LotS/The Story/Politics of War/Interstellar Ambush

Interstellar Ambush
A stubby finger descends upon the grid, meeting its surface at an intersection where two dark lines meet. There’s a slight twitch as the digit applies pressure. It remains there for a moment longer, before rising once more – departing as though satisfied with its action. The holographic image of a black stone pops into existence in its wake. To the left of this newly spawned object is another that’s identical but for its whiteness. This white stone, now surrounded by the newcomer and three other black stones, flickers once. Then it vanishes.

“Another point for me,” says Telemachus.

Your own finger presses the board in turn, generating a white stone – one of many that dominate your side of the board.

“Careless,” you say. “You got carried away with taking a handful of stones, and ignored the territory I was carving out. From here you can’t possibly win.”

The young prince frowns, his eyes scanning the board and ascertaining the truth of your words.

“That’s a lesson worth remembering,” you continue, warming to the role of mentor and tutor. “Not just in weiqi, but in battle as well.”

“That’s the kind of thing my father used to say,” he replies, looking up and meeting your gaze. “Except he said ‘life’ instead of ‘battle’.”

You nod, and wait for him to continue. But the boy remains silent, choosing not to share whatever introspections cross his mind.

When the Princess told you about King Salastro’s fame as a weiqi player, you reasoned that he would have taught his son. So you offered to play him, to help pass the time on the long journey to Earth – and because part of you always feels guilty at what his life has become, so removed from that of other children. Since he met you, Telemachus’ days have been filled with danger and carnage. And as tough as he is, with a hardiness and determination well beyond his years, you’re sure he misses the carefree childhood he once enjoyed.

“One time he-”

The communicator on the wall beeps, interrupting him. He draws whatever he was about to say back inside, and you sigh as you detect the disappointment in his eyes. It only lingers for a moment. Then it’s gone, and you can almost sense the shifting within him as he once more submerges his feelings and prepares for whatever life’s about to throw at the two of you next.

You move to the wall, and press the button beside the communication display. Talia’s face appears in front of your own.

“We need you on the bridge, captain.”

“What’s happened?”

“We’ve picked up a distress signal… It’s the Emperor’s personal signal.”

---

You arrive at the bridge breathless, your shoulder bruised from a collision with the sturdy metal body of one of the ship’s robot crew members.

The Princess is gazing at the viewscreen, at the incandescent blur rendered there by hyperspace travel. Her face is hidden from you as you approach, but her bearing, the tenseness evident in her body, tell the tale. Talia stands beside her, and she turns as you enter. The Princess’ emotions are echoed upon the gunslinger’s face, and no doubt upon your own as well.

No word has been heard of the Emperor since the Centurians conquered Sian. He was believed to be a prisoner. But if he’s managed to escape, to flee the occupied planet…

The Princess looks to you as you appear by her side. Her face is almost childlike, radiant with hope. She’s spoken little of her father since the assault on the Child of Heaven, as though preferring not to dwell on the unknown. But her guard has slipped now.

“I knew our people wouldn’t let them keep him,” she says.

You nod, still not knowing what to make of this – but infected by her joy all the same. On Sian, untold millions would have been glad to lay down their lives to secure the Emperor’s escape. Had you been there, you would have done the same in a heartbeat. But if it happened, wouldn’t you have heard about it before now?

“The signal has been confirmed,” says Lu Bu.

Again you nod. The Emperor has his own distress signal, a special sequence used by him alone. All Sian captains are trained to respond to it immediately should they ever detect it, and thus know that the ruler of the empire requires assistance.

“Just the signal?” you ask.

“There was no message,” Talia replies. “Only the signal.”

“He wouldn’t risk alerting the Centurians,” the Princess says. “They might not recognize his signal, but if he sent a message out…”

Behind you Ragnar stomps onto the bridge, Telemachus following close behind.

“Think I broke one of your robots,” the Niflung says.

Wilex turns away from the viewscreen, as do you – Ragnar’s statement managing to capture your attention in spite of the situation at hand.

“The kid said there was something important, so I ran. It got in the way.”

The Chief Assembler is about to reply, but you both look back at the screen instead as you hear the sound which heralds a drop from hyperspace – followed a moment later by the Princess’ sharp intake of breath.

A blue-green planet has appeared against the star-studded blackness, in such clarity that it seems jarring after the blur which was there a second ago. An uninhabited and uninhabitable world, according to the information on a nearby monitor. But it’s not the planet which captures your interest, or caused Princess Illaria’s deep inhalation.

On the other side of the screen is a debris field, an immense expanse of metal floating in the void. A cursory glance is enough to tell you that you’re looking at the remains of an obliterated spacecraft.

You feel the Princess’ hand clasp yours, gripping it as tightly as she did when the two of you hung above certain doom on the Zenith. And you know that the dread she’s experiencing now is greater than anything she felt then.

“What do the scans show?” Wilex asks.

There’s an intolerable pause. Then one of the robots replies.

“It’s the wreckage of a merchant convoy,” he says. “The ships originated from the Boreas System.”

“You’re sure?” asks the Princess.

“Yes. I detected an intact ship code among the wreckage. The vessel is registered in the interstellar mercantile records, and was reported lost several weeks ago.”

The Princess exhales softly. Her hand slips from yours, leaving its warmth behind. She must have feared the worst, and the sense of relief seems to overwhelm her. But any relief in your own mind is fleeting. As you look over at Talia, and see the expression on her face, you know that you’ve both reached the obvious conclusion.

“Trap!” the two of you say at the exact same moment.

Battle Station

Battle Station

There’s movement among the debris, as though slivers are flaking away from the chunks of scrap, trembling back into life like the severed parts of a worm’s body.

Blips appear on a nearby display as the fighter ships power their systems up, and relinquish whatever shrouding devices they used to conceal themselves from the cruiser’s scans. Larger blips start to blink from the direction of the planet, heralding the arrival of more powerful craft.

The door to the bridge opens, admitting both the noise of the alert that’s ringing through the ship and a group of robots. The former is silenced as the door slides back into place. The latter make their way to the turret control stations.

Talia darts towards the nearest station, and vaults into one of its seats a second before an approaching robot can occupy it. The automaton remains there for a moment, his body language much like that of an outraged human. Then he moves along to the next position instead.

Almost as soon as Talia’s hands touch the controls, there’s an explosion on the screen in front of her. While you’re looking around for a vacant turret seat, you hear her cry of pain as Ragnar congratulates her with a hefty pat on the shoulder.

“Hey! Watch it!”

Meanwhile Telemachus is yanking at the robot beside her, trying to pull him out of his seat and finding his metal body to be immovable.

“Get out of the way! I want to shoot!”

“My computerized targeting systems render me far more capable of operating this station, small human.” The robot continues to fire the turret as he speaks, ignoring the pushing and pulling from Telemachus’ small hands.

You approach the station.

“I’m commandeering this seat,” you say. In truth you have no authority aboard a TALOS vessel, but with lasers flying it’s not exactly time to observe protocol.

“As I have just said, my computerized-”

“You should relinquish the seat,” says Lu Bu. “I assure you that you’re not more capable than this particular human.”

You’re certain you hear the robot muttering something as though under his nonexistent breath. He gets up, however, and with a gentle but firm grip on Telemachus’ arm you prevent the prince from stealing the newly vacated seat.

Enemy ships flit across the screen as you sit down. Your hands take hold of the controls, and your eyes begin to track your target’s path.

Plethora of Pirates

Plethora of Pirates

The Princess moves to the side of the holographic screen, and taps its surface. The screen shimmers for a moment, rippling around her fingers like a pool of water. Talia gives a yelp of annoyance at having her shooting interrupted.

The ripples disappear, and data appears on the screen beside the two ships displayed there – showing the results of scans.

“One ship has the insignia of the Red Skulls,” the Princess says. “The other has the symbol of the Sellundan Stallions.”

An instant later both ships are shattered, explosions ripping through their bodies. But the images of the two insignias remain for a few seconds longer before disappearing, as though to emphasize her point.

“Since when do the Skulls and Stallions work together?” Ragnar asks.

“It’s not just them,” you reply.

More ships fly across your screen, and each of their emblems is drawn out and presented to you in turn when the cruiser’s scanners obtain a clear view of it from amid the streaming lasers and high-speed maneuvering. There are at least half a dozen different pirate factions represented there.

If the use of the Emperor’s signal had left you in any doubt, the sight before you dispels it. A simple raiding and robbery wouldn’t cause these disparate groups to come together. Someone must have spent a great deal of money to set this ambush up, and the likely identity of that malefactor is hardly a mystery.

But the machinations behind the trap are of secondary importance. Right now your priority is to thwart it.

Scramble

Scramble

A scattering of explosions, bursts of flashing light accompanied by generated roars of sound, dot the screen in front of you and Talia.

“Pretty sure I finished ahead, captain,” she laughs.

“We’re not done yet, I’m afraid,” says Wilex.

You all look round, and see him pointing at the main screen. It slows a zoomed-in view of an enemy ship, a larger craft than the ones you’ve been annihilating. A cloud of metal seems to be billowing from holes in its side. Then the image zooms in further, and you see the specs within that cloud in all their ominous detail.

“Drillers!” Talia cries out.

The tiny unmanned ships fan out like a wave of fireflies, each glow that of a laser-edged drill capable of boring into the side of a cruiser. And if these pirates are true to form, every one of them will be packed with explosives.

“They’re too small,” says the Princess. “The turrets won’t be able to stop them all.”

“No,” you reply. “We’ll need to deploy our fighters.

A split-second later you and Talia are out of your seats, and you hear a cry of triumph as Telemachus drops into one of them.

“Be careful!” Illaria shouts, as the two of you run for the bridge’s door.

“Careful doesn’t win spacefights,” Talia says.

The two of you are in the corridor before the Princess can respond, sprinting for the hangar. Talia’s pistols are twirling in her hands, the only indication of nervousness she displays.

If you can’t get out there fast enough to stop those drillers, there’s no telling how much damage they could do.

Interception

Interception

“Move!” Talia yells.

The wheeled maintenance bot swivels round, sees her running towards it, and begins to trundle out of the way of the airstair. Talia doesn’t wait for the bulky form to shift. She leaps into the air, kicks off its dome-like head with one of her boots, and springs into the cockpit.

Fortunately you don’t have to try and emulate her. The next fighter is clear, and you scramble into the cockpit only a few moments behind her.

“Good luck, captain!” she shouts from across the hangar. Then the canopy descends, and her ship begins to move.

A few seconds later you’re flying out of the exit in her wake, flung into the cataclysm beyond. Darting ships, flashing lasers, and booming explosions fill the universe on all sides. Fighting on the ground can be chaotic, but there’s nothing quite like the omni-directional pandemonium of a space battle.

You weave between the streams of weapons fire out of instinct, even as your eyes scan both the window and the displays for your main targets.

The drillers are close. You have to make every shot count.

Purple Lion

Purple Lion

Explosions are sprinkled across the black mantle of space, accompanied by a chorus of twinkling detonations within your ears. Between the cruiser’s turrets and its fighters, the drillers were gobbled up like a school of minnows descended upon by a shark.

But the battle isn’t over yet. A large blinking light appears on your scanner, as another vessel comes into range. A few seconds later its image appears on another monitor, and a low whistle escapes your lips.

“It’s the Purple Lion!” you say.

“How much did that cost the Centurians?” comes Talia’s voice, over the communicator.

The purple ship ploughs through the void, crimson lasers zapping from its many weapons. Atop its prow is the immense leonine head that’s struck terror across the galaxy, wherever its mercenary crew have ventured in pursuit of carnage and credits. The violet jaws are drawn back, the workmanship so realistic you almost expect a roar to echo from your aural implant. Instead there’s a crackling noise, as you see the energy coalescing there.

---

Flames rage across the purple armor, as though breaking free from the ship’s body to lap at the void beyond. The lion’s head is cracked and wounded, a section around its eye mutilated. The beast’s jaws seem to be open in a cry of pain now, instead of roaring a challenge.

There’s a surge of brightness at the craft’s stern.

“Pull back,” you say. “They’re trying to make a hyperspace jump.”

The other TALOS fighter ships follow your lead, flying away from the mauled vessel. It’s not likely to survive a hyperspace jump in that condition, and there’s a chance it might explode in the very attempt.

But as it happens, the ship flashes away – managing to endure the first step of its journey, at least. Wherever the mercenary vessel will meet its end, it’s not going to be here.

“Good work, captain,” says the Princess, her image appearing on the communicator’s screen. “If the Centurians are this desperate to keep us away from appearing before the UHW, that’s all the more reason for us to go to Earth.”