Starship Desolation Read online

  “Son-of-a-bitch!” The ship was completely dead. The controls were non-responsive. This was it. This was how he was going to die—a grease spot on some shit-hole of a planet.

  Two minutes until impact.

  Walker slammed his fist into the console in frustration. The display sparked to life, and the system began to boot up.

  “System online,” the computer said.

  Walker liked her tone much better now.

  The controls seemed to be working properly. The digital gauges gave accurate readings. A diagnostic list of system failures displayed on the center screen. The vertical thrusters came back online. They still weren’t operating at full capacity, but better than before. The starboard engine was gone, and nothing was going to bring it back from the dead. But, all things considered, the situation had improved.

  The craft was spiraling to the ground, but Walker managed to get the shuttle under control. He straightened out and leveled off, but was still descending too fast. At least he had more control of the shuttle now, and a better angle of descent. It wasn’t going to be pretty, but if he could avoid the mountain range and crash in the flats, he might have a better chance.

  The shuttle screamed through the sky. Craggy mountain peaks stabbed skyward. It was a red and rocky array of canyons and peaks. Odd rock formations and spires that vaulted toward the heavens. Walker hoped he had enough lift to clear the rocks as he careened toward them. But he didn’t.

  It was close.

  So close.

  A foot to the left, and everything would have been fine. But the starboard wing clipped the edge of a spire, which sent the shuttle spinning like a frisbee. It cut across the sky and smacked into the flats. It was a bone jarring impact. Walker’s body slammed against the safety harness. The cross harness dug into his shoulders and chest. The lap belt mashed his pelvis. Pain stabbed through his spine.

  The shuttle skipped across the dry, sandy terrain like a stone across the surface of water. It settled into a groove, plowing up dirt and sand, vaulting plumes into the air. Bits of the exterior hull tore away. The craft plowed across the barren flats and caught the edge of a rock formation. The impact shattered the front polycarbonate glass windows. Shards pelted the cockpit in a deadly rain. A rush of hot air poured into the cockpit. The bulkhead crumpled. Metal twisted and groaned. The shuttle spun off at an angle, finally grinding to a halt.

  It took a moment for Walker’s head to stop spinning. His whole body was filled with adrenaline. There are always a few terrifying moments after an accident, when you are so hyped up that you can’t feel anything. You have no idea if you’re injured or not. Only when the adrenaline dies down do you feel the pain. Walker checked himself over. He didn’t find any obvious puncture wounds. Nothing seemed to be broken. He unbuckled his safety harness and crawled out of the pilot’s seat. He was a little stiff and sore—tomorrow, it would certainly be worse. But at least he had survived the crash.

  The windows were broken out, yet he was still alive and breathing. The air had to have at least some oxygen in it. Though it felt a little thin. He found himself breathing just a little bit deeper to get the same amount of oxygen. Or maybe it was the stifling heat. He had been to a lot of hot, shitty places in his career as a Special Warfare Operator. Dense, muggy jungles. Dry arid deserts. Dying volcanic planets. But he never felt anything this hot.

  Sweat was beading from his forehead. At the rate that he was losing fluids, he’d be dehydrated in no time. The wind kicked in sand through the broken windows. The tiny granules pelted him in the face. The sun scorched terrain was dry and cracked. Inhospitable. It had to be well over 130 degrees, and it was barely after dawn. The massive glowing sun hung just over the horizon, like a nasty fruit from the pit of hell. By midday, this place would be an inferno.

  4

  SLADE

  “Captain Slade, you are under arrest,” the Master at Arms said.

  Slade looked bewildered as she stood on the quarterdeck of the USS Devastator. It was an Omaha class heavy attack cruiser. It was older than the USS Scorpion, and was now serving as the central hub for all UPDF operations. President Amado had even setup his situation room aboard, just in case New Earth came under attack.

  An officer slapped cuffs around Slade’s wrists and ratcheted them tight. They dug into her skin. She was surrounded by a platoon of Marines, weapons drawn.

  “What are the charges?” she demanded.

  “Violation of the peace treaty. Disobeying commands. Inciting terrorist attacks,” the Master at Arms said. “I could go on, but you get the idea.”

  Slade clenched her jaw. This was total bullshit.

  Cameron was arrested as well on charges of treason. And Bo, the Saarkturian, was taken into custody as an enemy combatant. The whole thing stunk of corruption and political agendas. Someone wanted Slade out of the way.

  She had destroyed the invading enemy fleet and hobbled her way back to earth in a Verge escape shuttle. And this was the thanks she got?

  “According to the UPDF Code of Military Justice, I must inform you of your Article 31 rights,” said the Master at Arms.

  “I’m aware of my rights,” Slade said. “So you can fuck off and get me a lawyer.” She jerked away as a guard clutched her arm. “Get your hands off of me, Petty Officer.”

  “Do you want to add resisting arrest to the charge?”

  Slade scowled at the Master at Arms. “I want Lieutenant Commander Catherine Kent as my council.”

  “You’ll get who’s assigned to you.”

  Slade’s eyes narrowed as she looked over his name tag. “Chief Petty Officer Thorne, I’m the senior ranking officer in the fleet. When these ridiculous charges are dismissed—and they will be dismissed—do you really want to be on my bad side?”

  Thorne grimaced.

  “Catherine Kent. She’s aboard the Scorpion.”

  “The Scorpion is getting put into dry dock for repairs.”

  “Then she has to be somewhere on New Earth,” Slade growled.

  “I’ll see what I can do, sir.”

  “Cameron, keep your mouth shut,” Slade said. “Don’t talk to anybody without an attorney. Bo, the same goes for you.”

  “I am not, in any way, familiar with your legal customs,” Bo said.

  “Just keep quiet. You have my word, I will get you out of this.”

  Slade followed Thorne to the detention center. She was separated from the others and put into a solitary holding cell. A guard was posted outside.

  They were going to treat her like they treated all terrorists. She knew the drill. They were going to keep her locked up in this cell and delay access to her attorney for as long as possible. They would feed her as little as possible and bring her to the brink of starvation and dehydration. When she fell asleep, they’d wake her every 15 minutes to keep her sleep deprived. Then, when she was frazzled enough, they’d begin the interrogation and dangle a cheeseburger in front of her face to get her to talk.

  Article 31 stated that it was mandatory the accused have an attorney present during all questioning. In the first era, before New Earth, you had to specifically request an attorney. The law had been changed shortly after the second era of mankind began. But there were ways around it. If someone was foolish enough to sign away their rights to counsel, they would lose that protection. When someone hasn’t eaten for a week, you’d be surprised at what they’re willing to give up, in exchange for a little food.

  Slade suffered through it, and didn’t cave. She could only hope that Cameron and Bo were getting treated better than she was. After a week, she was able to meet with her attorney.

  She was brought into an interrogation room. Cameras were recording everything, and there was a two-way surveillance mirror.

  Catherine Kent entered and motioned to the people on the other side of the mirror. “Cut the cameras. Now!” She wasn’t putting up with any bullshit. “This is a privileged conversation.”

  Kent took a seat across the table from Slade. “H
ow have they been treating you?”

  Slade laughed.

  “Figures.” Catherine was frustrated. “You haven’t talked to anyone, have you?”

  Slade shook her head. “How’s Cameron?”

  “Let’s focus on your case. I can’t discuss my other clients.”

  Slade gave her a look that begged for more information.

  “He’s okay. But he’s got an uphill battle.”

  It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but any news was better than nothing.

  “You’ve got an uphill battle as well. Rourke’s been given command of the Scorpion.”

  “At least she’s in good hands.”

  “Rourke is the one who pressed Command to bring charges.”

  Slade’s eyes grew wide. “What?”

  “He contends that your defiance of Command, and your forays into the DMZ, instigated the Verge attack.”

  “They had clearly been planning this attack for some time. It was blind luck we stumbled across their fleet and were able to destroy them.” Slade hung her head, thinking of the sacrifice Walker had made. As far as she knew, he died in the blast.

  “I understand. And if you want my personal opinion, Rourke saw an opportunity and made a power grab. Not to mention, you are one of the more outspoken officers in the fleet.”

  “Those candy-ass politicians need someone to tell it like it is.”

  “That may be why most of those candy-asses find you abrasive.”

  “Fuck them. I know Amado is not a fan. The feeling is mutual. He’s done everything he could to dismantle our military. It makes you wonder who’s side he’s on?”

  “Well, the fact of the matter is, you disobeyed direct orders.”

  “If I hadn’t, none of us would be here right now.”

  “You know as well as I do, the military operates by a chain of command. If that gets broken, the whole system falls apart.”

  Slade’s face tightened. She had as much respect for the chain of command as anyone. There was no denying that she disobeyed direct orders.

  “Look. We know the Verge have mind control technology,” Slade said. “They were responsible for the terrorist attacks. How do we know they haven’t infiltrated higher levels of our government?”

  “Can you prove they have mind control technology?”

  “You were aboard the Scorpion. You know as well as I do, they have that capability.”

  “But can you prove it?”

  “Are you going to tell me the testimony of over 1500 sailors isn’t going to count for something?”

  “There is still no definitive proof of this technology. Anecdotal evidence is not going to be sufficient in this case. I’ll do my best to defend you. But powerful people are out to get you.”

  5

  WALKER

  Walker’s shuttle still had power. But it wasn’t going anywhere. With the front windows blown out, and the hull riddled with holes, no amount of repairs would make it space worthy again.

  Unlike the larger super-carriers and destroyers, smaller ships didn’t have their own reactor. They depended on power cells for fuel. A fully charge cell could last up to 20 years. At least Walker would be able to run the cooling system within the shuttle for the foreseeable future. He was going to need it, as the temperature was increasing by the second.

  But the heat was only one of his problems. If he didn’t find food and water, in a reasonable amount of time, he was going to die on this rock.

  He rummaged through the ship and was able to find a Saarkturian version of a first-aid kit, a few containers of water, and some prepared emergency meals. It was a start, but it would only last for a few days.

  Walker grabbed his weapon, opened the back hatch, and stepped out into the blistering heat. A few moments, and the searing sun was more than enough. It felt like only a few seconds could give you a serious sunburn.

  The terrain was harsh. Mostly flat, dry cracked ground with windswept dunes here and there. The occasional thorny tree dotted the desolate landscape. Withered and twisted, with foot long thorns like talons. It had to be a scrappy plant to survive in this wasteland. If it could think, and Walker had encountered plants that could, it was probably as angry as it looked. This was the kind of place that made hell seem like a vacation spot.

  Walker surveyed the terrain with a scowl on his face. This wasn’t looking promising. The mountain range that he clipped was maybe 40 or 50 miles away—a jagged line on the horizon. Not much could survive in the flatlands. But in the mountains, in the valleys and canyons, maybe there was cover? If there was cover, maybe there was food? It was doubtful that larger animals could survive in the desert flats. The only living things that seemed to exist out here were the thorny trees and smaller insects.

  Walker glanced down at his boot to see a bizarre scorpion-like creature crawl over his foot. He shook it off and smashed his heel onto the creature. It crunched under his foot. Greenish/yellow goo spurted out of its shattered shell. A shiver ran down Walker’s spine.

  For as tough as Walker was, bugs still gave him the willies. He shivered for an instant. He had seen enough of bugs on Delta Crucis 6 to last a lifetime. It didn’t matter whether they were big or small, he couldn’t stand the fuckers. He didn’t care what ecological purpose they served. They all deserved death, as far as he was concerned. Maybe it was all the wasp stings that he received as a boy? Maybe it was all the Reapers killed on DC 6? Maybe it was losing Lilly to a bug that hurt the most?

  This bug was dead, but it just didn’t know it yet. With its head separated from its mangled thorax, it still squirmed for a few moments. Walker looked down at the hideous thing, hoping it was writhing in pain for its last few moments alive.

  Walker and the bug shared the same fate. For all Walker knew, he was dead, and he just didn’t know it yet. Or hadn’t accepted it. There was no way he was getting off this planet. There was no way he could have any hope of long-term survival here. But he wasn’t the kind of guy to give up. If he was going to die on this planet, he wasn’t going to do it without a fight.

  Five minutes in the blistering sun was more than enough. The shuttle would be good shelter for a few days. But he would have to make it to the mountain range eventually. That was the best hope for long-term survival.

  He was about to step back into the shuttle when he saw it approaching. The sand around Walker’s feet exploded in a spray of 30mm gunfire. The Verge gunship had found him and was looking to finish the job.

  The Phantom strafed the crash site, unloading a torrent of destructive power.

  Walker stood tall, unafraid as the Phantom approached. He brought his weapon up to the firing position and looked through the sight. He squinted one eye and lined the ship up in the crosshairs with the other. His finger wrapped around the trigger, and he squeezed off several rounds.

  Walker’s bullets tore through the Phantom’s hull. The Phantom’s bullets exploded at Walker’s feet. It was like a game of chicken with extremely uneven odds. The Phantom roared toward Walker and passed overhead. The rumble of the engines was ear splitting.

  Walker spun around and kept the Phantom in his sights. He blasted several rounds into the port side thruster.

  Nothing happened.

  Walker waited for the Phantom to circle around for another strafing run.

  6

  WALKER

  The Phantom’s port side engine began to sputter. A trail of black smoke billowed from the thruster as the Phantom continued over the mountain range. Walker got lucky. It wasn’t coming back to attack him again. The Phantom had bigger concerns.

  A slight grin curled on Walker’s lips. At least he had gotten a little payback on that son-of-a-bitch. He hoped the Phantom would go down in a ball of flames. After a few moments, the Phantom disappeared over the horizon. Walker listened for a crash, but he couldn’t hear anything. He was too far away.

  Five minutes in the heat was more than enough for him. His skin felt like it was on fire. His mouth was as dry as the desert sand h
e was standing on. He was billions of miles away from the nearest Federation colony. He had no means of interstellar communication. And no one was going to come looking for him. As far as Slade knew, Walker had died in the blast. If he was going to get off this hellhole, he was going to have to find a way himself. No one was coming to save him.

  Walker climbed back into the shuttle and sealed the hatch behind him. He took a swig of water from the rations, then he climbed into the pilot’s seat. The external temperature gage read 150 degrees. How hot was this planet going to get, he wondered? He turned the cooling system to high, but with a broken window it wasn’t going to do much good. It would take the edge off, but most of the cool air would rush out through the broken glass.

  He took an inventory of the weapons aboard the shuttle. There was a small weapons locker that contained several rifles, extra magazines, knives, tactical swords, flashlights, and a few thermal grenades. There was a part of him that wanted to hunt down and destroy what was left of the Phantom’s crew—if there was anything left. But revenge wasn’t a priority now. Survival was.

  By noon, the planet surface was hitting 240 degrees. At that temperature, you could survive for a short duration. But caught without shelter in the midday sun and you’d surely die.

  The temperature inside the shuttle was sweltering. It was like sitting in an oven. But it was better than being exposed. Every breath was a struggle. Walker spent the better part of the day just trying to fill his lungs with air and battling the incessant stream of desert bugs that crawled in through the broken windows. It seemed hopeless. Was this going to be the extent of his existence for the rest of his miserable life?

  He had no intention of waiting to die in the wreckage. But he wanted to get a better idea of what he was up against before setting out into the wasteland.

  The day might have been scorching, but the night was cold. As soon as the sun set, the desert became a frozen nightmare. Frosty wind whistled in through the windows. Even with the shuttle’s heater at full blast, Walker was chilled to the bone. By midnight, his water rations were frozen solid. The outside temperature was well below zero. This was a planet of extremes.