Tommy Thorn Marked (2 page)

“Standby for evasive, Mr. Kiel—and Mr. Thorn, get a call out to Titan Control. Give them a sitrep, position update, and our projected ETA.”

“Roger,” was Thorn’s reply, but he took a moment to cast a reassuring smile toward the engineer, his wife, before starting the task of relaying the ship’s current situation and estimated arrival time.

“Should we initialize the gun, sir?” Kiel asked a bit timidly.

Yanz actually managed a chuckle. “Are you joking Mr. Kiel? I’m not even sure it will still take power. Besides, we don’t want whoever’s out there to think we have anything on board worth fighting for,” he said, then turned to the engineer and gave her a look of resignation.

The medium-sized, dirty, bronze-colored warship made a maneuver designed to give separation while at the same time optimizing firing solutions.

“Their weapons are powering up, sir,” Kileen reported.

“Sir, do you think they’ll board us?” Kiel asked, looking over his shoulder.

Captain Yanz hesitated for a moment, took a deep breath, and looked directly into the young helmsman’s eyes. “No, Mr. Kiel, I don’t believe they have any intention of boarding us.

Two weeks
—
two more damn weeks,
the Tarchein captain thought, clutching the sides of his command couch as the first in a series of torpedoes impacted the ship’s shields. He then slowly, deliberately, used the finger bearing his Academy ring to press the intership comm switch, which was located on the tattered left arm of his aging command chair. “Viceroy.” He paused to acknowledge the anxious eyes of his young helmsman. “Sir, you had better get to a pod.”

Stardrive, or hyperdrive propulsion systems implemented by the Tarchein shortly after the accession to the throne by Queen Darvona, gave the emerging ambitious race a tremendous technological advantage and was the primary impetus behind the formation of the early Empire. Of course, over time, other advanced races discovered the secrets of traveling faster than light, but by then the Tarchein had secured and stabilized more than half the galaxy, thankfully, a number that continues to grow. The ability to travel the great distances between populated systems scattered throughout the galaxy was and still remains the key to expansion and power.

It should also be noted, however, that travel at these speeds required advances in navigation that rivaled the propulsion system itself—there are no insignificant collisions at light speeds! For that reason, Light Transition Corridors were charted and continue to be laid down with very well-defined entry areas designated as Light Transition Points or LTPs.

As a footnote, although recent breakthroughs in Stardrive technology promise a reduction in size, currently, massive power requirements, coupled with the restrictive dimensions of hyperdrive propulsion systems, relegate their use to larger ships of the line or capital warships.

Tommy’s eyes flashed open with the realization that his nagging tormentor was not merely one of a myriad of sounds intertwined in the fabric of a bad dream, but was in fact the low, steady honking of the ship’s alarm system. An alarm designed to alert passengers and crew alike of an impending emergency evacuation.

An evacuation! The sudden recognition caused Tommy to jerk upright, and using well-rehearsed actions developed through endless emergency drills and simulations, he jumped out of bed and dove toward the small metal clothing container integrated into the wall of his small, barely lit room.

“Ouch!” Tommy wailed as he stumbled over one of his boots.
Another drill,
he thought,
but it must be
… The thirteen-year-old glanced down at his wristcomm. “Three a.m.!”

The constant
burp…burp
of the alarm, like a heartbeat, continued in its annoying and somewhat frightening pattern along with the ship’s periodic announcements.

“Please proceed to your assigned escape pod.” The emotionless announcements added to the building feelings of dread welling up in Tommy’s stomach as he punched up a code on his wristcomm and pulled on a clean jumpsuit.

“Mom…Dad!” Tommy yelled, seemingly to no one. He grabbed his emergency pack and hit the hatch release before he heard a response.

“Tommy, sweetheart.” It was his mother. “Get to our pod. Your father and I will meet you there.” Her voice was calm, but there was definitely a tone of urgency.

“I’m on my way,” he yelled and dashed into the chaos of the corridor, now full of hurried crew, family members, and passengers trying desperately to follow emergency directional lights that flashed with the same steady rhythm of the alarm.

“Please proceed to your assigned escape pod
.”
The computer’s constant pleading was barely audible over the noise and confusion now present throughout the ship
.

“Tommy, please hurry. This is not a drill, sweetheart. We may…” His mother’s transmission was cut short by a loud explosion.

As Tommy struggled to make his way through the smoke-filled corridor. The seriousness of this event needed no further reinforcement.
Must get to the pod
, he thought, bouncing off a stern-looking crewmember. His mother’s warning notwithstanding, Tommy could sense the fear. A fear that was evident in the face of the normally friendly first officer, now wearing a sidearm, as he disappeared into the smoke, moving against the mass of panicked people trying to wedge themselves into the now dangerously overcrowded lifts.

This is not good
, Tommy thought, breaking free from the hysterical crowd and fighting his way to the emergency ladder shaft.

He was halfway down to the escape pod level when the great freighter was again rocked by a series of rolling explosions. So violent were the blasts that Tommy’s feet were momentarily knocked free of the U-shaped metal rungs.
Inertial dampeners must be offline
, he thought, regaining his footing and continuing half stepping, half sliding down the tube, his chest heaving as he sucked in great gulps of air.
Must hurry!

Finally hitting the last rung, Tommy leaped into the long, smoked-filled evacuation corridor and began running past rows of opened pods, stopping periodically to take notice of the illuminated numbers located above each hatch. He had done this so many times in drills—Pod A34, A36.
Getting close now,
he thought, while dodging other Terrans frantically searching for their assigned pods in the thickening smoke, when another explosion tossed him against the corridor’s smooth curved wall.

The disabled freighter began to wallow and then rolled almost ninety degrees, throwing Tommy on top of a middle-aged woman clutching a small bag as if it were a priceless treasure. Their eyes met, only for a heartbeat. Then the big spaceship groaned and righted itself, casting them asunder, each to their own fate, before Tommy, trying to regain his bearings, was slammed into the open hatch of a nearby evacuation pod. Where Tommy, on all fours, counting only four frightened faces seated there, was tempted to take an open couch, but the instruction had been clear. “Remember to move swiftly to your assigned pod. Do not, I repeat, do not take someone’s seat and force them to find a spot. The key is not to panic.” The training officer had said this and then repeated, “DO NOT PANIC!” Besides, Tommy wanted to be with his parents, and they would surely be in their assigned pod.
They must be
.

Stability augmenters, pulling every last bit of maneuvering thrust out of the dying freighter’s engines, stabilized the giant ship long enough to once again send throngs of panicked travelers sliding and tumbling back down to the deck just as the ship’s integrated lighting flickered and went out—leaving Tommy to stumble along the smoky corridor, now bathed only in an eerie red glow of standby illumination.

“Please proceed to your assigned escap—“

Suddenly a large six-fingered hand grabbed Tommy by the back of his jumper and tossed him inside the nearest pod. He bounced across the steel deck before coming to rest against one of the launch couches, followed closely by an obviously badly injured passenger—a Tarchein.

The alien slapped the launch sequence initiator, closing the airtight pod door with a hiss, and while crawling toward a couch, motioned for Tommy to secure himself.

Tommy remembered this bit very clearly. “You hit this initiator to seal the pod and activate separation protocols. Next, when everyone is secure, the pod commander raises the guarded cover, just here, and presses this red button. Now there’s a button integrated into every couch, just in case, but it is vitally important that everyone be secured before launch. Any questions?” The training officer had asked.

Tommy remembered wondering,
In case what?
In case this
, he now thought.

“Warning separation initiated, launch sequence armed—warning launch sequence armed,” the little pod’s computer calmly announced as Tommy, now up and in a couch, frantically fumbled with the restraining straps. “This was so easy in the drills!” he yelled.

The elder Tarchein, who looked to be in his fifties, although extended lifespans had made it impossible to tell age at a glance, had finally pulled himself to the nearest couch, but now he seemed unable to drag his injured body up into the seat.

He’s not going to make it,
Tommy thought, eyeing the guarded launch button on his right armrest. The alien, exhausted by his struggle, had now slumped back to the deck in what seemed like defeat.

Great!
Tommy thought and, undoing his straps, made the decision to help even as the ship shuddered with another series of thundering explosions. “I think we better get you strapped in,” he said, sliding to the alien’s side.

The Tarchein tried in vain to wave Tommy back to his couch, but he disregarded the muffled protest and began the task of pulling the alien into his seat.

“
Warning launch sequence armed.”

“
Yes, yes, launch sequence armed!” Tommy shouted toward the pod’s ceiling, raising his voice over the building roar of the Roger’s hull being torn apart.

Thankfully, the alien stayed conscious long enough to aid in Tommy’s efforts, and after securing the last of the straps, Tommy made a desperate lunge for his own chair, latched the restraints, and felt his couch slide into a reclined prelaunch position.

“Warning launch sequen—”

Still breathless, Tommy raised the spring-loaded guard and pushed the red button as a large round fireball completely obscured the pod’s only viewing port, a small circular window located on the hatch.

There was a metallic latching noise, then,
Bam!

It felt like Tommy’s stomach was being pushed through his backbone. His head was forced back, and every part of his body was squeezed into the energy-absorbent material that lined his now fully reclined couch.

He remembered, after the fact, that he had been instructed to take a deep breath. It was far too late now, as the invisible force did its best to crush the life out of his already overworked lungs. The little six-person pod shook and vibrated as its single powerful rocket engine pushed the high-tech lifeboat clear of the twisted, smoldering metal that had once been a Star Force ore freighter. Tommy strained to see out of the viewing port, forces building as the pod spun and tumbled violently end over end. “This is nothing like the simulation!” he tried to yell between clenched teeth—and then darkness.

The Jolly Roger is a Jackal class star freighter outfitted to carry up to 43,000 metric tons of ore. An old design by any standard, it is nevertheless still used widely throughout the Empire. Their aging cluster of three dark-drive medium-yield engines, although barely capable of light 0.01C, has proven to be quite suitable for the endless short hauls required in the lugging of harvested raw material to orbiting processing plants spread throughout their assigned systems.

Not a glamorous mission to be sure, but one in which the class excels. And although currently relegated primarily to missions requiring only sublight speeds, these freighters were once used effectively for deep-space transport, that is, until the arrival of the much-improved Javelin class of freighter. That being said, these aging freighters are still quite capable of entering into hyperspace, but the Stardrive propulsion systems on most of the ships are hopelessly outdated, making such excursions problematic at best. Consequently, members of the class, rarely, if ever, venture into hyperspace. In addition, these lightly shielded slow freighters are equipped with a bare minimum of defensive weapons, and many of these are nonoperational for lack of parts or qualified personnel, making them easy targets if caught unescorted in the vast, oftentimes treacherous expanses of deep space.