Century XLII (Volume One): Vipers and Krakens

By Joseph Icha

September 4141.

One hundred years since First Contact. One hundred years of the Human-Martian Alliance. One hundred years of prosperity. No longer.

Three years ago, war broke out, and with it, realisations have hit hard. The United Earth armed forces are outclassed and outgunned by their Martian aggressors. And the latest rumours suggest that Mars' Red Fleet have a weapon powerful enough to take out whole convoys, eclipse space stations and engulf stars.

A young Navy Captain, an undercover agent and a dangerous superweapon known only as Code Black.

This should be fun.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joseph Icha
• Release date: Feb 2, 2021

Joseph Icha

Whenever I tell people that I'm a writer, they straightaway imagine me at my desk in London with a big old neck brace and quill pen like some kind of 21st century Shakespeare.Really, writing is 90% good ideas, and 10% trying to get those good ideas to STILL look good once you've written them down. I've been writing since I was a kid. It's as much a part of me as anything is. As it does for a lot of people, it started out as a love for reading. My brother and I didn't always have what other children our age had, but what we did have made me the person I am today.Other kids had TV's in their bedroom, I had a reading light that you could crank up so it never ran out of battery. Other kids had a favourite PlayStation game, I had a favourite Microsoft Word font. Garamond, by the way.Other kids had the latest iPhones, but I had books - and lots of them. For a seven-year-old boy, fiction was a way of escaping my own mundane reality, and it wasn't until I began to internally analyze and criticize the books I read that I realized that I had a writer (and a dash of editor) somewhere within me.

Book preview

Joseph Icha

Century XLII

Vipers and Krakens

Copyright © 2021 by Joseph Icha

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Joseph Icha asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

Joseph Icha has no responsibility for the persistence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party Internet Websites referred to in this publication and does not guarantee that any content on such Websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.

Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks. All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names, service marks, trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners. The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book. None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book.

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Cover art by Ryan Schwarz

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Owusu

Moreira

Scanlan

Woosey

Creed-Hardy

I stole all your names. I regret nothing.

The purpose of war is not to die for your country. It’s to make the other bastard die for his.

- George S. Patton

Contents

I. SARACEN

1. Pushing Up Space Daisies

2. No Sound In Space

3. Hyping Up The Joes

4. Diems To Carpe

5. Swab The Decks

II. TRANQUILITY

6. The Café On The Square

7. Oilers Won’t Kill Themselves

8. Bees Have Six Knees

9. The Butcher Joins The Party

10. No Surrender, No Ceasefire

11. They’re Humans, Not Apes

12. Your Goose Is Cooked

III. HIGHRISE

13. Time Of Death

14. None For Diplomacy

15. Second Only To The President

16. A Very Short Conversation

17. Blow All The Whistles

18. Let The Pretty Girl Chase You

19. Watch The Magic

20. Sweat On Its Forehead

21. Boil My Own Face

IV. SIERRA

22. Being A Little S***

23. Run For Your Money

24. Hooah

25. Heads To Call Ours

V. SOLSTICE

26. Plans For World Domination

27. Brighten His Day

28. Smell Colours

29. Nothing Good Ever Came Out Of A Box

30. Hello, Gorgeous

31. Speak Of The Goddamn Devil

32. We Are Royally F*****

33. Time To Get Sirius

34. Ready To Rumble

35. Do My Damndest

VI. REPRISAL

36. Eat Each Other

37. The Rest Of Your Lives

38. Teach An Old Dog New Tricks

39. Deep Space Krakens

40. Te Amo

41. One Hundred Percent Waffle

42. That’s What French Means

VII. JOHANNESBURG

43. On The Warpath

44. Mano A Mano

45. Pedantic Old F***face

46. This Is It

47. Going Hunting

48. Don’t Be A P****

49. A War To Win

50. No Wiggle Room

51. No Tomorrow

52. The Goddamn Truth

Epilogue

A Glossary of UE Navy Ranks

Militaryspeak

Him, a poem by U. Seymour Clearly

FAQ

About the Author

I

Saracen

Some succeed because they are destined to. Most succeed because they are determined to.

1

Pushing Up Space Daisies

September 12, 4141

Mission Saracen

Saffron Dyvora was having a pretty good day before she was almost incinerated.

The command deck of HMS Rasputin was in chaos. Captain Mustafa was dead, and every single alert was sounding off across the ship. Energy levels critical, danger close, hull breach.

Saracen was the most action Saffron had seen in months, and when it’d been assigned, she’d had no idea what she was sailing her ship into. A pickup of a classified cargo from a holding station in Mexes IV and back. It should have been run-of-the-mill, but it was proving to be anything but.

Rasputin’s Flash Engine, the system that allowed for FTL travel, needed to cool, and so they’d broken course and stopped in the Jocasta Nebula, a small interstellar cloud surrounding Jocasta Phi, a blue neutron star.

And it all went to shit from there.

Moments later, the ship was surrounded on all sides by pirate frigates and Rasputin was being raked with cannonfire from stem-to-stern. They were outnumbered, outgunned and caught by surprise: all the merits of a sitting duck.

Another meson artillery shell struck the ship’s starboard hull and Rasputin rocked with the blow. Saffron was darting back and forth across the deck, trying to keep her finger on every beating pulse at once. This was a Captain’s job, but Rasputin’s Officer Commanding, Captain Youssef Mustafa, had been in his office when the axe had come down.

The first shot to Rasputin’s port quarter had crippled a section of the ship’s Sentinel Shielding and caved in the hull right on top of him. The damaged area of the ship had been sealed off, but there was no hope for Mustafa. It wasn’t much consolation to any of the crew, but without a spacesuit, he’d freeze to death long before he suffocated.

Saffron had been crewing Rasputin for nearly a year, and Mustafa’s death hit her like a ton of bricks. The man was upbeat, and resilient, one of the strongest people that she’d ever met. A soldier’s death was no less than he deserved, but Saffron didn’t have the luxury of mourning him.

All she wanted to do was break down, to let her emotions out, but she didn’t have that luxury. And Mustafa would have chided her for it. She had a job to do. She had to Stay Frosty.

Saffron was the Warship Executive Officer, the WEXO, and with no OC, she was the last best chance that the ship and her crew had to stay alive.

And their situation wasn’t good. Rasputin had top-of-the-line Sentinel Shielding, designed to absorb and suppress artillery, but it could only take so many hits before it overloaded and failed. And Rasputin had already taken a battering from the enemy onslaught.

Beneath the shields was Rasputin‘s hull, reinforced against all manner of things, from collisions with other craft to solar storms, but without shielding, the hull would wilt under direct artillery. Not for the first time, Saffron was confronting the realization that for all their weapons and defences, they were doing nothing other than riding on a tin can hurtling through Space.

And so she’d done the only thing she could do: triggered their distress beacon. Jocasta was far outside of Earth’s effective striking distance, and the official mandate from Admiral Manning regarding ships that broke away from their fleets or convoys and were set upon was to abandon them.

But Rasputin was a special case.

Manning’s deputy, Vice Admiral Roman Veselinović, had personally given Rasputin’s crew a special assignment that involved a secret cargo. Cargo that Veselinović was adamant could not be allowed to fall into enemy hands under any circumstances.

He would send reinforcements, it was just a matter of holding out until then. Sounded simple enough on paper, but it was proving to be trickier than Saffron had expected. A ship of this size had five operational tiers, each with an officer to oversee, and it didn’t help that half of them were at each other’s throats.

Saffron knew who to blame, though. There was no smoke without fire, and by the same token, no commotion without Frank Harcourt.

Frank was an exemplary junior officer on paper. A Midshipman, which was the probationary officer rank, but was already in charge of his own tier. He was the CQ, the Company Quartermaster, and the Head of Engineering. He was also the closest thing Rasputin had to a genius aboard.

Frank was fluent in several fields of Applied Science, quantum mechanics and engineering. What his records didn’t show was that Frank never stopped talking, wouldn’t know serious if it kicked him in the head and pretty much believed that humility was a myth. And earning the Admiral’s commission at twenty years of age hadn’t exactly made him popular with his older peers.

Frank sat perched on the edge of his seat on deck, his eyes glued to a screen that displayed a dizzying array of shifting graphs and technical readouts.

The ship jolted once again as it was struck by cannonfire.

Saff! Frank barked at his commanding officer. Tell me you felt that!

You know I did! Saffron barked back. Now enough with the problems, find me some solutions!

Tiny bit of an ask! Frank exclaimed. "Those bad boys get any closer, and they’ll officially be in our arses!"

Somebody scoffed at this. Saffron didn’t need to look to recognize the snort of derision.

Lieutenant Logan Danvers. The supervising officer for the four artillery sectors. Each sector was run by a Master Gunner, and Logan kept to the bridge, operating the bow torpedo launchers himself. He had his hands full blasting asteroids and Space flotsam out of the ship’s path, but, as usual, he made time to criticize Frank.

"As opposed to unofficially being in our arses!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth.

Saffron hoped that Frank was too busy to retort. Indeed, Rasputin was expending power faster than the core could generate it, and Frank was already occupied re-routing precious energy around the ship. His hands flashed over his screen as he opened and closed power circuits so quickly that he appeared to be touch-typing.

It was no secret that Logan and Frank weren’t the best of friends, but right at that moment, their spitting contest was the last thing that Saffron needed. You two better can it before I knock your heads together!

The ship shook again, and Saffron almost lost her balance. Hartley! she boomed. You heard Frank, we take another few hits like that and our goose is going to be cooked!

Hartley Quasar supervised the piloting and navigating crew and operated as the ship’s primary pilot. Saffron had to hand it to him; all the auto-piloting and cruise control had been disabled to save power, and now Hartley was taking the ship on a manual course through Space, trying to put as much distance between them and their assailants as possible.

Not easy to do, even without dodging asteroids. Piloting a cruiser was no simple task in and of itself, a testament that any pilot worth his or her salt would be happy to back up. A cruiser was not a fighter or a shuttle. It didn’t have a centre-stick, or levers; United Earth battle cruisers were outfitted with the ultimate in top-spec bespoke mechanics.

Hartley stood at the forefront of the bridge before the colossal viewscreen, his arms outstretched akimbo. He wore a specialized headset with neural nodes to transmit information to and from the frontal lobe. Piloting a ship with thought power. It was a testament of human brainpower, and many scientists hoped it was a stepping stone to harnessing psychic abilities.

But a ship couldn’t operate on thoughts alone. The headset was wirelessly connected to an exoskeleton that Hartley wore. This was a maze of metal bands that ran down his arms and criss-crossed over his chest. The bands were equipped with sensors that tracked his motor movements and used the information to move the ship.

Hartley had trained for a year to learn and memorize the countless array of physical movements that the ship translated as lateral and longitudinal commands. His eyes were focused on the viewscreen, and they were doing their best not to break his focus as he opened and closed his fists, pushed and pulled his palms and scissored his arms to pitch, yaw and roll the ship.

On Hartley’s immediate right was his co-pilot, Sergeant Maxwell who was using his computer terminal to regulate their speed, and either side of them were the two navigators.

Just then, Rasputin was moving very fast, barreling through the asteroid belt at speeds well over VT. 1/.3, and their assailants were on their heels. The asteroid belt was running interference with enemy targeting systems fortunately, but Saffron knew that they wouldn’t last long yanking on that thread.

Hartley! she shouted again. Did you hear what I said?

Yes, Commander, I heard you! Hartley shouted back over his shoulder. His arms were stretched akimbo, hands flat, palms facing down. He gently swayed with his shoulders, pitching and yawing the ship through the belt.

More speed! Saffron demanded.

We go any faster than this, I guarantee you we’ll have a collision! Hartley’s co-pilot, Sergeant Maxwell said.

He’s right! Hartley confirmed. We don’t need to go any faster, what we need is to fire back!

So fire back! Saffron said. Logan, make it happen!

I told you, there’s too much interference! Logan replied. The rear turrets work by sensory tracking, and that won’t work in this asteroid belt!

So switch those sensors off! Saffron suggested. Eyeball it.

We’d waste too many shots!

And I don’t know about you, Frank put in. But I know for a fact that we don’t have power to waste!

Saffron turned on him. "Make some power if you have to! I know there’s a way."

There always is, Frank agreed. But short of bypassing the ship’s safety protocols, not one that helps us now!

I don’t care what you have to do! Saffron shook her head. Just get it done!

Fine, give me five minutes! Frank confirmed. And Logan, if I accidentally kill us all, try not to take it so personally.

Logan frowned. What?

Well, let’s not pretend we don’t all know you’re going downstairs when you kick the bucket.

Really?! Saffron rounded on her junior officer. Now?!

True to his word, mere minutes later, Frank’s face lit up in a smile. Open sesame! he crowed. I have manual control of the rear cannons. Transferring it to you now, Danvers.

Concentrate fire on our nearest hostile! Saffron ordered.

There was a moment of dead silence. The chassis of the warship thrummed with power and yielded a tattoo of suppressed thuds and bangs as the rear-mounted trebuchets fired a violent barrage of meson shells. The closest enemy ship, hot on Rasputin’s tail, hadn’t been expecting the sudden offensive, and had no chance to dodge in time.

Target hit! Logan crowed.

Saffron’s heart leapt. Perhaps they could do this after all. Logan, meanwhile, was eager to regain face after being again outperformed by his junior officer. Cycling to torpedoes! he announced.

A second later, the rear torpedo launcher belched out six glowing spheres, burning hot and bright like mini-suns. The torpedoes slammed into the damaged pirate frigate one after the other, in a domino effect. The last punched through the shield, superheated the unprotected hull and seared right through it, igniting the power core. The frigate exploded, sending shrapnel and pulverized asteroids pelting in all directions.

Saffron couldn’t resist grinning, but the rest of her team weren’t all in such high spirits. Hartley, for one, had a stressed look on his face. Where the heck is the fleet?! he exclaimed.

They’ll be here! Saffron said firmly. Just keep your eyes up and stay sharp. The last thing we need is to take extra damage. And while we’re on that, Frank, I need you to reroute every bit of power that we’re not using to the Sentinels.

There is no excess power, Frank said.

There’s always excess power, Frank, Saffron replied. Just turn something off.

Wait! Frank exclaimed suddenly. I see something on my screen!

Another ship? Saffron asked hopefully, but Frank shook his head.

No, he said. It’s energy readings. Looks kind of like electromagnetic energy-,

Frank was cut off suddenly as Rasputin rocked with another horrible jolt. Saffron immediately knew that this one felt different. It felt as though a large section of the ship had just been torn away. What in the world was that? she exclaimed.

Frank was back to studying his screens and it was a few moments before he replied. That was Negative Energy, Frank explained. An electromagnetic pulse stimulated with negatively-charged ions. What I don’t know is how they’re harnessing it!

Saffron winced. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that ship is equipped with-

An Ion Pulsar! Logan finished. He was the Artillery Supervisor, he lived and breathed weapons.

A what now? Frank asked, bewildered.

It’s a weapon, Logan said. And a dangerous one!

Logan’s right, Saffron nodded. Frank looked at his console in bewilderment. We’re losing more power, and we’re losing it quickly. I don’t understand how that’s happening, and I really dislike not understanding!

Let me put this in Layman’s Terms for you, Logan said with a noticeable air of superiority. That weapon severs the energy tethers that couple the power core to the ship. Without power, they won’t have to shoot at us! No power, no life support, no oxygen.

How does it do that? Frank was still nonplussed.

Big magnet go boom, Saffron simplified, and Frank scowled.

"We’re losing power that we don’t even have, Frank said grimly. And we only have three more energy tethers. If they sever those, we’re going to be Pushing Up Space Daisies!"

Okay, so, Saffron took a deep breath. Plan. They have a weapon that can knock out our power source. I say we knock theirs out first.

No dice, Logan said, without even looking away from his screen. I’ve never seen an Ion Pulsar in action before, but I’ve seen blueprints and schematics. It powers itself. It takes in ion molecules from the solar wind.

Frank frowned. It would have to take in a lot to build up enough power, though, no?

Logan nodded. Affirmative. It takes a while, but it’s extremely energy-efficient.

I’m glad you’re impressed, Frank snorted. How about we blow it up instead of complimenting it?

I like that plan, Saffron snapped her fingers. Takes a while, huh, Logan? How long’s a while?

Logan cocked his head from side to side in a very wishy-washy manner. Can I interest you in five Earth minutes?

The ship rocked violently again, and several mariners slid across the deck. The proximity sensors went berserk as the two remaining martian attack frigates swerved up and aimed fired four shells onto the hull from above.

Saffron had to admit, she was amazed at how well Hartley was handling the ship. Even with the huge view-screen, she could barely see where they were going. And the helm’s viewscreen boasted an excellent view of the belt. A huge screen, about twenty feet by twenty-five that took up almost one entire wall. It was designed to mimic glass, but it was actually a network of microscopic cameras that’d been woven into the hull, displaying real-time images onto the bridge.

Twenty feet of glass on a spaceship? Bad idea, that was just an accident waiting to happen. Even as Saffron stood stock-still, eyes glued to the screen, it was just a blur as the ship pelted through the asteroid belt, barely missing collisions with asteroids that were even bigger than they were.

Commander! the secondary navigator bellowed. I see solar disturbance on my screen!

Is it what I think it is? Saffron yelled back.

If you think that they’re re-charging their weapon, Logan nodded. Then yes, I think so. We need to act, and we need to do it now, or we’re going to lose more power!

What’s the range on it? Frank asked.

Long enough to get us, Logan simplified.

Frank hmmed softly to himself. That gives me an idea-

He never got the chance to finish his sentence. The enemy weapon discharged again and slammed into Rasputin’s aft hull with enough force to jolt the ship from the crow’s nest to the bilge. Just as before, the impact was different. It seemed to resonate on every single level of the ship. Power cells ruptured and exploded several floors below deck as a second master coupling was severed from the power core. Machinery erupted spectacularly in showers of sparks, mariners were thrown across the deck.

Saffron lost her balance, tumbled head over heels and landed flat on her face. Her nose snapped like a wishbone on impact. It stung. Badly. Her ears were popping, her vision had suddenly gone blurry. Saffron rolled onto her back and her hands flew to her face to cradle her injuries.

Officer down! Logan boomed. Medics on deck!

No! Saffron shouted, struggling to her feet. Belay that order! Fire at will, and engage all targets!

For a moment, nothing happened, and Saffron wondered whether anyone had actually heard her. I said fire at will! she repeated. Engage all targets! Lieutenant Danvers, respond!

We’ve got a problem, WEXO! Logan was shouting. My torpedo launchers are unresponsive!

What?! Saffron exclaimed. Tell me you’re joking!

Logan was virtually hitting his screen at this point, but the torpedoes didn’t fire. Stoppage, stoppage! Logan screamed. I’m shooting blanks!

Frank, diagnostic! Saffron barked. Now!

Already doing it! Frank had abandoned his aim of managing power for the ship and was now running a full diagnostic. He cut the scanning process short once he locked onto the problem. I think that last impact knocked the firing mechanisms out of alignment! he reported.

Saffron shook her head, ears still buzzing and popping. Deploy the nanomites to repair it.

There’s nothing to repair! Frank explained, his eyes glued to his screen. I’m getting diagnostics in now. It’s not broken, it’s bent. Besides, we burnt through nanomite power ages ago.

Bent firing mechanism, Saffron murmured. Could someone knock it back into alignment?

Very possible, if they didn’t die first, Frank nodded. Then his eyes widened. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?

I am, Saffron nodded. I’m gonna Spacewalk the hull and knock it back into alignment.

Frank made a noise of exclamation at this. No, boss, you gotta let me do it. We can’t risk you.

"No, we can’t risk you, Saffron countered. You’re not certified for Spacewalks, you don’t even have a damn suit aboard."

Then I’ll use yours, Frank said defiantly.

You know better than I do that you can’t, Saffron shook her head. It’s coded to me.

Boss, I’m the only one here who knows how to fix the damn thing, Frank pointed out.

Exactly, Saffron nodded. That’s why you’re going to walk me through it.

On paper, Saffron was certified for exo-operations. But she knew that certified was a strong word. She’d done the training, not that she remembered a lot of it. And in any case, poncing about in a spacesuit in a cushy ZG environment was a far cry from Spacewalking a hull in the middle of a firefight. But what choice was there?

Frank, let’s go, Saffron said firmly. "You’re going to suit me up. I’ll walk you through that. And Logan?"

Ma’am?

You have Control.

Logan gulped so loudly that Saffron heard it from several feet away. He was nervous, and for good reason. Being left in command of a ship was no small thing, and especially not in the middle of a red alert.

I have Control, ma’am, he confirmed.

Saffron nodded. Keep us alive. And failing that, I’ll settle for not dead.

2

No Sound In Space

Lord President David Graves was the United Earth’s Head of State.

And just one of his few alliances had provided the UE navy with their galactic-class armada. Just upward of two hundred battlecruisers, fashioned with the armour plating and weaponry of a Gustavii warboat.

The Gustavii’s ability to build ships was unparalleled, but they weren’t much for fighting. Aside from the considerable commissioning fee, they required military support. Several batallions of UE Paladins had already been stationed on Gustav, at the beck and call of the Gustavii High Council. A small price to pay, Graves considered, for a chance at naval superiority.

The design of the cruisers was synonymous across the navy. Iconic, although HMS Rasputin was one of the smaller models. It was just shy of two thousand feet in length, with twelve decks. Twenty meson trebuchets lined each hull, along with two fighter launch bays with a capacity of twelve each. The cruiser’s midsection was graced by a Velocity Ring, around seven hundred feet in diameter, that was locked in orbit around the cruiser by use of electromagnetic energy. The ring worked in tandem with the Flash Engine and spun at high speed to build up the energy needed for propulsion into Accelerated Space.

A revolving energy pylon was mounted on the aft hull, between the two kinetic expulsion ports. The pylon pulled charged molecules from the solar wind to feed the ship’s heart, the power core. And the power core itself was a giant particle accelerator that collided atoms taken in by the pylon together to create an endless supply of energy.

Energy that fed the Flash Engine, life support, armaments, communications; anything that used power. The ship’s hull was made of a triboron alloy that was reinforced to withstand impacts from meteors and collisions at well over the speed of light.

Engineering was easily the largest section of these cruisers, though. Rasputin’s engineering section took up five whole decks. Deck eleven was just one of these levels, and was mostly used for storage. Midshipman Frank Harcourt, as the CQ, was the only officer who frequented deck eleven, and he tended to get touchy when people messed with his things.

Frank’s workshop on deck eleven was a spacious room, about thirty feet wide, that was crammed with what looked like every bit of technology and equipment that he’d been able to get his greasy hands on. A large, daxoglass cube sat in the middle of the room, a scanning chamber.

Saffron stood in the middle of the chamber, arms raised in a letter T as Frank prepped her spacesuit. Although prepped was a strong word. It was more like Saffron was prepping her own suit, and Frank was being walked through it. After all, she couldn’t do it by herself, and Frank, good as he was, was barely more than a novice when it came to Spacewalks.

Saffron had already changed out of her uniform into a matte black undersuit, and on top of that was the spacesuit itself. A black, form-fitting chunk of reinforced dineokevlar, somewhat resembling an exoskeleton. Back at West Point Academy, they’d called these suits crisp packets.

Saffron was the only officer aboard that was certified to perform exo-operations, and her suit had been bio-coded to her. Not only was it tailored to her measurements, but the communications system had been keyed to her voiceprint, and the oxygen valves to her DNA.

Okay, Saffron said. See that thing there? she pointed to one of Frank’s tables, where a device sat waiting. I need you to fasten that to my wrist.

Frank picked up the device. It was small, with a screen and two straps. You don’t have to say that thing, Saff, I know a transceiver when I see one.

Oh, really? Saffron drawled. What’s the screen for, then?

Just between us, Frank said as he hopped out of the cube and returned to a computer screen, where he began typing on a touch-board. I was hungover for most of my time at The Point. But unless I’m very much mistaken, the screen should be lighting up right now, no?

Saffron checked her wrist. Indeed, the panel was glowing a vibrant green. O2 levels okay, she reported.

Roger, Frank nodded. Remember to keep checking that panel regularly, if it goes yellow, you’re depleting your reserves too quickly.

I know, Saffron nodded back. But don’t worry, I’m not really in trouble until it hits Racecar Red.

That’s four minutes until you’re pushing up Space daisies, Frank remarked.

Exactly, Saffron confirmed. Back at The Point, we used to say green is good, and red is dead.

I don’t know about you, Frank said. But I actively try to avoid dying, I hear it’s a real bummer.

Same, Saffron agreed.

In your field training, did they also teach you to remember to check your O2 levels in case debris perforates your tank? Frank checked.

They did, Saffron said. Don’t fret, the suits have a safety feature. If the tank gets compromised, there’s a high-pitch whine in my helmet.

Frank gave her a halfway concerned look. How high-pitched are we talking? Because it’s going to have to be pretty loud for you to hear it over the explosions and whatnot.

The corner of Saffron’s mouth twitched as she tried to stifle a giggle.

Oh yeah, Frank looked abashed at this. No Sound In Space, I forgot.

Bingo, Saffron tried to snap her fingers, but she’d forgotten that she was wearing her suit’s armoured gloves.

Okay, so next is my area of expertise, Frank said matter-of-factly. Tools.

Tools, Saffron repeated. Which ones do I need?

Frank mentally ran some variables. Damaged firing mechanism, he murmured to himself. He ran his fingers along a rack mounted on the wall and selected a plain, white canister. He slid this into a port on Saffron’s belt. First thing’s first, here’s your nanomite spray. If your suit gets damaged, you’ll want to patch it up ASAP or you could lose an arm or a leg.

Yeah, I’ll try and give that a miss, Saffron said seriously.

Good shout, Frank agreed. Three-second burst does the trick. If there’s a perforation in the suit, the damaged area will start to get real cold.

"Really cold," Saffron corrected immediately.

Thanks, mum, Frank said with distaste. Now, for the actual job itself, take this.

He slid another device, this one small, black and L-shaped, into another port on the belt. Laser cutter on your left, multi-tool on your right. About the laser cutter, remember no more than-

Five seconds per burst, Saffron finished. I know. Or I could melt something important.

Frank snorted. I wouldn’t worry about that. What you should be worried about is superheating the firing mechanism. That can only end in one of two ways.

Which two ways? Saffron wondered aloud.

"Either ka, Frank held up his thumb. Or boom, he added, extending his index finger. Take your pick."

Right, right, Saffron said. Don’t blow myself up, got you, loud and clear.

I really can’t stress that enough, Frank said seriously. "Now, the hull has a lot of external access ports. I’ll get you as close to the firing mechanism as possible, but it’sfairly deep into the hull itself. You’ll have to find the right port, slice into the hull and reach the access panel. When you get to the panel, which should be coloured red, use that multi-tool to remove the rivets on it. Take the panel off, and the mechanism should slide out on a sort of rail thing. It might take a bit of force to realign the mechanism. Use the laser cutter to cut away any shrapnel or anything. You got all that?"

Saffron nodded. I think so.

Say it back.

Find the access port, climb into the hull, take the panel off, realign the mechanism, Saffron repeated rapidly.

Tight, Frank remarked. He handed Saffron her helmet, a black sphere. Make sure you keep the visor down, or your eyes are gonna be screwed up for like a week. Now, last thing, take this.

He handed her what vaguely resembled an assault rifle. Saffron, however, recognised it as a grappling gun.

You’ve used one of those, right?

Of course, Saffron said indignantly. What’s the tip made of, Smart Metal?

Bingo, Frank replied.

So it should pierce the hull okay, Saffron reasoned.

Exactly, Frank nodded. Then you detach the barrel and lock it onto your belt. Nice and simple. Now, would you care for a Hertz doughnut?

Beg pardon? Saffron asked, nonplussed.

Frank didn’t immediately answer, merely returned to his computer screen and tapped a few keys. Suddenly, Saffron doubled over as she felt a sharp, stabbing pain in her left eye. "Son of a bitch!" she exclaimed.

Frank snickered at this. Hurts, don’t it?

"What was that?" Saffron exclaimed.

Just a new thing I’m testing out, Frank said evasively. He swiveled his computer screen, and Saffron started.

The screen displayed…the screen. It displayed exactly what she was seeing! Saffron glanced to the left, and the screen changed to mimic her optics in real time. Whoa, she intoned.

Trippy, right? Frank smiled. I had a little nanotech power left over, so I’m piggybacking on the nerve between your retina and your brain. Better than a body cam any day.

Saffron privately agreed, but she was suddenly aware that she didn’t have any time to be blown away. She clicked her helmet into place, and the world around her became muted. She reached for the two silver touch-pads on her wrist transceiver and pressed them in tandem, before speaking clearly into her helmet.

Foxtrot Hotel Six, this is Sierra Delta Niner, See Me Going Clear, check.

Frank nodded, indicating that Saffron’s voice was coming through on his own transceiver. Seen, Sierra Delta. Your comms system is woven into the ship’s channel, so you should be able to talk to the bridge.

Saffron gave him a thumbs-up. Frank stood back to admire his handiwork. A bit shoddy, he said. But you shall go to the ball.

Hey!

Saffron’s indignation was interrupted by another channel invading their network. She immediately recognized the voice of Logan Danvers.

This is Hotel Six, talk to me, Frank reported, suddenly all businesslike.

Is she out yet? Logan asked, his tone of voice betraying the agitation.

Not yet.

Well get a move on! this time, Logan didn’t even try to give the appearance of serenity. I don’t know if you two can tell from down there, but we’re getting hammered like a girl on her wedding night!

Roger, Delta Two, Frank said sharply. Ninety seconds to airlock.

Saffron and Frank left the workshop and followed the corridor to the airlock at the end.

Your carriage awaits, m’lady, Frank said, gesturing toward a small cubicle at the airlock.

Saffron stepped into the chamber. It was roughly four feet by four feet, and the door slid shut behind her with a hiss as she entered.

If truth be told, I kind of wish I could go instead, Frank said wistfully, pressing buttons on the console on the other side of the door.

Maybe when you’re older, junior, Saffron said with no small measure of condescending in her tone.

Frank rolled his eyes and pressed a final button. There was a sharp click, and then a distinct sloshing sound. Saffron glanced down and realized that she’d moved her boot into what was unmistakably a puddle. As she watched, more water began to flood into the booth, rising steadily.

Oh no, the booth’s flooding, Frank said in a bored tone, wiggling his fingers theatrically. How terrible.

Saffron knew well enough that she wasn’t going to drown. She had an air-tight helmet seal and an oxygen tank for one thing. And for another, this stuff wasn’t even water. She could tell just by looking. The consistency was…off. It had a similar composition; hydrogen bonded with water, but with the addition of microscopic sensors.

This was Smart Water, used for scanning people and surfaces, and relaying information back into a computer.

Saffron rolled her eyes at Frank’s theatrics. Yeah, I’ve already seen this bit. They did it back at The Point to make us shit ourselves.

And I suppose Little Miss Perfect kept her cool? Frank drawled.

Saffron scoffed. Of course not, I shat myself with everyone else.

It wasn’t an overreaction. A lesser-known fact about Saffron was that she couldn’t swim. She couldn’t even float. And submerged in water was just about the place in the universe that she wanted to be the least.

The Smart Water had reached Saffron’s chest level now, and was still rising quickly. Scanning before exo-operations was standard procedure. Hostile artillery wasn’t the only danger in Space. Besides the solar storms, the meteors and the black holes, there was also an unprecedented hazard that was more likely than it sounded: hostile pathogens.

Extraterrestrial bacteria was pretty much everywhere, and they couldn’t run the risk of Saffron bringing something back with her to infect the entire crew with. And so Frank was going to scan her once again on re-entry, only the ship’s bio-computer had no idea what a healthy, human woman was supposed to look like, and so they needed a pre-existing scan to match it up against.

Saffron was now fully submerged in the Smart Water. It didn’t really feel like liquid, it felt more like trying to stay standing up inside soup.

Frank ‘hmmed’ softly as he glanced at the medical readout.

What? Saffron asked.

You have Type-2 Diabetes, Frank said plainly.

Saffron rolled her eyes. Used to. I was on treatment for it, it’s mostly cleared up. Are you going to mention my lactose intolerance as well?

Hey! Frank sounded attacked. What’s with the hostile?

You’re not here to bring up my medical history, Saffron said, irked. We’re on the clock.

Frank nodded and pressed another button. With a second click, the chamber emptied. He reached up for his transceiver. Hotel Six to bridge, standing by to launch Delta Niner for Spacewalk. Bridge confirm, check.

There were a few moments of silence before Logan’s voice sounded off in Saffron’s helmet. Bridge to Hotel Six, Delta Nine is go for launch. Out.

Jolly good, Frank said sarcastically. His finger hovered over the final button. He glanced at his commanding officer. You ready, Saff?

Saffron nodded. Let’s do this.

Frank nodded back. I’ll be with you every step of the way.

He pressed the button.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, there was a gentle hum that began to escalate. Saffron could feel the vibrations reverberating through her suit. Next second, the cabin began to rise upward through the ship’s chassis. The last sight Saffron saw of Frank Harcourt was his eyes following her on her upward trajectory.

The cabin began to pick up speed as it zoomed upward. The ceiling and four walls fell away, retracted into the ship. Now, Saffron was standing on a four-foot long platform being propelled upward. She glanced up. Above her was a missing section in the ship’s top hull and beyond it was black.

Just black.

Inky darkness that somehow seemed alive. The platform came to a stop as it reached the top hull, and Saffron’s eyes lit up.

For the most part, the ship’s top deck was flat, and seemed to stretch on forever. Fifty feet behind her, Saffron could see the hulking form of the rear-mounted meson turrets, with the two torpedo launchers either side of them. Rasputin itself was barreling through the asteroid belt at speed.

Saffron could hardly grasp how she appeared to be glued to the ship’s surface, especially when each second seemed as though she should be plummeting into deep Space.

The asteroid belt itself was a ring of rocks, ice and Space debris that seemed to be threaded seamlessly into the Jocasta Nebula. Streaks of brilliant blue and flecks of crimson red seemed to melt into the blackness of the void, appeared to swirl and congeal in a hazy mess of colours and yet, stayed separate at the same time. But the brightness of the nebula itself was nothing to that of its beating heart.

Jocasta Phi burned a fiery blue that threw everything into sharper focus. Blue stars were the coolest of all, but Saffron could still feel the ebbing heat from where she stood.

Saffron did not know how long she stood there, rooted to the spot, eyes drinking in the sight around her. And the sight was all that she had, because as soon as she’d gone past the oxygen membrane, the world had gone silent. Saffron stood there, on the ship’s hull, blazing through Space at hundreds of thousands of miles an hour, and all she could hear was her own ragged breath inside her helmet.

And then it wasn’t all she could hear.

Frank’s voice sounded off in her helmet abruptly. Hotel Six to Delta Niner, See Me Going Clear, check.

His voice barely scratched the surface of Saffron’s conscious mind.

Saff, Frank tried again. Can you hear me, Saff? You’re not moving! Commander Dyvora, respond!

He shouted the last word with such urgency that Saffron was snapped out of her stupor. I can hear you! she shouted, irritated. Don’t shout in my ear!

Saffron heard Frank breathe a sigh of relief, but then next second, he exclaimed, Saff, get down!

Saffron immediately threw herself down on her belly, sprawling across the hull beneath her. Next second, something huge shot overhead, and she felt sure that if she’d been standing up, it would have taken her head off.

Saffron looked up to see what had nearly killed her to see one of the two remaining pirate frigates overtaking them. Saffron watched on, powerless to assist, as the frigate’s undercarriage-mounted cannon swiveled in a 180-degree arc and discharged, blasting Rasputin’s bow.

The resulting jolt released shock waves of such magnitude that Saffron was sure she was going to be thrown from the ship’s hull. But she wasn’t. However, inside the ship, the crew weren’t so lucky. Frank’s voice came back through, and the static that riddled it did nothing to dull the panic and anguish in his tones. Breach, breach! he screamed. The hull is broken! Decks nine through twelve have been compromised!

Saffron swore, loudly and viciously. Jesus Christ, Frank! she moaned. Tell me we didn’t lose anybody!

Twenty starboard armaments were hit! Frank reported. That’s…Jesus, that’s half of Logan’s crew!

"No, no, no, no!"

I’m losing life signs! Frank exclaimed. "They’re just…going out like flies! They’re just dying!"

How many, Frank?!

Forty-five dead, Frank said grimly. "Fifty. Sixty. Seventy dead. Fuck me, we lost O’Malley!"

Victoria O’Malley was the medical officer, and her death hit Saffron harder than she expected. They hadn’t known each other so well, but she was one of the team. And ever since the Captain’s death, Saffron was the Officer Commanding that team. Now, O’Malley was just another person that Saffron had failed to save.

I’m sealing off the ship at deck eight! Frank exclaimed. "I can bring you back in there, but we need to return fire, and we need to do it now! Get to that access panel!"

I’m going! Saffron promised. She readjusted her grip on the grappling rifle, pushed herself to her feet, and took off at a brisk run. With the reduced gravity, she felt a million kilos lighter. As Saffron looked down, she noticed that the hull seemed to be shimmering. This was the protective membrane that protected the ship, the shield.

Frank, where am I going?

Just stay on course, Frank replied. Once you reach the edge of the top deck, you’re going to have to rappel down the starboard hull to the access port.

I’m nearing the edge, Saffron reported a few minutes later. Talk to me.

Once you get there, use the gun, Frank said. Use the cable to rappel down.

Saffron did just that. She fired the grappling rifle, and the spike on the end of the cable pierced the hull beneath her boots. Saffron twisted the barrel and it slid out of the gun, then she tossed the rifle aside. It didn’t even touch the hull, but was instantly swept away into the void. Saffron slid the barrel into a port on her belt and felt it click as it locked in. She tugged on the cable gently to check it was secure, and then began to lower herself over the edge of the ship.

Saffron looked over the edge of the ship for the first time and caught her breath. Hanging beneath her was the most breathtaking sight that she’d ever seen before in her life.

The armoured starboard hull of the ship stretched beneath her like a giant wall of shielded metal, but at the base, there was a huge chunk of the hull missing, like somebody had gouged a piece right out of it. The damaged metal had been scorched black and twisted from the onslaught, and much of the ruined debris floated in the vacuum.

Saffron pushed off from the edge of the hull, slowly rappelling down the edge of the ship as quickly as she dared. As she drew closer and closer to the capsized area of Rasputin, however, she began to recognise familiar shapes drifting among the derelict debris.

Oh, my god, Saffron murmured. "Are those…bodies?"

Frank could see everything that she could, and judging by his silence, he knew the answer to her question. More than half of the ship was depressurized, he said gravely. We lost…we lost half of my crew and the entire security detail. We can’t be sure how many more. We think there are people stuck on deck ten, but-

But what?!

We can’t get to them, Frank finished. They’re trapped.

We have to help them!

We can’t! I just about made it back to the bridge myself!

Saffron felt like swearing and kicking something. There were people down there! Ordinary, unique, living people! People who Saffron was supposed to keep safe. People who were facing their final moments.

Saffron wondered if they knew. Did they know they were about to die? Or did they still have faith in their leader to save them?

Okay, stop, Frank said abruptly.

Saffron froze. What?

You’re more or less where you need to be, Frank reported. The access panel is about three metres deep into the hull. Slice in with your laser cutter, I’m going to disengage the Sentinels in your sector.

A few moments later, Saffron had cut a sizable hole in Rasputin’s hull. She replaced her laser cutter in her belt, which was warm against her hip, even through the suit, and used her gloved hands to pull herself in. It was dark, but even as she had the thought, the torch mounted on the side of her helmet activated,