Rogue Stars by C Gockel et al

Author:C Gockel et al. [al., C Gockel et]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B07BMBSZ6G
Publisher: C. Gockel
Published: 2018-03-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nine: #1001

I’d heard it all from the other side of the bridge door. Fran had caught me listening in, but instead of revealing my presence to her captain, she’d taken up a position across the catwalk to listen alongside me. Her eyes never left mine though—challenging, wary, and not a single trace of fear. Where Captain Shepperd’s dataprint overflowed with the usual life junk, sprinkled with a generous helping of criminal activity, Francisca Olga Franco didn’t have half as many entries in her twenty-six years. She was either incredibly intelligent and knew exactly how to keep her data hidden, or she was dull. Given how Captain Shepperd deferred to her judgment, I assumed the former was true.

Fran pressed a finger to her lips, raked her gaze from my head to my feet, and slipped through the door, onto the bridge.

She could have betrayed my presence, but she hadn’t. I only had a few moments to consider what that meant before a multitude of alarms sounded and the ship’s engines changed pitch, grumbling louder and harder as though she’d gained power. The commander’s voice held a note of panic, but Fran’s and Shepperd’s were smooth and controlled.

I slipped in through the door and settled into the chair behind Fran’s.

“Bren, may I introduce you to our recent acquisition.” Captain Shepperd fixed his gaze over his shoulder at me. “Number One Thousand And One.”

His eyes accused me. Did he think I had something to do with the warbird?

“She’s firing!” Fran announced. Her hands moved in a flurry over the flight controls and the holo-screen bloomed red.

“Brace!” Captain Shepperd barked. His brother dropped into the opposite flight chair a moment before the world shifted sideways and Starscream lived up to her name; she screamed, or rather the metal and shields did, as if she were coming apart at the seams.

“Son of a bitch!” Shepperd snarled. “Shields holding, but I’m not hanging around with my thumb up my ass while they keep taking potshots at me. Dropping chasers. On three. Two. One.” On-screen, sparkling red dots blasted outward. “Punch it.”

Fran engaged something that kicked me back into the chair and pinned me there for three breathless seconds. Then we were jerked forward, my insides pushing against my ribs.

“They’re following,” Fran announced.

“Of course they are.”

Beside me, Commander Shepperd was digging his blunt fingernails into the torn leather of his flight chair. His face matched the white of his uniform. He stared wide-eyed at the screen.

A shudder rocked the ship, throwing me against my harness.

“You can’t w-win this,” the commander stammered. “If she engages hard-tipped missiles, there won’t be anything left large enough to send home.”

Fran and the captain ignored him. They worked in unison, hands darting over the flight controls almost too fast to track. They traded orders and voiced actions. Fran worked the stick, steering the ship. I couldn’t feel Starscream’s whiplash-like darting, but on the screen, the humble tug out-maneuvered the warbird at every turn. The captain and his second tore through strafing fire and double-bluffed the fleet raptor.

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