Into The Breach - Opening Scene

[Jonah Schrowang]

Into the Breach - Chapter 1

Genre: Sci-Fi Space Opera

 

Lieutenant Gabriel Halfast just happened to notice a single pixel glowing on the scopes. He had been leaning over the shoulder of the radar operator, helping her to retune one of the antennae. At first he thought the pixel had gone bad and flicked his finger against the screen. 

“What is that?” he asked. The pixel hadn’t disappeared despite his insistent taps.

Radio Operator Olliver swatted Halfast’s finger away from her screen. “It can’t be a ship,” she said. “There’s no signal, no emissions-- wait--” 

She twisted some knobs to refocus the sensing equipment. One pixel became many as the instruments caught hold of something speeding through deep void. Reflective paint on the spaceship’s hull made it invisible to the naked eye, and the small vessel performed frequent and erratic maneuvers designed to avoid detection. Only the most sophisticated instruments had any chance of finding such a tiny black speck in the bottomless background radiation of the universe. The frigate Dauntless had such instruments, but even they had almost missed the spectral interloper. 

“It is a ship,” Halfast whispered, his mouth dry all of a sudden. He straightened, breathed in, and then called to the rest of the command deck, “Contact! Contact!”

Captain Van Cortland did not turn. Nor did she raise her head. Her broad back remained hunched over the map table, studying a paper dossier. For a tiny moment, Halfast thought she hadn’t heard his shout. 

“Report?” the captain said at last, her tone steady as if asking about a passing meteor shower.

“They’re not broadcasting any identification transponders, and no match for any Hegemonic vessels, military or civilian,” Olliver said. “The ship has… strange properties. Not like anything I've come across. I think it’s been rigged for radar evasion.”

“Thank you, Mister Olliver,” the captain said. She closed the dossier and stood from her metal stool, towering over the other officers that now clustered around the metal table.

“Any ship outfitted in such a manner is unlikely to be operating legitimately,” said Commander Beach. He stood next to the captain with a deep scowl on his face.

Captain Van Cortland didn’t acknowledge her first officer. She looked instead to her chief navigator. “Halfast, run visual reference.”

Halfast was already on the other side of the map table doing just that. He punched in a series of commands and a stream of spaceship images began to flash across the table. After a minute, the screen blinked green and paused on a mirror image of the shadowy ship.

“This ship matches the one reported raiding freighters along the Middle Kills,” Halfast said.

“A privateer,” Commander Beach said with disdain. He activated another section of the map table to flip through a list of piracy warnings.

“Find anything?” the captain asked.

“There’s a catch-or-kill order on the books,” Commander Beach said. His eyes grew wide and he locked eyes with Van Cortland. “Signed by the Consular Knight himself. The order seems to be heavily weighted towards kill.”

“Halfast, get their heading and plot an interception course,” Captain Van Cortland said.

Halfast dashed over to his navigator’s console and spent a hurried minute calculating the privateer’s position. He had to push nervous excitement from his mind and instead study the complicated formulas on the screen in front of him, even though he could feel the eyes of the entire command deck drilling into the back of his head. He tightened his shoulders and concentrated on translating the formulas into a series of vectors. Finally, he scratched a solution onto a slip of paper and turned with a report for the captain.

“They’re headed out into the far reaches, ma’am. Likely the East Downs and then on to the Hanse,” Halfast said. He realized his voice was pitching higher with alarm, and he swallowed to try and reset his vocal chords.

“Turn us about and put us on fast pursuit,” Captain Van Cortland said. She didn’t seem to notice Halfast’s voice cracking. The captain’s demeanor remained casual. She focused her gaze ahead as her warship jumped forward. 

The bright field of stars outside whipped by as the frigate moved to bring the invisible ship to bear. A low rumble began in the belly of the Dauntless as her engines fired, traveling up through the decks and matching the anxious rumble in Halfast’s own stomach. He leaned his shoulder on the support beam next to his chair, steadying himself as the ship tilted through its maneuver. 

"There's another order connected to this privateer," Commander Beach told Captain Van Cortland. He pointed to the relevant document now highlighted on the map table. "We're to report any contact directly to the Governor of Aragon."

Van Cortland's face darkened. "When did that order come in?"

"Last week, when we connected to the link buoy at Falcras," Beach said.

"So we'll have an audience with the Marquis Cornet," Van Cortland said. "Whether we board them or blow them out of the stars."

"Immediately following contact, we must report to Governor Cornet on Henrietta." Beach read. "In person."

"I don't need you to read orders to me, Beach," Captain Van Cortland said, her voice booming loud enough to fill the command deck. She stared at her first officer, then spat an order at him. “Get to the gunnery deck. Prepare for the pursuit barrage."

The first officer responded with a tight nod. He seemed to understand that he'd overstepped a boundary. He disappeared down the ladderway without another word.

Van Cortland turned her attention to the rest of the crew. "Farrell, call down to Barth and tell her we want overburn on the engines. And Master Sergeant Hillchurch? Get your dragoons ready.”

Halfast felt the command deck settle into a familiar loud lull of orderly chaos as the crew worked to intercept the privateer. He relocated from his navigator’s console back to the map table so that he could monitor the movement of the privateer on the large glowing surface. Across from him, Captain Van Cortland carried a foul air following her confrontation with Beach. She kept her dark gaze on the table display, only glancing up intermittently to look out the viewport of stars stretching across the front of the deck. Navigators, radio operators, and gunnery officers surrounded them, each hunched over their station, working feverishly to intercept the enemy spaceship.

A flash of red text appeared on the screen at Halfast’s station. He locked eyes with Lieutenant Farrell on the other side of the map table. Farrell had sent the text; now he shrugged. He was unwilling to put his own skin on the line if Van Cortland reacted poorly to bad news. Halfast had no one else to pawn the bad news off to, so he turned to the captain. 

“Engineer Barth warns overburn not advised for more than one cycle,” Halfast said. He performed another set of calculations in his head. “We’re still at least four cycles from firing range.”

Van Cortland tapped her thick ring finger loudly against the edge of the map table, annoyed. She shook her head. “We don’t slow down until we catch this bastard.”

“Aye sir,” Lieutenant Farrell said, sharing another glance with Halfast before calling back down to Barth in the engine room.

Radio Operator Olliver by now had generated a more detailed schematic of their opponent. It was a monohull, but looked as if a dozen triangular cones had been overlaid in a concentric circle. The fat ends of the cones met at the back of the ship, forming the engines from which blasted a blazing hot white trail. The points created a daunting sharp array at the fore.

“It’s a fast ship,” Halfast told the captain as they looked at the image of the privateer appearing on the table. “Far smaller than us, with little to no armor. Eight guns, four on each side. No match-- if we can catch up.”

“We’ll see how they like thirty guns trained on them,” the captain said, raising her deep voice for the entire deck to hear. “I want this marauder taken intact. We’ll tow it to Henrietta!”

“Engineering reports the reactor is now running a full third over capacity,” Lieutenant Farrell said. “We’re far and away past any safety limits.” 

The low rumble of the engines now became a heavy vibration and every surface shuddered. Halfast’s stylus rattled from its perch on the map table, rolling across the bright digital display before falling to the floor and disappearing into a far corner. The hull around them began to echo with cracks and pops as the Dauntless stressed to handle the massive power burst exploding from the ship’s engines.

“Firing range in thirty seconds,” the radio operator called out. 

“Thank you, Mister Olliver,” Van Cortland said, then switched on the intercom in front of her. “Commander Beach, all cannons forward and on target.”

“Ten seconds,” Halfast said, eyeing the ship’s clock as he counted down to one. The privateer, still invisible to the naked eye, nonetheless drew the attention of everyone on the Dauntless’s command deck. Their gazes focused forward in its general direction, preparing for the breathless, terrible moment of engagement.

Halfast barely made it halfway through the countdown when Van Cortland shouted, “Fire!”

Bursts of bright hot light erupted from the Dauntless’s cannons, blinding Halfast. When the streams of pure energy faded, he could see that most failed to find their target. However, a handful of diminished shots still connected with the privateer, and stripes of blazing molten hull now made the enemy vessel visible not just on the map display but outside the forward viewport.

“Ready next volley,” Van Cortland said, stroking her wide jutting chin. She watched as the schematic of the privateer on the map table updated with red and yellow damage marks. “Target engines only. Halfast, reduce speed so we don’t overshoot them.”

“Matching target speed,” Halfast confirmed as a burst of retaliatory fire emanated from the privateer’s starboard guns. The Dauntless jerked in response, and his station flickered with warnings and readouts. “No major damage report from their return fire.”

“Next volley ready,” Commander Beach reported. His voice sounded tiny and far away on the intercom.

“Fire, man, fire!” Van Cortland shouted. 

The deck bucked back and then forward as the Dauntless spewed forth another ribbon of cannon fire, again filling the viewport with blinding light for a long second. When the light faded, Halfast could see flares of debris cleaving away from the privateer as the shots hit. The enemy ship listed now, leaning sickly away from the galactic plane, its thrusters winking on and off as they struggled to pull power from a failing reactor.

“They’re disabled!” Halfast called as he read printouts from over Olliver’s shoulder.

“Bring us up next to them, and prepare to board,” Van Cortland said. She picked up the ship's intercom and roared into it, her deep voice echoing across the ship. “Prepare to board! Prepare to board! Lieutenant Farrell, gather all midshipmen and form up with the dragoons. Commander Beach, you have the Dauntless!” 

The captain dropped the intercom and turned to Halfast. “Lieutenant, arm yourself and follow me.”