Copyright © 2016
All Rights Reserved.
ONE
The whirring of wings was the only warning, and it wasn’t enough. Screams followed. Pain, fear, and disbelief filled those sounds, with anyone who heard them making the only choice they could—to run. None stopped to look back to see the terror spread in all directions. There was no time! They could do nothing for those left behind. Survival was at stake. All thought was to get far away from what was happening, to run faster … They had to get to the ships, to safety. To leave the world they called home. Only then did they ask, how and why? Still no time to answer. The same sound filled the ship. They could run no more.
HAWKINS & SOLISKI
Escorting ships to and from Angel's Gate had once been routine, even boring—a task Marcus Hawkins had handled countless times when he had first arrived in the Strolla System. But today was his first day back at the controls of a non-simulation craft since the accident two years ago. And now he felt whole again.
In fact, Marcus felt great. The Hopper class fighter’s full burn increased acceleration pressed against him. His adrenaline brought all of his senses to life as he soared effortlessly through space. Within seconds, the rough, cratered surface of Nova’s moon vanished beneath the canopy of his ship as he adjusted its thrust, maintaining close formation alongside the box-shaped XR-Class transport ship, Diego.
Before boarding the oval-shaped and beautifully streamlined older space-fighter ship, Marcus had stared at it for some time. He felt apprehension, even anxiety, thinking it might take some time, maybe even weeks, to get back into the groove he’d once enjoyed. But after only minutes into his flight, he was already there. He no longer even needed to mentally adjust to his arm’s software upgrade. It was as if he had never left the cockpit. Smiling, Marcus marveled once again at the quiet beauty of space and the bright points of the distant stars that now surrounded him.
The sensation of being truly himself again flooded over Marcus as he looked out at those familiar stars. For a moment, he made the most of the opportunity to fly, but seeing the expansive space before him was also a reminder of so many other things, including his expansive new responsibilities.
On board the Diego was the Nova Station Commander, Dr. Mallik, off to spend a month with his family back on Terra. He left Marcus in command during his absence. Marcus was grateful for the opportunity, but he was also apprehensive. He knew he was not the man he used to be. He was not about to let his thoughts drift to more serious matters. Marcus turned his attention back to what he was doing.
A blue and white marble amongst the stardust swung into view—Planet Hydra, which was about as close as its orbit allowed, and was just visible past the brightness of Strolla. For a fleeting moment, he felt as though he was back in the Solar System, gliding above Luna. From his vantage point, Hydra bore a striking similarity to home, except without the pollution and neglect.
After the gate was discovered and Hydra was found, some on the Leadership Counsel believed it best to abandon Terra and start over in the Strolla System, on Hydra. Colonizing it, to them, was an opportunity to atone for past failures. Massive as those failures had been, Hawkins felt confident that Terra would recover. Humans were given another chance. Those failures would never be repeated - not at home, and certainly not here.
The swiftly-approaching blinking red beacons that marked the boundary of Angel's Gate pulled his attention back to his mission. He activated his communicator.
“Hopper One to Transport Diego. We are approaching the Gate. Please request clearance from Nova Station for your jump.”
“Understood, Hopper One, over,” came the immediate response.
Diego's captain was an experienced pilot who was still enthusiastic about taking vessels through the gate despite the fact that he had traveled between the Solar and Strolla Systems countless times. For gate operators and pilots, having a hopper escort jumping ships was routine - a regulation, nothing more.
Marcus slowed his fighter and waited for clearance. He left the comm channel open to listen to the chatter from the controllers. He found it funny that the gate controller still sounded as bored as ever.
As his gaze took in all the wash of stars and nebulae he could see, he thought that he had better enjoy it while he could. Marcus ran the technologies lab on the Station, building robots and drones. In the Hydra-corps, before the accident, he used to fly every day. Marcus was still getting used to the fact he was now a civilian and consoled himself by the fact that at least he was still working in the Strolla System. He didn’t want to be anywhere else.
But with Dr. Mallik’s departure, as acting Station Commander, it would be a while before Marcus would be able to leave the station. Marcus had been appointed Interim Station Commander while Mallik was away, meaning that his flight time would be limited at least until the doctor got back.
Nova Station was built into a small asteroid that orbited Nova’s moon and marked the position of Angel’s Gate. He had been back for six months and was getting used to working on the asteroid. While Dr. Mallik was away, he would need to be available and close. Even though Nova was much closer he would only go there for work. But when it came to downtime, and setting foot on a real planet, he would pick Hydra over Nova every time. Nova’s environment and indigenous inhabitants were less hospitable than those of Hydra. Hydra was a paradise in every way he could imagine.
Those thoughts were interrupted when his fighter’s proximity alarm pinged. Glancing at his close field monitor, Marcus could see two small ships coming in fast. Passing ships would normally not come this close to the gate, especially during a jump. He figured they had to be CS4s, because they traveled in pairs, had a weak AR reflection, and were approaching on a high burn.
He switched his comm to a Hydra-corps frequency.
“Hopper One to unidentified fighters,” he ordered. “Identify yourselves and state your business.”
The two ships were well within Nova Station’s air space. While he waited for a response, the two space fighters moved closer and positioned themselves behind his space hopper. The hopper’s scans confirmed their classification as CS4-Class fighters, the backbone of the Hydra-corps space fleet. As a former space fleet pilot, stationed at Hydra base, he knew that class of fighter well, more commonly called Hydra Fighters.
The native inhabitants of both planets had yet to develop technology or interest in interplanetary travel, let alone interstellar travel. Providing security and defense for the two planets was part of the agreement first forged by Victor Belter, who now was Governor of the Strolla System. Since arriving in the Strolla System, Terrans had built up a small but well-trained military presence on both Hydra and rocky, mineral-rich Nova.
The agreement was between the people of Terra and the natives of Hydra and Nova. In exchange for natural resources, Terrans would provide security in the Strolla System, among other things. Terra’s military had therefore commissioned the Hydra Fighters to be built to travel quickly between both worlds that shared the same orbit around the Strolla star. CS4s were the most advanced fighters in the system and could fly rings around his hopper. While of a much sleeker design, they shared the same sloping wings and angular forward weapons ports. Hydra Fighters had additional safety features that the hoppers lacked. For that reason, hoppers had been phased out for military use, but were still well suited for non-combat situations.
The pilot’s response was taking much longer than usual. At about thirty seconds, just as he was about to ask once more for the fighters to identify themselves, a voice came through the speaker.
“Hopper One, you sound a lot like Marcus Hawkins,” responded the lead fighter in a far more casual tone than he’d expected to hear. “Is that you in there, buddy, or just one of your drones?”
Marcus let out a breath, closed his eyes and allowed his head to fall back against his headrest. Of all the people in the entire Strolla System, he had to run into this guy on the very first day back behind the controls of a space hopper.
“It's me, in the flesh,” Marcus replied, letting his annoyance color his response. “And that’s Commander Hawkins. What’s Hydra’s business out here, Soliski?”
“Funny you should ask,” Soliski responded.
Despite the static coming over the communication system, there was an unmistakable sound of mischief in the fighter pilot’s voice. Notorious for his generally cocky behavior, Ray Soliski, call sign, Blue-Ray, rarely spoke without giving the impression that he was up to something—that was because he always was up to something. The man was a talented pilot but too arrogant for Marcus’ professional taste. His skill and leadership qualities were undeniable, but he simply rubbed Marcus the wrong way.
He was just about to ask Soliski what he was up to when his craft suddenly lost all power. The lights and readouts in the cockpit went completely dark; his engine stalled. Forward momentum and gravity from the close-by moon immediately started to pull the nose of craft toward the Diego.
Marcus tried to bring up the main system, and then desperately, the backup. Nothing! Nothing at all!
He began to sweat as he tried to think of how to fire the thrusters manually and halt the Hopper’s momentum. He wanted to avoid a collision with the Diego, but without the power to do this, he continued to drift. The air in the cockpit cooled, and his breath came out in white puffs. He thumbed the button on his communication panel.
“My ship just lost power! Blue-Ray, what's your status?” he shouted in alarm
No response, only deathly silence for what seemed like an eternity. Without power, Marcus couldn't call for help or warn the Diego that he was about to plow right into it. He pulled on his flight suit helmet as without power the hoppers life support system was shutting down. Once more Marcus glanced over at the Diego, knowing he had seconds to avert a disaster, as the ship was getting closer and closer.
As suddenly as the hopper had lost power, all the systems suddenly came back on again. The craft’s collision alarm started cycling loudly while the hopper’s forward thrusters automatically fired back to life. He frantically fired his port thrusters at maximum in order to bank right and avoid crashing into the hull of the Diego that was now barely meters ahead. It took only seconds, but if he had not been alert, it would have meant catastrophe.
Safely out of danger, he worked on calming his breath and tamping down his adrenaline. The Diego did not seem affected. Marcus opened the communications channel again, looking to confirm only his craft had experienced a power shutdown.
“Blue-Ray, what’s your status?” he tried again, this time using Soliski’s call sign.
“We're just fine,” Soliski replied, smoothly nonchalant, then followed up with, “Lita, note five-seconds for the record, please.”
“Got it,” said his wing-man’s female voice, silky smooth and instantly recognizable. Lita Joshi. His former wing-man.
It took Marcus a moment to process what their exchange meant.
“You intentionally caused my ship to lose power?” he blurted out over the channel, infuriated.
“Nothing personal; just following orders, buddy. We’re testing some new defensive equipment. Looks like it works just as advertised; go figure.”
Soliski sounded amused as he downplayed the severity of the situation.
“What? I could have crashed into the Diego. You could have killed me!” Marcus accused.
“Nah,” Soliski countered, “the Hawkins I know can land that hopper with no power and frozen flaps.”
Hawkins bristled at the backhanded compliment and patronizing tone.
“Catch you later,” Soliski said as the two CS4s zoomed over Marcus’ hopper.
Before he could formulate a reply, the two fighters banked left and streaked away, back towards Nova Station, and out of proximity comm range.
Marcus slammed his left fist into the cockpit’s side panel. He shook his head in disbelief at Soliski's attitude. At that moment, another voice came over the communication panel.
“Hopper One, this is Nova Station. Transport Diego has been cleared to jump. She is the last jumper today. You may return to the station at your leisure.”
Hawkins acknowledged his instructions and shut down his aft thrusters, pumped the fore thrusters to cancel his momentum. He watched as the transport headed into the space between the blinking red beacons.
To watch a ship seemingly vanish into nothingness never ceased to amaze and humble Marcus. To hear the Gate operators talk, you’d think it was just a routine job. But they oversaw dozens of ships traversing through the Gate on a daily basis. The wonder of jumping through Angel’s Gate and being within hours of Terra a moment later seemed to him to be the greatest thing imaginable. He hoped that the wonder he felt would never go away.
The Diego entered the gate and started disappearing into Angel’s Gate. As the transport completed its jump, Marcus blasted his port thrusters again to make the turn back toward Nova Station. He was eager to get back to have a word with Soliski. But as he started his turn, his hopper’s long-range sensors picked up an object that suddenly appeared near Hydra’s largest moon, Tibna. His ship identified it as a small craft with an unidentified silhouette.
“Nova Station, I’m picking up a ship drifting out from Tibna’s dark side. Do you see it?” he reported, requesting confirmation they received the telemetry he’d sent them.
“Affirmative, Hopper One. We are investigating.”
Marcus nodded. He was glad they did not send him to intercept whatever it was. He had to give Ray Soliski a piece of his mind before he got away. The cocky Blue-Ray needed to be taught a lesson.
“In that case l will be returning to the station,” he added, hearing the agitation in his voice and not caring whether the tower operator noticed it either.
“Very good Hopper One, you have been cleared for landing in Tunnel Bay Two,” came the reply, bland as always.
“Understood,” Marcus said as he angled his craft towards the appropriate tunnel bay. “Hopper One, out.”
Hawkins forgot momentarily that he hadn’t flown a real space fighter for over two years. His maneuvers into the tunnel bay were text-book perfect and as smooth as they ever were, the result of hundreds of hours training his body to the point is was practically muscle memory.
He didn’t think about how difficult it would be to hover past other ships and land the hopper in its designated berth; he just did it. His mind was on matters more urgent. He was a man on a mission.
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