair as he continued to wait.

  The silence was broken by the sound of the conveyor doors opening. Nash turned to see Major Dara McBride, executive officer of the Trident, stepping out of the conveyor and onto the bridge. Even after having her aboard for six months, Nash’s heart skipped a beat at her appearance. Born in Dublin and of average height, she had extreme curves that the officer’s uniform was ill-equipped to handle. Her face displayed lofty, curving cheekbones and a dimpled chin, while thin eyebrows arched gracefully over her deep set viridian eyes. Per regulation, her wavy, cinnamon-colored hair was pulled back tightly.

  “Have we heard anything yet, sir?” she asked as the conveyor doors closed with an industrial hum and clunk.

  “Nothing,” Nash replied. “Their comm system had better be down, because I’m getting tired of waiting for a response.”

  “Oh, but I so love helping freighters that didn’t pack repair parts for their engines,” echoed a voice from the bridge’s starboard side.

  Both Nash and McBride turned to see Captain Drew Davenport, the ship’s research officer, sitting cross armed at his station. The dark-skinned Australian grinned, baring white teeth.

  Nash shook his head. “Davenport, if you weren’t so good at your job, I’d transfer your comedic ass to another ship.”

  Davenport continued to grin. “Lucky for me, you’re the only colonel in the Coalition who will put up with me.”

  “Yeah,” Nash replied. “Well, why don’t you drop the comedy routine and scan the freighter for bio signs?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  McBride closed her eyes and shook her head. She turned her attention back to Nash. “Sir, I just came from deck two, and the colonists are complaining about our little detour.”

  Nash sighed. “Well, they’re going to have to get over it. I can’t ignore a distress call because four hundred colonists are in a rush to get to Alpha Ceres.”

  “I tried to impress upon them the importance of responding to distress calls,” McBride said, “but I was reminded that the Coalition has declared colonization of the outer rim planets a top priority. I left before my temper got the best of me.”

  “Well—” Nash began.

  “Colonel,” Davenport interrupted. “I’ve got nothing on the Stingray. No life signs, no power, nothing. She’s a dead hunk of floating space debris.

  “Strange,” Nash replied. He looked toward the pilot station. “Lieutenant Freely.”

  The young towhead seated at the pilot station turned his seat to face the colonel. “Sir?”

  “You told me yesterday you’d like to see some action during your first assignment on the Trident. Looks like you got your wish.”

  Lieutenant Freely smiled. “Yes, sir.”

  Nash returned the gesture, then continued. “Major McBride, I want you to take a team over—”

  “Colonel!” Lieutenant Karen Preston, seated at the weapons console, looked up with eyes wide. “Two Karakan battleships just dropped out of hyperspace. Five hundred kilometers and closing!”

  “What the hell are those reptilian bastards—”

  Before Nash could finish, the Trident was hit by a full spread of torpedoes from the approaching ships. The impact threw Freely and Stanton from their station; Nash fought to remain in the command chair.

  “Energize the defense fields, Preston!” Nash shouted. “Sound general quarters; everyone get your goddamn safety harnesses on!”

  “Yes, sir!” came several replies. The distinct clicking of safety harness buckles echoed throughout the bridge. As she struggled to get back in her seat, Stanton slammed a red softkey on her station console; immediately the whooping sirens of the general quarters alert sounded. To her left, Freely fumbled with his safety harness. She simultaneously buckled her harness and helped Freely with his.

  “Heavy damage to auxiliary control and the engine room,” Davenport reported.

  “Defense fields at eighty percent, Colonel,” Preston said.

  “Target the sensor array of the closest vessel,” Nash said. “Fire plasma cannons. And get me a visual on the main screen.”

  Preston leaned over her console and keyed firing commands. “Firing plasma cannons.”

  There was a momentary humming as the cannons fired, followed by Preston’s excited voice.

  “Direct hit! Sensors disabled on enemy battleship.”

  “Where the hell is my visual?” Nash shouted.

  “Coming up now, sir,” Stanton replied.

  The main screen shimmered to life, revealing two Karakan battleships. The vessels resembled chunky, elongated arrows, with rows of gun turrets and a bridge tower rising from the center. At the rear, the oval exhaust ports of their scillion drive burned a bright blue. The closer of the two battleships showed heavy damage, with its front sensor mangled and crippled. The other ship swung about to face the Trident head-on.

  Nash gritted his teeth. “Lieutenant Preston, fire torpedoes on the undamaged ship.”

  On screen, three orange orbs streaked from the underbelly of the approaching Karakan ship. The torpedoes impacted the Trident’s defense field, exploding meters away from the hull.

  “Defense fields held but are now down to fifty percent, Colonel,” Davenport reported. “You may want shoot the bad guy before the shields give out.”

  Ignoring Davenport, Nash spun the command chair to face the weapons station. “Lieutenant, where are my torpedoes?”

  “Weapons malfunction, sir!” replied Preston. Her brown eyes tensed as she scrolled through screens on her control panel. Her eyes grew wide while she highlighted a setting. She looked up from her console and locked eyes with Nash. “Torpedoes online, sir!”

  “FIRE!”

  Six shimmering globes burst from The Trident’s torpedo tubes and lobbed toward the enemy ship. There was a momentary flash of yellow as the torpedoes penetrated the enemy’s defense field and tore a massive chunk from the vessel’s hull. Debris spewed from the gaping cavity, creating a silver spray of metallic nuggets. The enemy ship’s forward motion stopped, and she began to list toward port.

  Preston laughed deep in her throat. “Readings show major damage to the first battleship. Weapons are offline, shields are down, and they have multiple hull breaches.”

  Nash turned his attention to the second enemy ship. “Pilot, bring us hard to port. Plasma cannons one through four, fire on the second battleship; target their reactor.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Lieutenant Freely. The shrillness of the boy’s voice made his fear obvious; Nash hoped he wouldn’t crack under pressure.

  The view on the main screen spun wildly as the Trident performed the tight maneuver. Plasma cannons fired, and Nash watched with satisfaction as the green bursts of particle energy peeled a section of the hull’s skin, exposing the interior structure. Another blast pierced the ship’s center section. The vessel shuddered and erupted in a spectacular display of fireworks.

  “Sir,” Preston said, “enemy vessel destroyed.”

  “What clued you in, Lieutenant?” Davenport said with an arched eyebrow. “Was it the debris, or the massive explosion?”

  Preston shot a glare at Davenport, who immediately forced
a wide, toothy smile.

  Nash leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face. It had been more than ten years since the war with the Karakan Empire. Earth and her allies had won the brutal war, and an uneasy peace had existed ever since. Why are two of their battleships so deep inside Coalition territory, he thought. Is this the start of another move against the Pegasus Stellar Coalition? Whatever the reason, Coalition command needed to be notified ASAP.

  Preston’s loud voice brought an end to his contemplation.

  “Colonel! Another Karakan battleship dropping out of hyperspace!”

  Before Nash could speak, The Trident was bludgeoned on the port side. The shoulder straps of the safety harness dug into Nash’s chest as the force of the blow tried to throw him from his chair. Preston, eyes wide and mouth gaping, made a hasty view of her console. “Colonel, that torpedo penetrated our fields!”

  Nash jerked himself erect in the command chair and faced the main screen. “Pilot, bring us about!”

  The main screen was a blur as Lieutenant Freely spun the ship to bear her weapons on the attacking battleship. Nash leaned forward in the command chair, teeth barred and veins popping from his neck.

  “Torpedoes, fire!”

  The Trident shook violently as the cannonade lobbed lethal force toward the opponent’s battleship. There was a brief yellow flash, and the torpedoes ricocheted off the enemy’s defense field and exploded harmlessly in space.

  “Their defense fields held,” said McBride, her Irish accent becoming more pronounced under the stress of the moment. Mouth half open and eyebrows arched, she eyed Nash. “How the hell did the Karakans get weapons an’ screens that powerful?”

  “Incoming!”

  The impact of the enemy torpedo was far stronger than the first. Once again, safety harnesses dug into flesh, and there were several gasps from various bridge stations. From the rear of the bridge came a heavy ozone smell, followed by the crackling sound of crystalline circuits shorting out. Nash turned toward the sound to see a large wall panel billowing smoke. There goes communications.

  He returned his attention to the main screen. “Plasma cannons, fire!”

  “No effect, sir,” Preston said. “We can’t penetrate their shields!”

  “Colonel!” Chief Engineer Trace Jordan’s Tennessee drawl growled over the command chair speaker. “We can’t take much more of this! Defense fields are failin’, and we got hull breaches on decks three to six.”

  “Have the compromised compartments been sealed off?” Nash asked.

  “Yessir,” the engineer replied. “Emergency bulkheads triggered an’ sealed.”

  We’re too badly damaged to fight this out, Nash thought.

  “All power to defense fields!” Nash shouted. “Pilot, lay in a course four eighteen mark four. Best possible speed.” He punched the ship-wide intercom. “Prepare for hyperdrive, maximum speed.”

  “Course laid in, Colonel!”

  “Colonel!” came the engineer’s voice again. “I don’t know if the ship can handle that speed! We’ve taken too much damage.”

  Nash keyed his console. “Understood, but this is our only choice out of here. Pilot, engage full throttle!”

  The high-pitched whine of the spooling hyperdrive filled the bridge, and Nash looked at the screen with satisfaction as the enemy ship instantly became a dot. He turned his chair toward McBride’s station.

  “Are we being pursued?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Colonel!” Freely shouted. “I’m getting no response from my console and speed is increasing.”

  Nash smacked the quick release of his harness and jumped to the pilot console. He punched in several commands, but nothing changed. He spun around to his command chair and keyed the intercom. “Engine room! Pilot station is unresponsive and speed is increasing.”

  “Workin’ on it, Colonel,” said the engineer’s voice. “Navigation computer is locked up and is tellin’ the hyperdrive to accelerate. I’ll have to reboot the system.”

  “How long?”

  “It’ll take two minutes.”

  “Hurry, speed is still increasing.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Davenport, eyebrows elevated on his dark face, looked up from his console. “Colonel, we’re twenty percent beyond our safe top speed!”

  “Understood.”

  A weak vibration began to spread through the deck plating. It intensified rapidly, causing looks of worry throughout the bridge. Nash, still standing, was reaching for the comm button when a sudden jolt rocked the ship. He was thrown to the deck, his backside landing on the diamond plated decking.

  The intercom once again buzzed with Chief Jordan’s voice. “Coolant leak!”

  Nash bit his lip. Coolant leaks in the hyperdrive reactor caused uncontrolled mixing of matter and antimatter, resulting in an explosion that made fission bombs look like a belch. He leaped to his feet and vaulted into the command chair. As he pulled on his safety harness, he punched the intercom to engineering.

  “Can you lock down the leak?” Nash asked.

  “We should…” There was hesitation in the engineer’s voice. “No! We’ve got a containment field in place; it’ll last five minutes. We gotta eject the reactor core before she rips us apart!”

  “How long on the navigation?”

  “Thirty seconds.”

  “Chief, prepare to eject the core.” Nash closed communications with engineering. “Mr. Freely, once navigation is restored, bring us out of hyperspace. As soon as the core is ejected, throttle the scillion drive to best possible speed and maintain course.”

  The Lieutenant’s hands shook at the controls and he swallowed hard before answering. “Yes, sir.”

  The deck shook violently underfoot and Davenport shook his head. “Sir, we’re experiencing hull damage from this speed. I expect it to increase exponentially if we maintain much longer.”

  “Understood.” Nash hit the intercom again. “Chief! How much longer?”

  The wait for the Chief’s response seemed eternal. Klaxons continued to sound, and a cracking sound spawned from the bridge canopy. What is taking so long, Nash thought. We don’t have time for this! Nash felt his heartbeat thumping in his chest.

  The intercom crackled to life. “Navigation online!”

  “Now, Mr. Freely!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  The scream of the hyperdrive disappeared as Freely brought the Trident to sub-light speed. Nash thumped the comm button on the command chair.

  “Chief, eject the core!”

  The bridge shuttered; Nash’s heartbeat continued to pick up speed and intensity.

  “Core ejected!” echoed the engineer’s voice.

  “Freely, get us out of here!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Nash’s heart felt as if it would pound a hole in his chest. He watched the main screen as the Trident limped away from the ejected core. With the hyperdrive now gone, they could only move the ship using the scillion drive, which was not capable of faster than light speed. Nash knew his ship would likely be hit by energy waves from the exploding reactor core.

  “Shift power to the aft defense fields!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  There was a sudden flash of white light on the screen as the core erupted.

  “Brace for impact!”

  The colossal energy wave sliced through The Trident’s defense fields like a white-hot machete through butter and collided with the hull. Computer consoles and wall panels showered sparks, and lighting went out. The bridge was filled with the stench of burnt circuitry, which singed the nostrils with every breath. Coughing resonated throughout. After a moment, dim emergency lighting flickered on, revealing a smoke filled bridge.

  Nash scanned the smoky bridge. “Report!”

  Davenport wiped the sweat from his face and peered at his console. “Sir, we have major damage throughout the ship. Main power is offline; we are currently on batteries. Scillion drive damaged and unresponsive. Multiple hull breache
s; starboard nacelle is nearly shorn off. Defense fields, sensors, and communications are all down.”

  “Understood. Have damage control parties begin repairs.” Nash slumped into the command chair and looked at the ceiling. At least they were alive. But staying that way was another matter. Far off course, extensive damage, and no faster than light drive… things did not look good.