EPISODE 8
Escape Attempt
Drin frowned at the shuttle bay doors. He searched his heart. The mental images of killing Sekarans filled his mind again. They’d had no chance against him. There was no way such disproportionate force could be right. He bit his lip and entered the shuttle bay.
The bay was huge. He’d been in here several times before, marching into one of the many troop transport dropships deployed on missions to Sekaran worlds. The bay also held more than two dozen vipers, fighters the Templars used for space combat. It was easier to launch one of those small ships. A viper would also be a little harder to strike than a dropship, with such a small surface area to hit. If he were going to depart on his own, that’s what he’d have to fly.
His piloting skills were adequate, but he’d never attempted to take off with the Justicar in FTL. He would have to rely on God to keep him safe.
“Templar?” asked a voice from further down the shuttle bay. A maintenance tech in grease-stained coveralls poked his head out from behind one of the dropships. “There’s no drop scheduled. What are you doing here?”
Drin had to think of an excuse for being here. Not that the standard ship crew questioned the Templars. Although he held no official rank above the ship’s crew, the maintenance staff treated Drin and the others as if they deserved reverence. “I require a viper,” Drin said cautiously. Lying wouldn’t be a good start to this call if it were something he needed to do for faith. He was glad not to have to.
“We’re in hyperspace still. I wouldn’t recommend launching—”
“It’s important,” Drin said.
Disbelief fell upon the tech’s face. He glanced back to the fighters behind him. “We didn’t really use fighters in the Nemayr assault. All of them are fully fueled and ready to go.”
“Good. Then you can direct me to one,” Drin said, trying to sound adamant. Was this even the right choice? In a lot of ways, it was stupid. This all came too fast. But then, life hit the great prophets just as fast when they were summoned by the Lord. He recalled the story of the prophet Affed. God woke the man in the middle of the night with an earthquake and made him pack up and leave his land. Though Drin had a bad dream about battlemages, he was faced with very similar signs and portents.
“I should probably contact the commander,” the tech said.
“The commander is sleeping. Please. I have a message to deliver.” A message of what? And to whom? That was the question. He needed some time to think was more of the truth. He silently prayed forgiveness for his small lie.
The tech considered another moment and then nodded to himself. “Okay, this way. You can take XG-3,” he said.
At the rate fighters were destroyed in combat, most weren’t given names, but a number to signify them, identified by their mothership if in a full fleet battle. The viper in question would be fully identified as the Justicar XG-3. Drin grunted his agreement to the young man and motioned for him to lead.
The tech led him to a nearby viper and brought Drin a ladder to assist him into the cockpit. He’d half-worried he would have to knock the tech out to be able to depart safely. It made him feel better not to have to resort to violence.
Drin secured himself inside the cockpit. The controls rested in front of him—a small touchscreen and two joysticks in an otherwise automated set up. Each joystick had buttons for laser fire and, together, they allowed movement in three dimensions.
The cockpit lid shut, hissing as it pressurized. Drin willed his armor suit to form a helmet, adding another layer of pressurization in case something went wrong. Most pilots used special flight suits, but Drin’s armor could take care of a number of matters ordinary people required special equipment for. He touched the screen, opening a comm link back to the tech. “Ready to launch.”
The tech jogged out of the area and into the launch control room. “Bay doors opening. Maintenance forcefield engaged. Bay is depressurizing. Engaging the sling for a launch in five, four, three, two…”
The XG-3 shot into space, a mass of colors in front of him. The whole universe looked like it was bursting apart at the seams. His heart thudded against his chest. In hyperspace, without clear trajectories, one could find oneself on the wrong side of an asteroid or space debris. The ship’s shielding managed to deflect most foreign objects, but moving at these velocities with a random launch out the side of a bay didn’t account for everything.
Hyperspace folded into the normal black of open vacuum. Drin moved at normal speeds, about a quarter of light speed. Vipers could jump to hyperspace in a pinch, but only for short jaunts at a time, and only two or three times before having to return to refuel. A lack of fuel was another gamble Drin hadn’t considered in this half-cocked plan. Perhaps he should have taken more time to think about this after all. Regret for his decision set on his heart. The silence of space provided him no comfort.
In a fighter, he wouldn’t have much of a way to obscure his trail. If the Justicar wanted to find him, it would. At the very least, he would have to land somewhere to disable the tracker installed at the rear of every Elorian craft.
“Computer, scan the system. Where are we? Are there any habitable planets?”
The display screen lit with a special map and information. They were in the Konsin system. Five planets, the second of which was in the habitable zone. It had a large amount of desert and wasn’t considered one of the most pleasant worlds to reside on, but the areas in the extreme northern and southern bands had substantive vegetation. They were considered some of the best agricultural growing zones of the galaxy. The exports listed on the screen didn’t concern Drin. He could hardly care, as long as he had somewhere he could land and stay away from his Elorian masters.
He was on the outskirts of the system now. A couple of micro-jumps could get him there within hours.
