Fall of Icarus bod-2 Read online

  Fall of Icarus

  ( Brink of Distinction - 2 )

  Jon Messenger

  Jon Messenger

  Fall of Icarus

  PROLOGUE

  “Captain on the deck!” the navigator yelled, as the small crew on the bridge of the Liberator leapt to their feet. Captain Hallith stepped off the lift and ran a hand along the bony ridges near his thinning hairline. Sweat beaded on his pudgy face from the exertion of walking down the long halls of the Alliance Cruiser. Where the sweat droplets fell, they pooled in rivulets along the sharp, bone protrusions that ran along his jaw, cheeks, brows, and at the base of his hairline. The Uligart smiled at the disciplined crew manning his bridge.

  “At ease,” he said softly.

  The cramped bridge of the Alliance Cruiser was small enough that his nasally voice carried clearly across the room.

  The crew took their seats, as the Captain took his at the top of the tiered rows of seats. “What’s our status, Mr. Paporus?”

  The ship’s Tactical Officer, a large Oterian, reviewed the day’s logs as he spoke. The Tactical Officer stood well over seven-feet tall. His tan fur-covered body seemed grossly disproportionate on the small bridge, so much so that his jutting horns nearly scrapped the low ceiling as he moved. Captain Hallith only half listened, knowing that today’s review would be dreadfully similar to yesterday’s, and the day’s before that, and the day’s before that. The Liberator, an archaic vessel that was refurbished for its current mission, was assigned the duty of patrolling the Demilitarized Zone between Alliance and Empire space. Established in the Taisa Accord nearly one hundred and fifty years previously, the Demilitarized Zone became a virtual barrier, existing of nothing more than sparse star systems and open space, but an invisible knife’s edge through which ships from neither side would cross. The Captain only accepted the position as a means for promotion, knowing that during a time of peace between the two organizations, job opportunities along the Demilitarized Zone held great potential for further advancement within the Fleet.

  Until two days ago, Captain Hallith’s job consisted of little more excitement than intercepting merchant vessels that travelled too close to the Demilitarized Zone. His crew boarded only one ship suspected of smuggling and, even after only a miniscule amount of illegal contraband was found, he threw the entire crew of that ship in the brig. Two days ago, however, Captain Hallith received a Top Secret communication from High Command. The blanket message, sent to all Captains patrolling the Demilitarized Zone, notified them of a potential new threat. Intel reported that a small fleet of deadly Terran Destroyers left Earth’s orbit and had been spotted in Alliance occupied space. If that were the case, Hallith realized with a small amount of excitement, a direct engagement with the Terran Empire would catapult his career. He would be guaranteed a Fleet command position, instead of being delegated to a small, refurbished vessel like the Liberator.

  Shaking free his fantasies of command, Captain Hallith noticed a worrisome expression on his Navigator’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Ninarath. What was that you asked?”

  “I was merely asking what you thought about the rumors of a Terran invasion, sir,” the Avalon asked in a soft, musical voice as he adjusted his white, feathery wings.

  Captain Hallith always thought the Avalons looked like a sickly race, with their deathly pale skin and anemically thin bodies. He tried to avoid looking for too long at the Navigator’s slightly sunken cheeks.

  “Do you really think there’s a possibility that there are Terran Destroyers in Alliance space?”

  “Well, I think about it quite a bit, to be honest,” the Captain replied, shifting his weight into his comfortable chair. The chair had been one of the few items Captain Hallith was able to specifically request during the rebuilding of his old ship. “But it’s really hard to say how much truth there is to rumors about Terran attacks. Need I remind all of you that this isn’t the first time the Liberator has been put on alert for a potential Terran threat? You’re all too young to remember, but there was a time when everyone thought the Empire would attack at any moment. During those days, we were almost always on alert.”

  The Captain settled into his chair, sliding down until he was able to rest his head against the back cushion and rested his hand on his full belly. “I think it would be a great opportunity to put the Empire in its place for violating the Taisa Accord, but I don’t really put much stock in there actually being Destroyers out there.”

  “Sir, I have a contact,” the Communications Officer chimed in. “It looks like multiple ships.”

  “Probably merchants off course,” the Captain replied dismissively. “Send them the verification code.”

  “And what if it’s not a drill, sir?” Ninarath asked.

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m just wondering what would happen if we later found out that there really were Destroyers in Alliance space. What if all this isn’t a drill?”

  Captain Hallith chuckled to himself. “Son, there hasn’t been a major conflict between the Alliance and the Empire in one hundred and fifty years. However, you’ve all trained extensively on how to conduct ship-to-ship combat. I think the Terrans might just be a little surprised if they were to go toe-to-toe with the Liberator.”

  “Sir?” the Communications Officer interrupted again.

  “What is it, Mr. Chenowitt?” the Captain asked of the Uligart.

  “Sir, the ships aren’t responding with any friendly frequencies.”

  The Captain furrowed his brow. “What are they replying with, then?”

  “Nothing, sir,” Chenowitt replied, a hint of nervousness on the edge of his voice. “I’ve hailed them repeatedly on the major communications bands and have received no response.”

  “And the FIS?” the Captain asked, referring to the Friendly Identification System, a computer system that automatically sends a ship’s designation when probed by Alliance Fleet requests.

  “Nothing at all, sir. They’re flying in complete blackout and radio silence.”

  “Smugglers,” the Captain muttered. He brought a microphone to his lips as he turned on the internal ship’s radio channel. “Attention on the ship. This is Captain Hallith. We have unidentified ships rapidly approaching our positions. All hands, report to battle stations.”

  Captain Hallith pushed the microphone away and turned to his Navigator. “Helm, bring us about and give me full forward view.” The wall in the front of the bridge flickered to life, revealing a wide expanse of empty space. Slowly, as the ship maneuvered, distant dots swung into view.

  “Give me magnification on those vessels.”

  The image of the ships grew closer in bursts as the camera magnified in stages. They grew from distant dots to sleek, aerodynamic silver bullets. As the image grew closer and crisper, the Captain was able to see the shiny silver hulls of the six large ships. Along their sides, thin colorful pinstripes painted in overlapping patterns on the silver armored exterior of the vessels finally gave him their identity. Behind each of the six ships, the stars shimmered from the hot exhaust as their engines burned at their absolutely hottest, propelling the Destroyers toward the lone Alliance Cruiser.

  His jaw dropping in surprise, Captain Hallith began barking orders to his crew. “Helm, bring us fully around and give me full speed! Tactics, arm all weapon systems!” He tugged hastily at the microphone beside him, nearly pulling it free from the wall. “All hands to battle stations! Terran Destroyers have crossed the Demilitarized Zone! This is not a drill!”

  The Captain shook visibly as the Liberator accelerated, slowly building forward momentum from their worn engines. The forward view screen spun to reveal the space behind, showing the six Terran Destroyers growing steadily closer. No l
onger magnified, Captain Hallith could see the bristling weapons ports on the fronts of each ship. As the six ships got within range, the lead Destroyer fired a single rocket. On the front wall of the bridge, the Captain saw the launch and traced the streaking missile.

  “Evasive maneuvers! Brace for impact!”

  Quickly covering the distance between the ships, the plasma rocket’s internal computer activated, directing the missile toward the leftmost engine on the Liberator. The antiquated ship was unable to move quickly enough to get out of range before the rocket drove into the massive rear exhaust, plunging into the superheated liquid plasma fueling the engines.

  Everyone on board the Liberator felt the jarring shake as the missile struck the engine. Though Captain Hallith gritted his teeth tightly together, anticipating a ship-shattering explosion, it never came. Slowly, he released his death grip on the Captain’s chair.

  “Give me a status report!”

  The Communications Officer activated the internal ship’s communications. A myriad of yells and screams could be heard from the engine room. As he listened, however, the Captain was taken aback to find that they were yells of surprise, not pain.

  Within the two-story engine, the metal cone tip of the rocket crumpled as it struck the burning liquid fuel, exposing a resilient dark canister within. Small explosives detonated around the perimeter of the internal canister, spilling forth gallons of dark fluid. The viscous, oily substance sloshed into the superheated plasma, where it began bubbling violently. Slowly, the black fluid turned tar-like, spreading into the engine. Everywhere it touched, the substance converted the molten plasma into a thick tar, jamming the engine.

  All this Captain Hallith heard, yelled by a sea of frightened engineers and mechanics within the engine room. He felt the vibrations roll through the ship as it started to lose speed. On the view screen, the Terran Destroyers closed the distance even quicker than before.

  “Sir, we’re losing speed!” Navigation yelled. “The left engine is completely unresponsive.”

  The Avalon Navigator’s voice faded into muted oblivion as Captain Hallith watched the weapon ports open on all six Terran ships simultaneously. Dozens of rockets launched from each ship, their smoking trails filling the screen with criss-crossing pathways. In their own hidden language, the smoky trails spelled inevitable death for the Liberator.

  “Gods save us,” the Captain muttered as the first of the rockets slammed into the limping Alliance Cruiser. Metal plates buckled as blue and purple plasma explosions blossomed across the length of the ship. Burning oxygen vented into empty space as the hull was breached. Fire roared through the corridors, burning crewmen alive as they fled one explosion only to be caught in another.

  The Captain watched in dismay as missile after missile struck the Liberator until, gratefully, one ended his consternation by splitting the hull above the bridge. Captain Hallith and his crew on the bridge were obliterated by the subsequent plasma explosion, which saved them the more arduous death as their bodies were sucked through the gaping hull and into the void of space.

  As the plasma blossoms cooled, debris of the former Alliance Cruiser drifted aimlessly in space. The Terran Destroyers flew by with barely a backward glance, as they sought out their next target.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Yen Xiao tapped his foot impatiently as the Squadron Commander continued the mission brief for the upcoming training exercise. Glancing down at his watch, he knew he was going to be cutting it close if the Commander didn’t stop talking. After all his hard work and political positioning, he refused to believe he might miss her arrival. He ran an irritated hand through his jet black hair. Gritting his teeth, red splotches appeared on his yellowed skin.

  “Settle down,” Adam Decker whispered from beside Yen. “You’re starting to make me uncomfortable.”

  “I’m fine,” Yen whispered harshly. “There’s nothing wrong. I just wish he would quit talking already.”

  “Oh, you’re fine?” Adam asked. “Then the fact that your spikes are flickering is just a coincidence.”

  Yen turned sharply on his Pilgrim friend. True to Adam’s word, Yen knew that the spikes that ran along his spine were rising and falling in rhythm with his quick breathing. Adam shrugged his massive shoulders before brushing his blond hair off his forehead. When Yen had first met Adam, the Pilgrim had always kept himself immaculately groomed. After the disaster of their first mission together, Adam had cared less and less about Alliance regulations on appearance standards. Even his strong Terran features were sometimes masked by fine stubble on his cheeks.

  Much like the few other Pilgrims on board the Revolution, Adam was a conundrum. Born of Terran heritage, the Pilgrims were the original colonists for the Terran Empire, sent from their home world of Earth to the farthest star systems to discover new worlds full of easily exploitable natural resources. The Pilgrims, however, found much more: aliens. Making first contact with previously undiscovered alien races, the Pilgrims established trade treaties and, eventually, friendships. But war between the Empire and the other alien species was inevitable. An unknowing incursion into Lithid space left an entire colony fleet annihilated and hundreds of thousands dead. In retaliation, the Empire declared martial law and attempted to eradicate the other species. To the surprise of the Terran politicians on Earth, the Pilgrims chose to side with the new Interstellar Alliance, fighting against the Terran threat. One hundred and fifty years had passed since the Taisa Accord was signed, establishing Alliance occupied space from Terran, but the Terran-descended Pilgrims were still an uncomfortable sight for some.

  Yen frowned and looked down at his watch again. “I just don’t want to be late.”

  “I’m about to take that watch away from you if you don’t quit staring at it.”

  “Is there something you two would like to share?” Squadron Commander Garrix asked from the front of the room, his gravelly voice carrying obvious annoyance.

  Both Yen and Adam looked up to see the Lithid Squadron Commander’s featureless black oval face staring directly at them, his barbed tail flickering in irritation. As natural shape shifters, the Lithids were able to transfigure their features into any humanoid shape. It was their natural state — the faceless, glossy, and barbed exoskeleton — that Yen found most unsettling.

  “If there’s somewhere else you’d rather be, please let me know. The Revolution is leading a dozen other ships from the Alliance Fleet against the Terran Destroyers. You’re getting the chance to take part in this battle because I say so. If either of you wants out, just let me know and I’ll sign your transfer. Otherwise, you will pay attention during our pre-combat training exercises.”

  They both dropped their eyes, slightly embarrassed. “Sorry, sir” they muttered in unison.

  Yen sank lower into his chair. Though he appeared to be listening, his eyes were barely focused on the Lithid Squadron Commander. As Garrix pointed his glossy clawed hands at another of the targets on the holographic display and droned on in his gravelly voice, Yen thought about all he still needed to accomplish before she arrived. First and foremost, he needed to lose the coveralls. After wearing his body armor all day during training rehearsals, he could trace the salt stains on the dark fabric. Secondly, he realized, as a waft of sweaty body odor rolled across his nostrils, he needed to take a shower. Secretively glancing down at his watch, Yen started to seriously doubt he would have time to do it all and still make it to the airlock.

  “I saw that,” Adam whispered. “Quit looking at your damn watch. You’re going to get us into trouble again.”

  Yen resolved himself to silent displeasure for the rest of the brief. He knew his role better than most of the other Warrants and Officers in the briefing room. Aside from Adam and Yen, no one else had any true combat experience, to include the Squadron Commander. They held their positions and preached tactics based off historical records and simulated combat. It made it difficult to remain focused during briefings, knowing that none of them were truly tested aga
inst a real opponent when death was a viable result.

  Looking up, Yen noted a shift in Garrax’s tone, signaling that an end to the monotonous brief was nearing. He leaned over excitedly to Adam who, though he had chided Yen for not paying attention, wore a frown fraught with impatience.

  “Are you coming or not?” Yen asked.

  Adam stole a glance at his own watch. “You’re going to be killing yourself to try to make it in time.”

  “Yes or no?”

  “I’m out. There’s no way I’m going to sprint the length of the Revolution just to go meet a woman, especially one who actually seems to find you attractive!”

  He smiled as the Squadron Commander concluded his summary. “Your loss. I’ll tell you all about her later tonight.”

  Yen was out of his chair and walking brusquely toward the rear exit to the briefing room before Garrix had finished saying “dismissed”. Once out the door, he broke into a sprint, hurrying toward the lift that would take him down to the living quarters. There were some advantages to being a combat veteran, as Yen had found. Though only an Insertion Team Leader onboard one of the Cair transport ships, Yen was given his own room on the Revolution, an honor normally reserved for a more senior Officer. As the door to his room slid open, he rushed inside, slipping past the small dining room table and flicking on the bedroom lights. His pristine dress uniform was already laid out on the bed, having been prepositioned earlier that morning. Stripping off the soiled uniform, Yen retained enough sense to carry the dirty clothes into the bathroom with him, knowing there was still a chance that he would not be coming home alone tonight.

  Stepping into the shower, Yen made quick work of scrubbing his body clean. It seemed that no sooner had the soap been washed from his skin and out of his hair, then the water was turned off and he was toweling dry. Looking in the mirror, he realized just how rough he looked. Even against his yellow skin, the faint outlines of a bruise could be seen spreading across his left cheek, a gift from an overzealous Oterian during the training practice today. During their rehearsed incursion on an enemy ship, the Oterian had been too eager to exit the Cair mock-up. His thrown elbow, as he shoved his way to the front of the line, caught Yen on the side of the face, snapping his head backward from the force of the blow. Yen already had an adequate punishment planned for the soldier, but seeing the bruise reignited his anger.