Star Runners: Scorpions

Chapter 15

15

Ryker tightened the flap over the crimson boots, the fabric gripped her feet. She stood and pulled the glove down on her fingers, making a fist.

She wanted to grab Captain Rampa by the throat and torture him as he had done to her for months. But the tingling threat of pain sizzled in her skull with the thought. She had learned the discomfort caused by the implant monitoring her thoughts would soon lead to nausea before it would transition into agony.

Think positive.

Reaching down, she grabbed her red flight tablet and the Zahlian helmet. Turning toward the mirror—

She recoiled.

Sighing, she looked and studied the reflection. Her once tan, healthy skin had grown pale, her body gaunt. It had been a month since Rampa had transferred her from the cell to guarded quarters in a different part of the compound and she still wasn’t accustomed to seeing herself. If she hadn’t known better, she would have believed the reflection was a hallucination conjured by Rampa’s technicians.

Stepping closer, she leaned toward the mirror and stared into her sunken eyes. Dark skin, almost bruised, seeped under her eye sockets like dried ink. Bringing her fingers to her cheek, she pulled her skin down and peered into the redness of her eyes. She slid her dry tongue across the roof of her mouth. The helmet felt heavy in her right hand, her strength returning but still far short of her peak.

Rampa said she didn’t need to be in top physical shape to fly simulations, which was all she’d been doing for the past month. Simulations to cover basic flight in a Zahlian Interceptor. Simulations to include landing procedures on a Zahlian All-purpose Response Cruiser. Simulations to incorporate proper communications between Zahlian forces. It never ended.

At the beginning of her new training regime, she spent her time in the simulations searching for a means of escape or finding a way to kill or incapacitate her captors. Every Legion officer she ever knew had drilled into her head the importance of escaping captivity. It was one of the reasons every new recruit went through the Gauntlet. Every time she thought of escaping, however, the implant in her brain caused her to vomit.

Progress came in slow spurts.

In the past week, she’d felt more confident in the Interceptor. The fighter’s controls shared a great deal with the Trident. Muscle memory helped with training as some of the cockpit controls were in a familiar location. During her simulations, she found it surprising how maneuverable the Interceptor could be in a scrap. When she got back to the Legion, she would pass on this—

The pain shot through her like a sharp, electric shock.

She shook her head, placing her hand over her mouth. Her face crumpled. A tear fell, sliding down her face.

There would be no escape.

It was time to go. Rampa waited.

Taking a deep breath, she turned from the mirror and marched toward the locker room exit. Two armed Marine guards, both wearing crimson armor with tinted faceplates on their helmets, flanked the hatch. Pressing her lips together, she continued forward and nodded at the Marines. As she passed through, the Marines turned to follow her down the dark corridor for her long walk toward more training.

“Button up!”

Ryker halted, staring at Rampa standing near the hatch the Marines escorted her towards. A man in a crimson uniform with dark stripes over the shoulder stood beside him, his brow lowered.

She swallowed. “Sir?”

He pointed toward her flight suit. “You’re not fastened above your right breast. That’s against regulations.”

Glancing down, she saw a loose shiny black button. While the Legion flight suit was practical and had little regarding pomp and circumstance, the Zahlian Navy required their pilots to wear an elaborate uniform over their flight suit. Two buttons on each side of the upper torso completed the ensemble.

“My apologies, sir,” she said through her teeth.

“Don’t let it happen again,” he said, arching his chin. “You’re going to be a Zahlian pilot and will be expected to present yourself as such at all times.”

“Like hell,” the nearby man said with a snort.

Rampa glared at him. “Something to add, Captain?”

The man shook his head once. “Can we get this over with…sir?”

Staring at the captain a second longer, Rampa turned back to Ryker. “The others are waiting. Follow us.”

He marched through the hatch and made his way to the front of a cramped briefing room. Standing with his back against a black board, he raised his hands as Ryker entered the room.

“We’ll begin immediately,” he said.

Two other pilots in identical red flight suits sat in the maroon room, leaving a dozen empty seats in the simple space. The others glanced with bloodshot eyes in her direction as she moved to sit. She offered a shallow nod and collapsed into the hard plastic seat.

The captain stood next to Rampa, scowling at Ryker before shifting his weight and directing his gaze over the pilots’ heads. She glanced at the insignia on his chest and wondered why a captain had attended this briefing. Unlike the Legion Navy, a captain in the Empire had the rank to command an entire vessel.

Rampa clasped his hands behind his back. “We’ve work to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

The wall behind him glowed a warm blue, reminding her of the Tizona uniform. She bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing back the memory.

“You three are going to be the initial pilots for our program,” Rampa said, allowing his eyes to fall on each of them for an instant. “From this moment forth, you’ll be known as Defectors. Each one of you will be assigned a number—a call sign.”

He pointed at each of the other pilots, calling out numbers “one” and “two.”

Lingering on Ryker, he pointed. “Since you were the last to join us, you’re now ‘Defector Three.’” He smiled. “Forget all references you had to your previous names or call signs. They are irrelevant.”

She stared at her tablet. I’ll never forget.

A wave of nausea rippled through her stomach, and she winced. Leaning over on her belly, she fought the desire to vomit on the floor. The implant grew more powerful with each rebellious thought. The discomfort passed, and she focused on Rampa.

“Here,” he said, pointing back at the wall as it transitioned to a flat map of a star system, “is our destination. To be more precise, we’ll be joining a task force bound for the fourth world in the system. This system is located on the Frontier and our government, in all its wisdom, has decided to continue its expansion and welcome this world into our protective embrace. The locals call the world Tarrafa. After this operation, it will be called NPT-six-two-three until the local population has been fully civilized, at which time a new name will be decided upon.”

Ryker cringed at the word “civilized.” Rampa presented himself as devoted to the Empire, even using such benevolent language when describing the complete subjugation of an entire planet. She always knew the Empire expanded in other directions away from the Legion, conquering dark worlds with ease whenever their government decided it was necessary. Hundreds of thousands would die fighting for their independence, and entire cultures vanished.

As she listened to Rampa continue, she felt sick. She knew it wasn’t the implant causing the sensation.

“This will be the first time the Defectors could see action. In time, once you have proven yourselves, you will join a true squadron.” He glanced at the captain. “I would like to introduce Captain Donhall Myer of the Enforcer. The three of you will be traveling to NPT-six-two-three on his vessel.”

Myer took one step forward. “I’ve been ordered to allow the three of you…pilots to travel on board my ship. I’ve served in the Navy all my life. I know how to take an order.” He cast a disapproving look at Rampa. “If Command wants me to transport lab rats for some test, so be it.”

Lowering his gaze to the pilots, he stepped forward and loomed over the seats. “If any of you so much as scuff the deck with your boots, I’ll put you against a bulk head and execute you myself, or I’ll toss you out an airlock and save the energy. You’ll stay in your Interceptors during transit to the operation zone. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the Defectors mumbled in unison.

Myer looked at Rampa. “Is there anything else?”

“I can take it from here.”

Myer nodded and stared at the pilots. “I can’t take the stench of this Legion filth one second longer.”

With one last scowl, he stormed out.

“Now,” Rampa said as if nothing had happened, “the entire task force will initiate a planetary blockade while the landing operation is carried out. We expect there to be some indigenous vessels which will attempt to escape, like insects fleeing an exterminator. This world has created some primitive intersystem ships to trade with the third planet from their star. They have no FTL capabilities. You three will be responsible for patrolling this sector—point one-zero-seven—along the northern pole. Questions?”

Ryker’s eyelids grew heavy. Fatigue draped over her, and all she wanted to do was sleep. She didn’t know if Rampa was crazy or stupid, but they’d regret putting her behind the stick of an Interceptor. Anything she did might kill her, but it would be worth it if it hurt the Empire.

“Before we travel to the Interceptors,” Rampa said as he folded his arms over his chest, “I think I need to make you aware of a few aspects of our Defector program. You’re already aware of the pain your implants can cause. Should you ignore your task or even fly out of your mission parameters, the resulting pain will be quite severe.” His lips curled back over his teeth. “If you think you can go out of the implant’s range, it’ll fire off a flash that will liquefy organic matter inside your skull.”

Rampa placed his hands on his hips and paced. “We have other measures in place to ensure your compliance. Your Interceptors do not have the ability to travel faster than light. Should you try to commit suicide and crash, the implant will detonate.” He paused in front of Ryker. “We have detailed files on your personal lives as well. Should any of you be successful in suicidal measures, your loved ones will suffer. We have ways of getting to them. Do not doubt our resolve.”

Ryker shook her head.

Rampa had thought of everything. Even if she managed to kill herself and take some Zahlians with her, the Empire would target everyone she’d ever associated with in her career. She had to assume Rampa knew about Nubern, probably even knew about Austin. She had no choice but to believe he knew everything.

And somehow she knew Rampa would find a way to carry out his threats.

“I can see by your faces you believe what I say,” Rampa said with a smile. “Superb. I’ll be onboard the Enforcer monitoring your progress. I look forward to seeing what you can do and continuing our work. Dismissed!”

Ryker stood on weak legs and marched toward the hatch, knowing she was about to fly a spacecraft for the Empire she had spent her entire career despising.

The hangar deck stretched for half the length of the Formidable’s. Six Zahlian Interceptors lined one end of the expanse while the rest of the area contained transports of various makes and models. Peering through the transports’ small portholes, Ryker saw troops moving into place. Above, the hangar opened to reveal a sky with black smoke drifting into view.

Tucking her flight tablet under her arm, she grasped her helmet in both hands. She glanced at “Defector Two” as they walked. Just like the other Defectors, his head was shaved to the scalp. Thin dark lines stretched above his ears, wounds from the implant surgery. His cheekbones protruded through pale skin, but there was something familiar about him. His eyes darted toward her, his eyebrows raising.

“Yes?” he whispered as they walked.

“Scrappy?”

The pilot stopped and stared at her. “Do I know you?”

Nicholas “Scrappy” Pavlosky.

The baby fat had disappeared and he appeared ten years older, but she knew this man. He was the young Lobera Star Runner Austin fought in the mess hall during the early days of their time on Tarton’s Junction. Cocky, talented, and shrewd, Pavlosky had been one of Braddock’s shining stars.

And now, just like her, he was a captive of the Zahl Empire.

“Move it!” a Marine guard yelled behind them.

They continued following “Defector One,” marching toward the line of Interceptors.

“You seem familiar,” Pavlosky said in a shaky voice, his chin touching his chest. “I-I am h-having trouble remembering things. I know I’m not supposed to be here.” He winced, chin quivering. “Don’t make me think.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “It’ll be okay. I promise it’ll be okay.”

He looked at her and managed a weak smile. “Thank you.”

“Do you know anything about her?” she asked, nodding toward their leader.

Pavlosky followed her eyes. “No.”

Gripping his shoulder one last time, she shook him. “I won’t let anything happen to you out there, all right?”

“Thank you.”

He approached his Interceptor, taking one last look at Ryker before he slipped on his helmet.

“Defector One” glanced back at her. The woman slowed, allowing her to catch up as they walked down the line of Zahlian fighters.

“Don’t give him hope,” the woman whispered. “Be better for us all to die out there.”

“I don’t think so,” Ryker said. “There will be a way. There has to be.”

She stared at her with a cold expression. “At what cost?”

Ryker opened her mouth to speak, but the words died at her lips. Instead, she asked, “Who are you?”

She shrugged, c*****g her head to the side. “Does it really matter?” Locking her helmet into place, she saluted. “See you out there, Defector Three.”

Ryker turned toward the final Interceptor in the line. Following the Marine’s gesture, she stepped up to her spacecraft. The Interceptors were lower than the Trident, and didn’t require the ladder. Sitting so low to the deck, the Interceptor looked like a race car resembling a U-shaped sea creature. She slid her fingers across the curved wing as she stepped toward the cockpit and locked the helmet in place. Lifting her leg, she settled into the seat and plugged her flight suit into the fighter.

With a rush of air, she tasted stale recycled air flowing through her suit. It was one thing the Zahl Empire and the Galactic Legion had in common: No one had improved the air quality onboard these fighters. She slipped her tablet into the slot and the control board came to life. Cycling through preflight, the whine of the engine and the whistle of the onboard computer signified the fighter was ready to fly.

“Defectors, this is the Enforcer,” Rampa’s voice sizzled in her ear. It reminded her of the time she’d spent in his torture chamber as he bombarded her with questions. “Follow your flight pattern to the ARC in orbit. We will depart the system as soon as you’re on board.”

“Copy, Enforcer,” Defector One said. “Let’s move, Defectors.”

Ryker watched the two other Interceptors lift off the deck and float toward the circular opening in the hangar ceiling. Pulling back on the stick, she moved her fighter into line behind them. Her HUD remained dark except for the position coordinates changing as she moved away from the base.

Her finger lingered over the trigger as she she watched the two Interceptors in front of her. Shaking her head, she fought back her instinct to fire. Countless hours in Legion sim pods had trained her brain to see the Interceptors as the enemy. Now, she was flying one.

Once her Interceptor passed through the hangar, she caught her first glimpse of where she had been held captive. Immense forests stretched over rolling hills in all directions, interrupted by vicious cuts into the landscape by logging efforts. Tremendous fires pockmarked the planet’s surface, sending trails of dark smoke streaming into the air. Either there had been a recent battle on this world or someone had carried out an intense planetary bombardment.

“Defectors,” her flight commander said, “going into orbit. Stay with me.”

“Copy,” Ryker said.

They shot forward, increasing speed as they headed into orbit. The sky soon faded from blue to black, and she saw the looming shape of the Enforcer ahead. Beyond, she saw—

Her mouth dropped open.

An immense fleet orbited, swarming like bees around a hive. The sight was unlike anything she’d ever experienced in her years with the Legion. She counted six ARCs and hundreds of Interceptors moving toward each of them, preparing to land. Three MUDs identical to the vessels that captured her landed with precision on the Enforcer.

Through her time in Legion briefing rooms, she had heard whispers of the Zahlian Navy’s might and dreamed—or feared—what an invasion fleet would actually look like. Now, she saw it first-hand.

A shiver shot down her spine as she realized the Zahl Empire had hundreds of identical fleets operating across a territory larger than all of the Legion and more densely populated. Many of her former commanding officers spoke of an impending war with the Zahl. With the force gathering around her, she wondered how the Legion could withstand such a threat.

“Defectors, this is the Enforcer,” Rampa transmitted. “You are clear to land.”

As she followed the other Interceptors to land in the Enforcer’s hangar, she wondered if Rampa had been correct about the Zahl’s unbeatable power. If nothing could defeat it, what would be the point in fighting?

The Legion needed to know what she had seen. If she could possibly find a way—

Pain shot through her. She forced herself to focus on landing. One quick thought flashed of ramming the fighter into the ARC, but she remembered Rampa’s promise to eliminate their loved ones.

Yes, she thought, there was truly no escape. She was a Zahlian pilot.