Pearl of the Stars | Far From Home
Razor

“Captain on deck!” Mr Foster stood to attention, snapping off what was quite possibly the tidiest salute of his career, as Captain Grace Ifhans set foot on the Pearl’s bridge.

“Thank you, Mr Foster,” she replied. She knew full well she was in a bad way and in need of medical attention as soon as possible but that did not mean she had to go to the infirmary right away; there were far more important things that required her attention, first. “Situation report, if you please.”

“Aye Ma’am,” he replied. “The Alliance Fleet have upped their speed and are now approaching at close to point-six light. Within thirteen minutes they will be within range to use their projectile weapons effectively.”

“Any sign of the Diamantra Fleet?”

“Not as yet, Ma’am.”

“You’re not considering obeying Danielle’s order, Ma’am? I know she said we ought to run for the nearest Jump Point but the Pearl of the Stars has never backed out of a fight before.”

“I have no intention of turning tail, Ms Johnson. Get me the Chief and Mr Foster, keep me updated as to the Alliance Fleet’s progress.”

“Aye Ma’am.”

“Aye Ma’am,” said Emily, chuckling. “The Chief.”

“Chief.”

“Good to have you back on board, Ma’am. What can I do for you?”

“I want every plane you’ve got out there, Chief. Any projectiles fired by the Alliance Fleet must not hit the Pearl but more importantly, they must not hit the planet below.”

“Message received and understood, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Chief. I knew I could rely on you.”

“You’ll be wanting me out there, too,” said Calla Riley. “My craft might be small but she’s damn fast.”

“I shan’t argue,” Grace replied. “The more the merrier, in fact. Take your brother with you, too. I understand that whatever he did he was not entirely in control of his actions, but that doesn’t mean that I want to see him on board my ship.”

“Understood,” Calla replied, smiling weakly. Looking at the state Captain Grace Ifhans was in, Calla could not help but feel a little guilty. She was Diamantra, after all, and it was at the hands of the organisation’s leader that Grace had been so badly hurt. “Hen won’t let you down again.”

Captain Jane Erstwhile gripped the arms of her chair tightly as her vessel, the Razor, protested mightily at having been forced to jump despite several breaches in her hull and a rapidly decaying power core.

Whilst the damage to the extremities of her vessel were worrying, they at least could be repaired, given time, whereas the forty or so fighter pilots who had been unable to make it back to the deck before the Razor jumped, could not.

“I want an estimated time frame for repairs, Lieutenant,” she barked, the order directed at any one of the four Lieutenants currently on the bridge. “And for the love of fick can someone tell me whereabouts we’re headed?”

“System says it’s a forty-eight hour job, Ma’am,” one of her Lieutenants replied. “Not only is there damage to the hull but our primary weapons are offline. Our power core won’t last another jump, either, not without replacement parts.”

“As for our destination, Ma’am,” another Lieutenant began, “that is currently unclear. As far as Navigation can tell we are not traversing a standard route through Jump Space.”

“So you’re telling me we could end up any-fickling-where, Lieutenant?”

“In essence, Ma’am, yes. I’m afraid that until we enter a star system we have no way of knowing.”

“Is there a risk that our power core will not last for the duration of our current jump, and that the Razor will drop into normal space outside a star system?”

“Aye Ma’am. The risk is minimal but existent.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” Captain Jane Erstwhile replied. “See to it that our primary weapon is the first to be repaired. At least then we’ll be able to defend ourselves, should the need arise.”

Seconds later her Executive Officer stood from behind a nearby console with an extremely worried and confused look upon his face.

“What is it, Mr Temut?” she asked. Her XO was in incredibly capable and intelligent man and had been the logical choice for the position. That did not mean, however, that she liked him.

“We’re travelling too fast, Ma’am.”

“There is only one speed possible in Jump Space, Mr Temut; jump speed. To go any faster would be to break the very laws of the Universe itself.”

“I am well aware, Ma’am, but the fact of the matter is that the Razor is currently traversing Jump Space at close to… well, I honestly don’t know.”

“What do you know, Mr Temut?”

“That we’ll exit Jump Space in a little under thirteen minutes, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr Temut,” she said, quickly turning to one of her Lieutenants. “Prepare to divert all available power to shields and weapons.”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

“And get me the damn Deck Chief!”

She waited impatiently as one of her Lieutenants busied herself connecting the Deck Chief to the bridge, drumming her fingers upon the arm of her chair as she did so.

“Ma’am.”

“Chief,” she answered, trying as hard as she could not to sound in the slightest bit as irritated as she really was. “I know you’re busy and I apologise for the timing of this call, but I need as many of your planes ready for action in...” a pause whilst she glanced at the clock on screen, “...eleven minutes and forty seconds.”

“I’ve got four planes, Ma’am,” he replied, solemnly. “We left the rest at Ryban.”

“Sorry, Chief,” she replied with genuine sympathy. “I’m afraid I don’t know any of your pilots all that well but I do know that they have always been a credit to you.”

“Yes Ma’am, thank you Ma’am,” he replied, hurriedly. “If that’s everything, Ma’am, I’ll get those planes prepped and ready to go.”

“Aye, Chief. Please, do not let me detain you.”

“We’re going to drop out in a star system, Ma’am,” said Mr Temut once the call between Captain and Chief was terminated.

“Well that is very good news, Mr Temut.”

“Aye Ma’am, but it’s not like any star system I’ve ever seen.”

“How so?”

“Well for a start, Ma’am, it’s not a single star system. It’s more like five independent star systems that just so happen to be in very close proximity to each other.”

“How close, Mr Temut?”

“It looks as though at any given time of day, Ma’am, a planet in the Goldilocks Zone of any of the five stars can be influenced by any number of the rest.”

“Well, Mr Temut. That is very odd indeed, and I wager we’ll replace out just how odd that is soon enough.”

Captain Frank Holding awoke from his incredibly limited amount of sleep to replace that his ship, the Nexus, was silent.

“What the fick?” he muttered as he rolled off his bunk. The lights that would normally have illuminated his quarters having detected his movement failed to do so, and he grimaced as he fumbled in the darkness for his comm unit.

“This is Captain Holding to the bridge,” he barked. “For the love of fick will someone tell me what the fick is going on?”

No response. That meant the comms were down, too.

In Frank’s expansive experience, it was incredibly rare for a battleship to lose all power whilst traversing Jump Space as vessels stole energy from Jump Space itself. That was how fuel cells were recharged. That was not to say that a vessel could not run out of fuel, of course, but he knew for a fact that the Nexus′ fuel cells had been at sixty percent capacity prior to the jump and as far as Frank Holding was concerned that left only one viable option; another sabotage attempt and this time, an apparently successful attempt aboard his own damn vessel.

Feeling his way around the room he located what he was looking for and opened the locker. Upon the top shelf within was the Council regulation flash light and two-way radio to be used in situations just like the one Frank found himself in, when a vessel lost all power.

Thankfully, if there was a plus side, the sabotage had occurred recently. He knew that because he was able to breathe easily, though he knew full well that unless he got to the bottom of the mess extremely quickly he would soon begin to feel the effects of oxygen depletion.

“Major Hynes this is Captain Holding, do you copy?” he said, having flicked the two-way radio on. “Repeat: Major Hynes this is Captain Holding. Do you copy?”

“Captain, this is Lieutenant Jones. The Major has been hit.”

“What the fick do you mean, he’s been hit?” That cemented it in Frank’s mind; it was definitely sabotage and if the Major had been taken out of commission it’s quite likely that someone was in the process of staging a coup. “What’s your location, Jones?”

“The Mess on E Deck, Sir,” she replied. She sounded shaken and Frank thought that perhaps she too had been injured, too.

“Are you hurt, Jones?”

“Just a scrape, Sir.”

“Good. Stay where you are, I’m coming to you.”

“Be careful, Sir. I would recommend taking the long way around. We have Others on board, and they’re everywhere.”

“Others?” Captain Holding grimaced. “Fickling Others?”

“Aye Sir, from what I gather some have been part of the crew since Victoria and more joined at Remigro.”

“How many Others, Lieutenant?”

“I don’t know, Sir, but if I had to guess I’d say at least seventy-five percent of the crew. They have access to the holographic display, the Pearl’s location; everything.”

“Don’t worry, Jones. Hold fast, I’m on my way.”

Frank clipped the radio to his belt and opened the doors to his quarters manually. Normally they would have slid open with very little ceremony but as the Nexus was without power, it was quite a struggle even for a man with reasonable strength such as he. His aged muscles strained and protested as much as the door mechanism itself but eventually there was a sizeable enough gap for him to slip through, so he did, and the doors banged closed behind him.

“Fick!”

It was not standard procedure to carry firearms on board Council vessels. Even the marine consignment had to sign their weapons in and out with the Chief Weapons Officer before and after every mission. There had never been a need for carrying a weapon to be protocol. Ships were rarely boarded and if they were, it was only after all the oxygen had been released into the vastness of space.

This was the first time in his long, storied career that Captain Frank Holding longed for a change in the rules.

No matter though. He knew the CFO very well indeed. He and Jackson had served under the same Marine Commander over the course of several years. That kind of bond was one that stood the test of time. Frank trusted Jackson with his life and before the day was out, all being well, he might well have to do just that.

He heard several, rapidly fired shots as he approached the armoury and quickened his pace. Frank was almost sprinting, something he had not done in a very long time, by the time he reached the left curve of the corridor. Knowing that the armoury was only two hundred feet distant, just as he knew exactly where everything was aboard his vessel he slowed, composing himself.

“You ain’t getting my stock, you fickling Others scum!” The shout was followed by several more short bursts of automatic fire, and the thud as what Frank assumed to be a body hit the deck.

He moved on, following the curve of the corridor. He was at the Nexus’ fore, now, and bodies were everywhere as blood pooled upon the metallic floor. Frank could not help but smile. It appeared that Jackson had been having quite the time.

He stooped, taking a gun from the unresisting hands of a crewman he recognised as one who worked in the galley. Frank could not recall the man’s name, but that was of no consequence.

“Jackson,” he called out. “Jackson, it’s Frank. Hold you damn fire!”

Captain Grace Ifhans winced as yet another Alliance projectile hit the Pearl of the Stars, this time on her starboard side.

“How long until my fickling weapons are back on line?” she barked, the question directed at any Lieutenant brave enough to answer. The planes were doing as good a job as they could but most of their attention directed upon those projectiles heading for the surface of the planet.

“Weapons tech claims twelve minutes, Ma’am.” That was twelve minutes too long, and Grace knew it. Without her weaponry the Pearl was a sitting duck.

“Seal off all affected areas. Divert all available power to shields and let me know the second my damn guns can fire!”

“Aye, Ma’am.”

“Ms Johnson, I need you at the helm,” she shouted across the bridge to where Emily was studying a real-time image of the Quintus System as she sought a way out or at the very least, somewhere the Pearl could take five minutes to get her breath. “You’re the best damn pilot here by far. Do what you can to avoid those projectile weapons!”

“Yes Ma’am.”

“Ma’am, you’re not going to believe this,” said Mr Holden, tinges of both excitement and relief evident in his usually impassive voice. “Several vessels jumped in almost fifty minutes ago. They’re ours, Ma’am. It’s the Razor’s unit and they still have their MRV.”

“I thought we lost the Captain Erstwhile and her unit at Ryban, Mr Holden.”

“Apparently not, Ma’am.”

“Indeed,” Grace replied with a nod. “Let’s just hope they’re ready to jump into the fray.”

Captain Ifhans need not have worried, of course, for the Razor and her Captain were of Council stock. They were not about to back down from a fight and they were most certainly not going to leave one of their own in jeopardy.

Of the eleven vessels in the unit, eight took up an arrow-like formation with the Razor on point whilst the remaining three, the Mobile Repair Vehicle included, began the arduous task of skirting around the system.

The formation was still some forty light-minutes distant, but Grace knew that all she and her crew needed to do was hold on until then and provide covering fire whilst the formation attacked the Alliance fleet from the rear.

Those forty minutes passed by incredibly quickly, even more so for the fact that the Razor and her sister ships were traversing the system at point-eight light, hurtling to the Pearl’s aid.

Peering around a corner, Frank Holding grimaced as he saw three armed men making their way towards the position he and Jackson currently held. None of the three appeared to be in any real rush, which surprised Frank until he realised that most of those crewmen and women still loyal to the Council had probably been captured or killed.

He held his fingers behind his back, knowing that Jackson would count the three digits and understand what Captain Holding meant.

The two men stepped out in unison and each fired a single shot into the head of the enemy on either side, before they both fired a second shot, the result being that the remaining man’s forehead had symmetrical bullet holes as his dead body hit the deck.

“Clear.”

“Aye, clear,” Holding agreed. “Forty yard dash, Jackson?”

“I’d prefer a power walk, Frank,” Jackson replied with a chuckle as the two old friends stepped over the three corpses, leaving them in their wake. “These old legs ain’t what they used to be.”

“You’re not alone, my friend,” Frank replied, pointing towards a door, their destination, with the barrel of his assault rifle. “I’m definitely getting too old for this crap.”

Jackson nodded solemnly in agreement as he tried to keep a straight face, and Holding spoke into his radio.

“Jones, this is Captain Holding. We’re outside the Mess.”

Seconds later the door opened and Frank could quite clearly see that Lieutenant Fiona Jones had been crying. To her credit she had at least attempted to clean herself up a little, however unsuccessful those attempts might have been.

The uniform she wore was torn on the right hand side, dark with congealed blood. Frank inclined his head slightly and saw that the wound had been tended to, though traces of blood were beginning to seep through the bandage.

“Hynes?”

“He’s dead, Sir,” she replied, choking back more tears. “He died in my arms.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Lieutenant,” said Frank with genuine empathy. As a man who’d experienced many a fallen comrade dying in his arms, he could attest to the fact that it was incredibly difficult and heart-rending with no small amount of familiarity.

“Thank you, Sir,” she replied, smiling bravely as she removed something from the breast pocket of her uniform. “He gave me this before he died, Sir.”

“Any idea what’s on it?” he asked, taking the flash drive from her and placing it into his own pocket.

“No Sir. The Major died before he could tell me.”

For Lieutenant Fiona Jones, the next few seconds passed by as if in slow motion. The crack of a pistol shot; the look on Captain Frank Holding’s face as his eyes widened before the bullet passed all the way through his skull and out of his forehead; the Captain falling forwards towards her as she stood frozen to the spot.

She glanced down at the rifle the Captain held in his now-dead hands and took it. As Holding’s body fell past her she swung the assault rifle around and fired, Frank’s assailant dead before the Captain’s body hit the floor.

She turned her head slowly in Jackson’s direction. The CFO was sweating a fair amount. His pupils were dilated and he appeared to have the slightest twitch in his right leg.

“Only you and I knew of the Captain’s position,” she said, quietly, “and it wasn’t me who gave it away.”

Jackson had a bullet through his heart before he could so much as raise his weapon, the force of the shot at such close range sending the man flying backwards several feet through the air.

She stooped beside Holding and gently closed his eyes before removing the flash drive from his pocket and replacing it to her own. Then she took Jackson’s weapon and with an assault rifle as extensions of each arm, she strode towards the brig.