Deep Space
Dead Zone: DZ249,3
Thrynn Frigate Jussru

“Sstanding by on all systemsss,” came the terse report from Captain Rssa. Colonel Venn’Bk acknowledged with a nod and conducted his own glancing inspection of the status displays. Twin power plants ran at ninety-four percent and the shield generators were converting at capacity. The laser cannons were warmed and both missile boosters were calibrated to surgical precision.

Tracking on the auxiliary panel, one more weapons system showed all green lights: targeting, guidance, propulsion. And life support. “Breacher one is set and locked down,” reported Lieutenant Nruus from his station in the forward bays. Venn’Bk acknowledged the report, then turned to Captain Rssa.

The aging captain stood by the forward arc of windows, looking down at his worn titanium stopwatch. Some things are not to be trusted to electronics, not for an old sailor. In the whirring quiet on the bridge, the mechanical stopwatch echoed its solid mechanical time. His eyes still fixated on the watch, Rssa lifted an open hand as if to take an oath. Bathed in the red light of his bridge, at that moment the god-like master of a fighting frigate, the captain pulled his arm down to his side.

The executive officer rattled off the necessary orders and the helmsman pushed the sublight engine governors to flank speed, setting the rudders dead ahead, toward the flux.

Jussru went to war.

Deep Space
Uhlek Badlands
The Shanghai

“Jesse James! Jesse James—” barked Mack as he scrambled to throw the headset over his ears, “warshot spread inbound, bearing two-nine-eight mark four,” he continued, still hardly believing what he was saying. “Impact in six seconds. Five. Four.”

“Come hard right,” ordered Boz, shooting up from his chair like a lander off a crater moon. “What the hell is going on?” he asked. Shanghai groaned, rolling sluggishly to starboard. “Arella! Pull up tactical on the disp—”

“Impact, now, now, now,” said Mack, bracing himself on the sides of his console. The ship pitched slightly as five missiles impacted the sheilds with a deep rumble. Mack looked up as the shock rolled through the ship, “bloodsucker still tracking, intercept course—brace! She’s gonna hit us!” he said, already sweating a pool as the proximity blared to life.

“Bloody red hell!” swore Arella as the type two frigate grazed just over the deflector arc, loosing a volley of laser shots along Shanghai’s length. “Sheilds to sixty-eight percent,” she reported in the flickering light.

“Mack, set up some return fire,” ordered Boz, “and make it hot.” Biggs barrelled through the hatch, closely followed by the remainder of the crew, in time to hear the second half, “who the hell are we dancing with?”

“Thrynn frigate,” said Arella, struggling to key her sensor array on the darting warship as it pulled hard around well off the starboard bow. “Can’t isolate the type, but she’s setting up for another pass.”

“Talented bastards,” said an admiring Commander Grx’bzzgah as he jumped behind the helm console, replacing Mack, who hadn’t done too badly. “They’ll pull tactical advantage from a mixed bag of defeat and retreat,” he said, hitting a button that sent a laser drilling at the vicious frigate.

“Nice shot, Commander!” bellowed Boz Grabow, punching a line of adjustments into his holographic tactical display. There were fifteen seconds until the two ships came into jousting range again. He glanced over at Biggs and gave half a shrug, meaning, where the hell did they come from? “Alright folks, we’ve got half a heart beat until they get on our case again. Let’s hit the right numbers and see if we can’t punch some holes in that ship over there.”

Jussru vectored in like a frenzied shark, jerking violently from side to side with agility rivaling that of a two-seat fighter. Shanghai’s crew struggled to keep sharp. They were fighting the frigate, but also grappling with an operating system designed to interface Thrynn commands and a Gazurtoid ship. It was choppy all the way, but Grix managed to burn Jussru once with a heavy laser shot. “That’s two—ship that small’s got to be hurting,” said Mack.

She was hurting, but Jussru hung on, firing another spread of missiles. But instead of flying close in to unleash another point blank laser volley, her forward thrusters belched a braking fire, bringing the frigate to a full halt as the navigator switched the engines into reverse.

Boz Grabow was a combat captain. He knew how to fight. And he knew when something smelled wrong. “What’s she doing?”

----------
Next: “Romans”

The Jova Lounge: Home of the Heroes and Villains