the com link. “Open all lines.”
There was a crackle of static, and then it faded. The Mech was non-functional and a non-functional Mech wasn't a good thing to have on this planet, especially when being attacked—not that being attacked had ever happened before.
She glanced at the steam-covered window and slowly brought her hand up against it, feeling the dampness on the glass. She wiped droplets away, creating a streak across the glass pane, allowing her to see what was out there.
When she saw it she narrowed her eyes, rage swelling inside of her, fear engulfing her heart. She brought up her middle finger, showing it to an enemy she'd never seen before and never knew about. “Do it! End it, already! Let it blaze, bastard!”
A lone, triangular-shaped craft lingered just above her. A burst of blue air shot out from the underbelly, moving the craft slightly to one side, bringing the craft to a proper position to end its target—Crystal. The inner portion of each wing opened and black tubes protruded an inch outward. A second later, bursts of reddish, yellow flames erupted from the tubes, and the clang of the Mech's metal rattled through Crystal’s ears. She was about to experience what Hendricks had. Closing her eyes, she braced for the inevitable.
∞
The admiral's Thunderbird was a thin, oval-shaped craft. Its wings were tucked back, like a diving eagle, with an ion thruster mounted on the tip of the craft's tail, with two ion cannons built into each wing. The aircraft sat perched like a bird on the flight deck. When the admiral had arrived on deck, the scene around him was chaotic. He left his hover car on the runway and saw people running everywhere, panic stricken. He marched over to several lockers stacked against one of the runway walls and opened the one designated Admiral. He grabbed his gear, put it on as fast as he could and not worrying about who was watching him. Two minutes later he had on his flight suit, helmet in hand. He ran to his Thunderbird, raced up the ladder and eased himself into the cockpit.
His skin tingled, a sudden cold hit at his core. The admiral started to feel what the rest of the crew and civilians felt—anxiety, chaos, despair—and the more he watched the disarray, the more he felt he had to display the confidence an admiral was supposed to display. But, his confidence was leaking out of him. He became angry, feeling ill-prepared and nauseous.
He clenched his jaw and glanced around at the pandemonium surrounding him on the flight deck. People were running into each other, grabbing things and then dropping them on the ground, not knowing what to do with the items anyway. Some were barking orders, but fear consumed them all, as if they had just been thrown into a pot of boiling water and doing everything they could to jump out as quickly as they had gone in.
Shaking his head, he slammed his fist against the rounded cockpit window. Hurry up, people! Get off the damn deck!
No one was familiar with any of this, and as more and more shudders quaked through Starbase Matrona, the more wide-eyed and crazy everyone became. Admiral Byrd's hands started to shake and he stared at them. He had failed, somehow. He had failed his fleet, his people. Even though he hadn't the faintest idea who was attacking them, he still blamed himself for the unknown. He should have been there, on his starship, as any Fleet Admiral should be, commanding the defense of his people. Instead, he was here; waiting to be blown to smithereens, along with the rest of the starbase.
People—get off the deck! If they would just clear the deck, he could launch and get to his starship where he could lead a defense!
Turning off his com link, he covered his mouth, looked down, and screamed. He felt like turning the Thunderbird on and gunning it out of there, but he couldn't. He'd kill his own people, plus the bay door was closed, anyway.
Looking up, he stared at the large bay door at the end of the ramp, waiting for it to open to show him something besides the turmoil all around.
“Admiral,” said Eden's voice over the com link, knocking him back to the moment. “I'll be on your nine. You'll arrive safe and sound on Brigantia.”
Starship Brigantia—his starship—his home! Why couldn't they teleport people from one place to another the way they did with food, clothing, and other small objects? Why hadn't science figured that out yet? He could be on Starship Brigantia if they'd just smarten up and be the geniuses they claimed to be.
Blame. The admiral shook his head. He was succumbing to the pressure, blaming unnecessary things for his current situation.
The admiral glanced to one side; Eden was in her Thunderbird, also waiting to take off. He gave her the thumbs up and turned on his com link. “Thanks, kid.” He cleared his throat. “Flight Control 21, this is Admiral Byrd, do you read me?”
Static.
Open the damn bay doors! “Flight Control 21, do you read me?! We need the bay doors open!”
“Everyone's running around, Admiral,” said Eden. “They can't open the bay doors until everyone is off the flight deck.”
He pounded the glass again, knowing what Eden had said was common sense, although not wanting it to be true. If they opened the doors, all of the people scrambling around would be sucked into deep space. Squeezing the control stick as hard as he could, he did everything within his power to stop himself from tearing everything out of the cockpit.
A crackle came over the com link, and a tense voice spoke, “I'm sorry for the delay, Admiral. The flight deck is now clear. You're free to ride.” The bay doors opened and the scene outside made the admiral's jaw drop.
Thousands of triangular crafts zipped by, shooting yellow-reddish flames, followed by bolts of laser fire blasting gouges into two of the starships that he could see in the distance. And one of them was his starship, Brigantia.
The starships were many miles away, but because of their size, they looked much closer, as if he could reach out and touch them. They were as big as small cities, housing nearly ten thousand personnel in each of them. The starships were cigar-shaped and equipped with immense ion boosters and hyper drives built onto their sides. He could see the starships fighting back, exchanging fire with the attackers, destroying some but missing most.
“Thrusters,” muttered the admiral, and instantly the Thunderbird's ion thrusters were purring like a kitten. “Lift.” The Thunderbird rose five feet off the ebb flooring, hovered in position and was ready for takeoff.
He looked again at Eden, then nodded his head, pushing the throttle forward; and in a span of two seconds, he was out of Matrona and heading for what he surmised to be a heavily damaged Starship Brigantia—his baby.
“Hard right!” yelled Eden.
The admiral pulled the control stick to the right, barely missing another Thunderbird being chased by an attacker. But, before the admiral could assist, the fleeing Thunderbird exploded. The attacker had hit its mark.
“That was Conner, Admiral,” said Eden.
The admiral gritted his teeth. Connor was just a boy, barely over eighteen.
Eden and the admiral lit up their ion boosters, propelling them faster through space, flying in a zigzag pattern and heading toward Brigantia. Just ten seconds into the flight, the admiral’s sensors beeped, indicating that one or more of his attackers had weapons locked on him, then unlocked, then locked again. Over and over again the sensors beeped, making him wonder if his Thunderbird's HDC was malfunctioning.
Seeing Thunderbird and attacking crafts whiz by, he quickly realized that he was moving in and out of the enemy craft cross-hairs, even though they weren't necessarily targeting him.
“Eden, are you still with me?” Looking at his HDC, he saw her Thunderbird signature by his side. He knew she was there, but needed to know how her mind was faring.
“I'm with you all the way, Admiral.”
Two of the attackers looped and steadied themselves in front of Eden and the admiral. At first, they were far away, or so it seemed. When the admiral realized they were closing in on them much quicker than expected, he yelled, “Split!”
The admiral pulled on the stick, veering off one way and Eden the other. The at
tackers flew by, giving Eden and the admiral a sudden advantage if they continued their course and did a long horizontal loop, which would place them directly behind the two enemy craft. An advantage, though, the admiral couldn't risk. He had to get to his command chair on Brigantia. His Thunderbird, although nice, fast, and deadly, was no place for a career admiral. He only flew for fun, never thinking he'd actually be using it for combat, but then again, he never thought any of his pilots would use their Thunderbirds in real combat.
Glancing at his HDC, he noticed he was only a couple of miles from the Starship. He'd be there in less than fifteen seconds.
A crackle came over the com link. It was Lieutenant Brigger, calling from Brigantia. “Admiral, you are clear for landing. Bay 17, Sir.”
A beep, different than the weapon's lock, sounded in his cockpit. Looking at the HDC, he ascertained that it was a warning sound because he was heading for an unopened bay.
“Negative, Lieutenant, the bay is closed and that’s a problem!”
“Affirmative, Admiral. Pull up immediately, bay doors jammed, unresponsive. I repeat, pull up!”
Admiral Byrd pulled back hard, almost colliding with the massive starship. An explosion occurred just in front of him, making him think he hit Brigantia, or worse, that Eden had, but he quickly realized that it was another Thunderbird downed. He flew through the