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Galaxy’s Edge Copyright ă 2003 by Christopher Reed All rights reserved. No part of this publication can be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers and/or authors. While every precaution has been taken in the preparation of this book, the publisher assumes no responsibilities for errors or omissions, or for damages resulting from the use of information contained herein. Galaxy’s Edge The Places You Fear The Most ONE Captain Maggie McGillis, for all intents and purposes, stood on top of the world. At least she did so from her perspective. The view from the UnitedEarth orbital platform which was situated miles above the planet, hanging delicately in a standard orbit, was breathtaking, to say the least. The floor-to-ceiling view port before her gave way to the stunning view of the pristine globe that was the Earth, spinning slowly on its fixed axis. McGillis herself stood firm, displaying impeccable posture, a glass of sparkling champagne in hand. Her dark silky hair had been put up in a regulation style bun, complimenting her meticulously pressed dress uniform. Even through the white naval garments, one could make out the fine figure of a well-toned woman. Every so often she would sip from her glass, glance quickly at the formal party progressing around her and promptly return her gaze to the Earth, below. “Congratulations on your promotion…Commander.” At the sound of the jovial praise Maggie turned away from the view port to meet the gaze of a stout, balding man, in General’s garb. “Thank you,” she returned sharply. “And not a moment too soon, might I add,” the portly General continued, resting his small hand on Maggie’s arm. She glanced down at the tactile gesture with slight distaste; the General unfortunately did not take notice. “With this blasted war between Earth and the Kryssk escalating, we could use talent like you manning the helms of our starships.” “Thank you, General, for your vote of confidence,” Maggie said in measured tones, feeling not at all obliged to make small talk with her superior. Obviously losing his grip on the conversation, the General verbally stumbled before continuing, “Well, yes…you’re quite welcome. How are you enjoying the party?” He haphazardly attempted to steer the conversation in another, more cordial direction. “It was a kind gesture,” Maggie told him, eyeing the other officers and their guests, gathered together in the spirit of fun. They all seemed so…tense, as if waiting for their lives to end. This intergalactic war between earth forces and a mysterious alien war machine was enough to set anyone on edge, but it just seemed, to Maggie, as if the officers were having trouble unwinding; perhaps knowing that eventually they would all meet a Kryssk vessel in battle. Regardless, the affable atmosphere seemed…forced. She did not take solace in the painfully obvious fact that they did not even seem to miss her, the very subject of their celebration. “I am glad the officers were given a chance to unwind from the rigors of the war, if only momentarily.” Maggie eyed the guests once more, this time scanning each of their faces. “Looking for someone?” the balding General questioned, turning to glance at the guests as if he could assist her in her search. “I am expecting a fellow officer and he has yet to---” Maggie spotted him from across the room, almost as if on cue. He emerged from the double glass doors and immediately; a number of women in the room took notice of him, and with good reason. He was sharply dressed, filled out by broad shoulders, his strong chin protruded slightly seeming to lead his direction, and his closely cropped blond hair framed his handsome face. “Ah, and there he is. If you’ll excuse me, General.” Without awaiting dismissal, Maggie crossed the room by way of only a few swift strides, stopping just short of the expected individual. “Congratulations, Maggie,” expressed Lieutenant Benjamin O’Sullivan taking her small form in his arms, attempting to embrace her in an amorous hug. However, with slight reluctance, Maggie placed both her hands on his firm chest and delicately fought to push away from the gentleman. “Thank you, Ben, but please…not in public…not here.” He eyed her with confused disdain, all the while still holding her in his arms, barely phased by her futile attempts to push him back. Grudgingly, he set her free, a placid expression now playing over his chiseled features. “Please, do not be angry,” she pleaded softly, not wanting to draw attention. “It simply is not professional here.” “Fine,” he agreed coldly. Abruptly, he stopped a passing waiter by way of clenching his broad hand around the sleeve of the servers’ pressed outfit. Gingerly, Ben removed a glass of champagne from the waiter’s silver platter and in one, impressive gulp the contents of the beverage were gone. Before releasing the server altogether, Ben helped himself to one more glass, this time pacing himself. “That was rude,” Maggie said, watching the scrawny server weave his way through the crowd, every so often glancing back in their direction with what could only be described as confusion on his thin face. “Sorry,” Ben muttered, nursing his drink, “It just seems as if every time I want to get a little close, you bite my head off. I’m only on leave for a week before I’m shipped out to the front lines.” “Do not blame your drinking and behavior on my lack of inappropriate public affection,” Maggie warned him. As if taking notice of him for the first time, she wiped away a smudge that had collected on his uniform jacket. Considering the gesture the most affection he would receive from her publicly, he let it slide and even seemed to relish in the attention. It was of course, no secret that Maggie McGillis was a cold woman, even considered a prude by some, but she was always gentle with Ben, no exception. Which is why he found it disconcerting when he registered the amount of force she was putting into his grooming. “You okay?” he asked, failing to make eye contact with her. Maggie drew back her hand and sighed, her body still apparently tense. “I have some…news.” Curious, Ben arched his brow. “What sort of…news?” Maggie quickly swept her gaze around the room, realizing that if she were to step out for a quick moment, she would hardly be missed. “Can we please do this out in the hall?” she requested, motioning towards the exit doors. “Do what?” Ben demanded, irked; although he had already fallen into step behind her. Once they both were outside, relatively alone in the sparsely populated corridor, and the double glass exit doors had slid closed behind them, Maggie turned on Ben, a look of frustrated distraught playing over her smooth features. “What is this all about?” Ben questioned, prompting the visibly nervous Maggie. She made a quick visual sweep of the corridor and then, in one rushed statement, Maggie blurted, “Ben, I’m pregnant.” “I’m sorry?” he said as if he had missed her declaration. Meanwhile, his eyes had gone wide with shock. “Did you say…you said…you’re pregnant?” He collapsed against the bulk head, seeming for all the world as if he were catching his breath. Maggie did not think the news would come to that much of a shocking blow to him. She had hoped he would take it well. “With child, yes,” Maggie responded, so softly one would believe she was actually ashamed to admit to the natural occurrence. “Wow.” It was more of a stifled response than a great proclamation, but either way, it did not seem to please Maggie. “What am I going to do?” she pleaded, placing both her hands on her flat stomach, which in time, would protrude with new life. Admittedly, It was a rare site to see Maggie McGillis so flustered, so out of control of her surroundings and situation, it almost caught Ben off guard. Almost. “Have it.” Ben returned flatly. The gaze that currently occupied her countenance demanded clarification. With a sigh, Ben explained, “Maggie, I was raised in a strict Irish Catholic home. If my mother were to ever find out I condoned…an abortion…I…I’d probably be disowned. Hell, when she finds out I got you pregnant out of wedlock she’s going to go crazy!” “In any case,” said Maggie, “I have made the decision to---” That was when the entire platform rocked violently. The whole orbital structure seemed to shake from the very base. The violent and abrupt jolt knocked Maggie off balance and without anything to brace herself on, was flung into the arms of Ben who had been leaning against the bulkhead. The lights flickered for some time; it seemed as if there was some type of battle raging between the light and the dark. Finally, however, the dark won out, and the corridor was shed in black nothingness. Maggie could hear the faint cries of the officers in the reception room before the stark red emergency lighting kicked on, shedding an eerie glow on the situation. “What’s happening?” questioned Maggie, without a hint of fear in her voice, only that of mild curiosity. For a time, she continued to clutch onto Ben, wrapped safely in the arms she had pushed aside only moments before. “Whatever it is,” Ben said, giving Maggie a comforting squeeze, “you can bet it’s not good.” And again, the facility rocked violently, almost as if a giant sledgehammer was striking it. Finally, during a momentary lag in the rocking, the double glass doors leading to the banquet hall parted, and the members of the UnitedEarth Government EarthSec spilled from the room, darting down the hall in all directions. “General!” Maggie managed to snag the portly officer’s attention before he disappeared around the corner with the rest of the officers. “Oh, Commander McGillis!” he wailed, clutching at his chest as if his heart were aching, “It’s a nightmare! We’re…we’re under attack! The Kryssk…they’re actually attacking us! We’ve sent out distress signals on all channels but the closest defense frigate is more than half a light-year away!” “We need to get to our ships, General, if we wait for help, we are as good as dead,” Maggie explained. The General only nodded in agreement before tuning on his heel and running as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He was fast for a man in such obviously unhealthy condition. “We need to get to my ship,” Maggie told Ben with almost rushed panic. “It doesn’t have a crew yet, but we should be able to handle it. We have got to mount a defense!” Without so much as a word, Ben was close at her side, jogging down the corridor to the docking ring. The station was being bombarded with presumably firepower from some Kryssk warship; the couple’s only hope for survival before the station was blown away was time, something the both of them did not have. This became painfully obvious when the stark tone of the automated computer announced, cryptically, “Alert! Hull breech section 13a. Alert! Decontamination in five minutes. Alert!” TWO “Ow.” Reilly Richards clutched his aching head and clenched his jaw tightly, forcing the throbbing pain to subside, if only momentarily. In a less than dignified fetal position, he laid out on his bed, taking comfort in his darkened quarters. Had the morning sun chose to pour in through his windows; he would be in quite more discomfort than his present condition. “Why do I drink?” he moaned into the vacant room, attempting to no avail to fight the symptoms of a hangover. He ran his fingers through his short-cropped auburn hair, disgust and distraught playing over his youthful features. Realizing that the night before was now nothing more than a hazy blur to him, he pitifully let another moan escape his lips. The last time he had gotten himself completely wasted he found himself recovering on a transport ship two light-years distance from Earth, still a conundrum to this day, seeing as the evening had begun on Earth. “God, this is the last time,” he proclaimed, though he had made a similar proclamation earlier, after recovering on the transport barge in the nude. “’Morning, sleepy,” chirped a bubbly voice from the threshold of the doorway. The morning sun poured in from the living room, casting the figure in shadow, but filling the bedroom with dreaded light. “Ah!” cried Reilly, trying desperately to shield his eyes from the natural light. “Too loud and too bright!” “I made you breakfast,” said the woman, still hovering in the doorway. “What I need is a med patch,” he told her, now pulling the white sheets over his head. “I’ve got that too,” the woman responded. Immediately, Reilly was out of the bed and at the woman’s side, grabbing the compact medicated patch. As if the object could somehow restore life to the dead, Reilly applied the piece to his right bicep and within a matter of seconds was relishing in the effects as it killed the hangover. “Thank you, Becky,” he breathed, sighing heavily. “Don’t mention it, sweetie,” she assured, placing the silver tray of steaming breakfast on a side table. Reilly watched her with amusement, studying her womanly figure move about in her tight crimson silk robe that seemed to cling in just the right places. He enjoyed how it rode up on her, revealing more than one should in such a garment. Her velvety black hair had been loosely placed up in a messy bun, simply in place to keep out of her eyes. “Say, where did you get that robe?” he wondered allowed, making his way to his breakfast, yet careful not break visual contact with her stunning beauty. “You; silly.” She giggled as she tightened it around her waist. “It was a gift, or don’t you remember?” “Huh?” He finished off a strip of bacon, still eying her. “I was probably drunk.” Becky sighed with disdain, her cheerful face suddenly becoming very sullen, her shoulders slouching as if defeated. “Yes, you’re always drunk.” Reilly shot a finger at her direction, a piece of bacon hanging from his full mouth. “Now…don’t…you…” he swallowed the remains of his meal, “start with this again. It’s not like my drinking ever does any harm to you. Hell, the only person I’m hurting is myself.” “And you can live with that?” she challenged, defiantly crossing her arms over her perky chest. “Sure!” he told her, shrugging his shoulders. “If I can why can’t you? By the way thanks for breakfast.” And with that, he made his way past her and into the living room, the argument dead before it had even begun. God knows he had had the same fight with her on what seemed to be a regular basis lately. With complacency, he positioned himself in front of the room’s large wall-to-wall window, draping his hands behind his bare torso, overlooking the pristine waves of the ocean crash to shore in a rush of force, just below. The bright orange globe that was the sun hung low over the cerulean sea, rising slowly as its reflection danced across the water. A flock of seagulls had taken to the air gliding methodically in a tight formation even an EarthSec flight squadron would be envious of. While in this age many chose to live in the overcrowded mega-metropolitan cities, with their unbelievably tall skyscrapers and close quarters, Reilly always felt an affinity for the open sea, and thus had made his home on Cape Canaveral, the original Space Coast, long abandoned after the establishment of the UEG. He found a certain solace in the repetitious crash of the waves, each one unique in its own way. With the Kryssk confrontation currently raging only light-years from Earth, Reilly returned home as much as possible, if only to help remind him of what he was truly fighting for. “Reilly, I’m sorry,” Becky said softly from behind, much like a child after being scolded. He felt her warp her arms around his waist. “You’re concerned for my well being,” he realized, turning to face her. “Yet, you truly have no idea what I am going through right now. While I fight out there,” and he made a grand gesture towards the sky, indicating the outer space, “You’re here, on Earth, secure in the knowledge that the Kryssk are trillions of miles from you. I, on the other hand, am in a constant battle, never sure when we will encounter the next enemy vessel. It can really put a guy on edge, you know? I find relief in drinking, I can slip away from my worries, if only for so long.” Becky stared up at him, gazing into his green eyes. “I…I know,” she said after a long silence, “I can’t understand --- will never understand, and I’m sorry for that.” Seeming pleased with the response, he wrapped her in his arms, hugging her small but firm frame. “I bet I know something else that will keep your mind off the war,” Becky said seductively, as she unfastened the restraints of her small robe. Effortlessly, the garment slinked to the floor, revealing her naked body. “There’s only one way to find out,” he reasoned, meeting her lips with his. They stood there in the window for some time, lingering. “Priority one message, received,” announced the automated messaging service. With reluctance, Reilly pushed Becky away, gently, but with a force that meant business. A priory one message from EarthSec was nothing to ignore. “Play new message,” he instructed. Within a matter of seconds, a static filled communication filled the room. “---Please, this is the EarthSec Orbital Station, Earth; we are ….---tack by Kryssk forces…re---quest immediate assistance…urgent…” the message faded in an eerie wash of static. “Replay message?” the computer inquired. “No,” Reilly bit out, a little harsher than he had intended. His fists were now clutched at his side. “What…what does that mean?” inquired Becky, redressing herself and fastening the robe around her. She held herself with her arms, taking a seat on the elongated velvet sofa. “It means,” he explained, disappearing into the bedroom, “that somehow the Kryssk got past our final lines of defense and are attacking the Orbital Station.” He returned in full uniform, zipping up the green jumpsuit. “So…the Kryssk…they’re right above us?” The expression on Becky’s face turned to one of steel fright. “Becky,” he announced in a hard tone, “calm down. Just stay here and activate the security grid when I leave.” Becky was on her feet within a matter of seconds. “Gone? Where are you going? You can’t leave me. They’ll get me!” “I’ve got to get to the station; lend a hand,” he clarified, “Now just stay here and you’ll be safe, damn it.” “Oh, God, this is it,” she wailed, sprinting to the door to block his exit. “I’ll never see you again!” “Don’t say that, Becky,” he pleaded, running his hand across her smooth cheek. “I’ll be back.” “You’d better be or…” Becky struggled to challenge him with a threat that would ensure his return. “Or what? You’ll kill me?” he scoffed, making a move to step past her. “Or no sex!” she blurted, placing her hands on her hips ruefully, taking pride in the initial reaction. “That’s why they invented cortical VR’s,” he reminded. And with that, he kissed her hard on the mouth and was out the door all in a matter of seconds. Upon his departure from the property, the white beach house turned a dull red in color, signaling that the home defense grid had been activated, shielding it from possible infiltration. *** THREE Ensign Michael Cummings awoke, just as he did every day at this time. His shift would be starting soon, and like a good officer, he had accepted long ago that his fate was to work the graveyard shift aboard the Orbital Platform. Today was different, however, as he realized he was not in bed but floating in the middle of his cramped quarters. He noticed many of his belongings had joined him in the free float. And as he tried effortlessly to move about in the room he wished he could dismiss it as some sort of dream. Michael did not dream, however; it was that simple. Since he could remember, he had never experienced a nocturnal dream like everyone else he knew. To be sure, he dabbled in daydreams every so often, especially when the workload was low and time for dazing off could be allotted. When he slept, he would never lose complete consciousness of his surroundings, he was always aware of everything going on around him, but in his sleeping state, he became even more in-tuned with the workings of his own body and thus could hear his own heart beat and even feel his blood move through his veins. Thus, he would become so wrapped up in the workings of his own body that he would lose complete awareness of the world around him, akin to a very heavy sleeper. “Computer, has the gravity plating malfunctioned?” he called out, actually taking a bit of pleasure in the feeling of free-floating. The last time he had even experienced the feel of weightlessness was during his training at the Academy. It seemed so long ago… “Affirmative,” the stoic voice of the computer returned. “What is the cause?” Michael wondered aloud. “Decks twenty-seven through thirty have been breached,” the computer informed, “All systems on those decks are now inoperative.” The news that the orbital platform was missing three of its decks gave Michael pause. For the briefest of moments he entertained the idea that this was all some elaborate hoax, concocted to get a laugh out of his fellow ensigns. For the briefest of moments. As swift as the thought had come it left just as quickly, replaced by the realistic fact that the station was indeed in some sort of danger and so was he. “Computer, I need to speak with someone in operations,” Michael requested, meanwhile grabbing a pair of pants that happened to be floating by. With some degree of effort he was able to pull on the slacks, now covering his lower half. His shirt, he noticed, had collected in one corner of the room and seemed intent on not budging, he would have to settle for going topless. “Unable to make connection. Decks one through ten have been breached,” the computer chirped back. Michael’s heart sunk at the news. With the Operations office breached that meant that control of the station had been lost and no doubt life as well. He racked his brain to try and fathom what had happened, how it was possible to have awoken to such horror. While completely aware that Earth was at battle with another race, he found it unlikely that the Kryssk would have been aloud to transgress so close to Earth. “Computer, can you illuminate my quarters or are the generators out, as well?” Michael half wondered why he had even posed the question, almost certain of the reply. “Affirmative. The illumination generators are off-line.” Michael was quickly growing to resent the computer and its monotone voice. With a push off the back wall, he was able to hurtle himself towards his door. He supposed that it too was malfunctioning and was prepared to deal with it when he got there. Applying great strength, Michael was able to actually imbedded the ends of his fingers into the metal of the door, a feat any other human would find impossible to mimic. He clutched the metal in his hands, relishing in the feeling as it easily molded to his liking, creating a firm grip. While he moved with more ease than any other individual would be able to do in such conditions, he silently cursed the weightlessness, hating having to operate in such an odd and unfamiliar condition. With one smooth gesture and a stifled grunt from deep within him, the door slid open, revealing the smoky corridor, drenched in a morbid red emergency light. Easing his way through the doorway, Michael was suddenly met with all the force of gravity as he was driven down to the hard metal floor, taking the brunt of the impact on his chin. It became obvious that the gravity was out only in sections of the station, and much to his dismay, was working in this corridor. Michael eased himself up and dusted off his pants as he made his way down the dimly lit hall. From a small view port he was able to make sense of the situation. Outside, pieces of the orbital platform floated about in what appeared to be a suspended dance of destruction and decay. As well, he was able to see a number of vessels break away from the station and propel forward, distancing themselves from the no doubt doomed station. Michael’s mission was quickly laid out before him: he had to get to the docking ring before all the ships were gone or he would end up joining the station’s fate. With due haste, he located a service tube, exposed. He had deduced that the lifts were most likely not functioning, like many other things aboard the station and thus made his way down the utilitarian ladder to the docking ring. Emerging on the preferred deck after a brisk climb down the service corridor, Michael quickly made a visual sweep of the level and noticed many of the rings had been sealed, meaning those ships had already departed and now, there was nothing on the other side of those rings save for the harshness of space. “I don’t have a ship!” Michael called out into the still silence. Somehow he hoped those outside would hear his pleas and return, offering him sanctuary. “You can ride with us,” a stark female’s voice declared from behind. Michael turned to see a female Commander with straight black hair and a male Lieutenant of rather well build approaching from one of the smoking corridors. The woman seemed to regard Michael’s bare chest with a hint of curiosity for a mere second before questioning rather hastily, “What are your qualifications? What’s your field?” “I’m a stellar cartographer,” Michael informed, hoping they would be happy at his response and feel the need to allow him to tag along. “We’ve got little use for a science officer,” the woman quipped. Michael noted idly that the name on her uniform breast was Cmdr. Maggie McGillis. “Regardless, we can’t just leave you here. My ship, the Galaxy, is just over here.” She made a quick gesture towards one of the rings that happened to still be exposed. “Thank you,” Michael returned, promptly falling in step with the two officers. *** FOUR The small, one manned fighter knifed through the Earth’s outer atmosphere and was quickly enveloped by the darkness of space. Dwarfed by the immense size of the planet from which it had just launched, it spun sporadically upwards, pushing its way through the space towards the orbital platform. Reilly stared out the main view port, ignoring the readings and gauges projected onto the translucent window. The scene before him was quite disheartening. Not more than a few hundred meters away, a large Kryssk battle cruiser effectively laid waist to the orbital platform, strange blasts of orange glowing balls of plasma energy erupting from the darkened hull and making contact with the once pristine casing of the station. An immense explosion, visibly rocking the platform almost out of its orbit, followed each blast. Soon there after, all that was left was a great amount of plasma leakage and a scorched hole so devastatingly damaging, Reilly was forced to look away. The thought of the lives lost racked his conscience. It was soothing somewhat, to see the support craft once docked to the platform gradually breakaway and fall into obvious defense patterns, missiles erupting from their cannons, attempting to inflict some type of damage on the impregnable hull of the Kryssk cruiser. “Damn,” he whispered, watching the action unfold before him. He lost himself in the scene, brilliant explosions and firepower igniting the desolate darkness of space. He hated to admit that he found the proceedings somewhat awe inspiring, humbling almost. It was when the antagonistic cruiser sliced through one of the rather larger ships poised in defense, that Reilly realized he, in his small one-man fighter, could do little to rival the unbreakable Kryssk hull. The only aspect he had going for him was the small craft’s speed and maneuverability, easily dealt with by a well-placed cannon shot. The large view port sprang to life, suddenly, chirping a general civilian S.O.S, a call which quickly jutted Reilly from his trance. His hands danced over the dashboard, and within minutes, the vessel in distress had been highlighted on his screen. Upon closer examination, he was able to see large amounts of purple plasma slowly drift from the craft. One unlucky blaster bolt, and the entire area would go ablaze, taking the entire freighter and its unknown number of civilians with it. With haste, Reilly forged the small craft forward, dodging up, down, left and right, trying to avoid the attention of the attacking cruiser, a task made rather easy by his fighter’s diminutive size. The single engine blazed with ferocity, shoving the small craft nearer and nearer the desperate freighter. Every so often, Reilly’s screen would flash an update on another EarthSec defense ship lost in the battle, all the more reason to speed forward, lest he be the only one left in the battlefield with the Kryssk. Meters away from the freighter, Reilly cut his thrusters and glided effortlessly toward an undamaged docking ring. The wait for the ring to make the connection with his ship, creating a seamless seal, felt almost like an eternity. With a hiss, the main viewer parted, and immediately, the small cockpit was filled with smoke. Before the suffocating dark cloud washed out all visibility, Reilly reached below his seat and was able to produce an oxygen mask and visor, which he fastened around his face. Stepping aboard the metal plated freighter was eerie to say the least. The only sound to penetrate the darkness was the ominous support beams, creaking loudly as if to protest the stress being placed upon them. No one screamed out, no one moaned from pain…aside from the failing structure, no human voice was audible. It became clear that either every single hand aboard was dead, or perhaps the crew was not as large as he had originally believed. He continued forward, down the tight, smoke filled corridor, each step, a cautious effort. He used the bulkheads for guidance and support, keeping one hand placed squarely in front, in case a bulkhead he was not anticipating decided top leap out, likely causing quite a bruise from the impact, if not careful. Coming to a cross-section in the corridors, Reilly attempted to cry out for attention, begging for anyone within the reach of his voice to direct him towards them. All that emanated from him was a muffed voice, blocked by the cumbersome oxygen mask. He attempted the cry once more, this time without the mask, making it harder to scream, as he had to hold his breath, lest he breathe in the thick smoke and suffocate. “Here,” came a distant, muffled response. “I’m stuck!” Reilly assured the voice he was on the way and followed the distressed cries, coming up on a heap of ruble, where both the ceiling supports and bulkheads had given way, collecting on the grated floor. In no time Reilly spotted the unmistakable pink flesh of a human hand, standing out brilliantly against the dull gray and black metal from which it was trapped. He tore into the heap pile, removing the larger pieces of metal first, then carefully removing the smaller ones, vigilant not to injure the trapped civilian. Before long, the body was exposed and surprisingly revealed itself to be a girl, no older than eighteen, her auburn hair in a disheveled mess and her tight jumpsuit tattered and torn, revealing open wounds. Reilly especially did not like the pose the girl’s left arm had taken on. It seemed to have been completely turned around and then angled at a degree that seemed impossible. “Can you feel your arm?” he questioned, hefting her to her feet. “It hurts,” she moaned. She brushed a lock of hair from her singe-coated face. “Why?” “It may be broken,” he told her, noticing the odd way in which the limb dangled from her body. She seemed to take the news with little concern. “My parents,” she suddenly exclaimed. She turned back to face the heap that had just only moments ago, been her captor. “They…they were following right behind me when---” she coughed on the thick smoke billowing out from the exhaust vents overhead. With a quick glance, Reilly affirmed that there was no possible way for a couple to survive where the bulk of the metal support beams had collapsed and so, wrapped one arm over the girls shoulder and ordered her to stay close. “My parents!” she screamed once more, this time coughing so much it seemed as though she would lose a lung any moment. Reilly was quite aware that if he did not get the girl back to the fighter he would lose her to asphyxiation and all his efforts would have been for not. “We have to go,” he told the girl, “We can’t save them…but I can save you.” With that he almost had to drag her back to his craft, though he was aware that she reluctantly followed, not putting up a fight. It was not until the two were safely aboard Reilly’s fighter and the smoke vented that the girl questioned the possibility of her parents demise. “I’m sorry,” Reilly consoled, breaking the seal with the freighter and inching away from the craft, “the likelihood that your parents survived that collapse…not possible.” He slumped slightly in his chair, making his remorse evident to the girl now seated behind him. After a long moment of silence, one that Reilly figured the girl used to try and make sense of everything she let out a wail, “Ohhh…my arm really does hurt!” Reilly could sense her rocking back and forth in her chair, obviously trying to wish away the pain. “I know,” he said blasting away from the freighter, “we’ll get you to a medical facility as soon as we can---” “What…what happened?” she questioned. Obviously attempting to create a diversion from the pain. “A surprise attack….never saw it coming,” he said. Carefully he dodged the debris which now filled the space before him, ships that had once stood in defense of Earth, now existed as shambled ruins, floating stoically through space. “What happens now…” came the frightened question from behind him. Staring out at the damaged ships and the still intact Kryssk vessel, Reilly honestly had no forthcoming answer. *** FIVE “Just seal that vent and we’ll worry about it latter!” screamed Maggie over the noise of the escaping vapor. Her new ship was falling apart around her, and it was becoming quite obvious that she and Ben would not be permitted to battle the Kryssk cruiser for much longer, lest they fly the entire ship apart. She was stubborn, however, and if it meant flying the ship apart to defend the planet, than she would gladly do it. And Ben…he would have to see it her way. “Maggie,” Ben called from the tactical station just behind her, “We’ve got to pull out! Other ships are on the way and if we stay here any longer that ship will tear us apart!” “No!” she snapped immediately. The sudden dispute from her lover was a shocking blow to her mindset. If Ben did not want to fight to the death, how could she feel right leading him into the jaws of destiny without his consent? “We are one of the only defense vessels still capable of striking back…we can’t retreat!” “Damn it, Maggie! You’ve got a child to worry about now!” Maggie’s hand fell to her still flat stomach. The child…she had completely forgotten that she was carrying a defenseless life within her. It took her a moment to register that not only her life was on the line any longer…but her child’s too. Only an alarm sounding every so often cut through the silence that had befallen the cockpit. “You can’t afford to be a hero this time!” Ben pointed out. Maggie turned in her chair, now facing Ben, his face betraying that of a worried father. At that point, any question Maggie had developed towards Ben’s possible fathering ability was wiped away, in the assurance that he would most likely even outshine herself as a better parent. “Ben…” she said in measured tones, “if we don’t fight, there will be no Earth to raise our child on.” She placed her hand atop his and gave it a reaffirming squeeze. “Now…please reload the missile bay and prepare for another go.” Ben shot up from his seat, his hands in the air as if surrendering at blaster point. “Maggie, no! We’re not doing this again! Set a course for Earth and we’ll wait for the larger ships to arrive! We’ve done our part. I know you didn‘t want this child…but I do!” “Warning…incoming.” The shipboard computer hummed methodically. Without hesitation, Maggie gripped her station as the cruiser rocked violently, now the obvious target of the Kryssk vessel. She watched in horror as the tactical station exploded in a rain of sparks and enveloped Ben’s head. Within seconds, Ben’s once characteristically handsome face had been reduced to a smoldering mesh of flesh. She watched in stunned silence as he collapsed to the cockpit floor…dead. Maggie cried out at him in protest. She fell beside him and tried to locate a pulse. She could not, even to her dismay, locate his neck, for it was so charred. Again, the ship rocked, taking on another blaster strike. Maggie returned to her station and rocketed the ship forward, weaving up, down, left, right. Dodging the Kryssk onslaught. With ferocious vigor she wiped away the tears that had begun to stream down her cheeks. “EarthSec vessel, this is fighter Bravo-Delta 236. I’ve got wounded here and I’d appreciate it if you could lend a hand,” came a voice over the communications system. Managing to steer the ship and locate the craft which had issued a distress at the same time, Maggie called back, weakly, “Bravo-Delta, I’ve set an intercept course…as soon as you dock…I could use a hand in the cockpit.” “Roger that…Major Reilly Richards standing by.” Momentarily, the Kryssk vessel had obviously broken pursuit, as the small fighter craft docked with the cruiser. Within minutes the presumed pilot of the fighter entered the cockpit. Maggie studied his soot filled uniform and singe covered face, wondering how much trouble he had seen in this battle. “Whoa,” he groaned, stepping over Ben’s corpse. “Is it just you aboard?” Maggie informed him that a young science officer was aboard below decks, wiped away a stream of tears, and ordered the officer to take a seat at the auxiliary tactical station. “Charge an EMP pulse,” she requested, keeping her eyes glued to her controls. “I want to take that Kryssk ship down, once and for all.” “If you think a simple EMP pulse is going to cut it---” “Just charge it!” Maggie snapped. Reilly, now situated at the auxiliary station, complied. “Pulse charged,” he announced. “Our fire power is not enough to harm that Kryssk cruiser,” Maggie stated. “But, I think that if we fire a pulse at their weapons discharge, it should have a counter-effect--” “Giving them a dose of their own medicine,” Reilly finished. “Then let’s do this.” The cruiser arched forward, blasting towards the Kryssk vessel. With ease, the small ship took on two blasts before a third was launched. “Fire the pulse, now!” Reilly released the burst of EMP wave, watching the screen, expecting fully to see the plasma blast ricochet off the pulse and return to the Kryssk ship, reeking havoc. Instead, to their shocked surprise, the pulse and plasma blast met in an eruption of light and fiery explosion. Maggie’s hands rushed across her dash, trying to steer clear of the strange phenomenon she had created. It soon became painfully obvious that she was a commanding officer and not as well a trained pilot, as she was too slow to react, blasting straight through the stellar phenomena. The intensity of the light was so great she was forced to seal the blast shields, blocking out her view. From behind, she could hear a cry tear from the Reilly’s lips. “Full stop!” she managed to bark out. Directly on demand, the ship lurched forward, coming to a complete stop. Maggie was tossed over her dash, the young Major, once seated at the auxiliary station was now next to her, on the floor. All about, an eerie silence fell upon them. “Ugh…what happened?” The Major was able to moan, propping himself up on his elbow. “This…this wasn’t supposed to happen,” Maggie said, pulling herself back into her seat. For a moment, she sat there, catching her breath and then…the silence donned on her. The ship was no longer rocking, there were no blasters barely pelting the cruiser’s hull. Reilly regained his footing and fell beside her in the co-pilot’s chair. “Something’s wrong.” He told her. “Open the blast shield.” The two officers gasped at the sight that lay out before them. Maggie’s eyes darted about, desperately trying to confirm that which she feared the most…the Earth was no longer looming in sight, there was no battle debris and more importantly, there was no Kryssk cruiser wreaking havoc. “What the hell?” Reilly demanded. “Did we destroy everything in the system or something? “Hold on…” Maggie scanned the computer’s logs knowing the stellar blast she and the Kryssk vessel had created could not have wiped out everything in the Sol system, including a planet and then leave them unharmed.
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