“Welcome back, big brother,” Tara said, cracking a broad grin as Grady slid into the pilot’s seat. “There’s a fresh mug of dark roast at your elbow. All systems are in the green, weapons hot, and shields at max.” He heard a warble and looked down to spot Gizmo crouched beneath Tara’s console, the creature’s feline-like gaze as inscrutable as ever.
Grady snagged the stainless-steel mug, took a cautious swig—not wanting to burn his tongue on the hot liquid—and let out a grateful sigh. He smacked his lips and smiled. “Ah, just what I needed. Thanks, Sis. The amenities offered by the stealth ship were somewhat lacking.”
“Unfortunate.”
“What can I tell you? I guess cyborgs aren’t pampered with beverage makers in the cockpit.”
Now that he was back aboard Adventurer, the adrenaline rush from combat began to fade. A wave of physical and emotional exhaustion threatened to engulf him, and his leg had started to throb again, reminding Grady that he needed to rest. But his cabin, and bed, would have to wait. The imperial fleet continued to loom a few thousand kilometers away. The battle was still to be won—or lost.
“No problem.” Tara motioned to the wraparound screen that dominated the front of the flight deck. “You sure know how to make your presence felt.”
“Indeed, Captain,” interjected the AI. “Subtlety was never your greatest strength, no offense intended.”
“Hey, I can be delicate when the situation calls for it,” Grady said. His expression darkened as he gazed at the pitched battle centered on the display. “This one didn’t.”
After piloting the insertion craft back to Adventurer and leaving it secured next to the shuttle in the hangar bay, he had headed for the medbay, Zoe’s condition uppermost in his mind. Hawthorne met him at the entrance. Worry lines etched the doctor’s pale features, but he managed a wan smile and said, his voice soft, “She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re wondering. Which is something to celebrate in itself, given the severity of her wound.”
“Will she…” Grady found he couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He leaned against the door frame and drew a calming breath, eyes darting to the darkened area at the rear of the medbay, where he recalled Zoe lay.
“Will she live?” Hawthorne said, his tone gentle. “The prospect is far more promising than before you left to ruin the imperials’ day. She’s not going down without a fight, that’s certain. If anyone can survive the injuries she sustained, it’s her.” The doctor paused and glanced back, then returned his attention to Grady and whispered, “Of course, I’m talking about her physical condition. As to her mental state…”
It took Grady a moment to parse Hawthorne’s meaning. “Zoe saw the woman she loves, or at least an exact duplicate, gunned down in front of her and was powerless to prevent it,” he said. “You’re worried about her emotional wellbeing once she regains consciousness.”
“In a word, yes,” Hawthorne said. “I can help the body heal itself. But the mind…ah, now that is an entirely different matter and far more complex to navigate.”
Grady nodded. “I can’t undo what happened, what she saw and must have felt when alternate Rosie was assassinated. However, I think I know a way to lift her spirits.” He looked Hawthorne in the eye and the doctor nodded, saying, “I believe I understand what you’re alluding to, Captain. And I concur, that ought to do it. Then let me not delay you any longer from your more urgent duties.”
“You’ll notify me the instant her condition changes?”
“You can count on it,” Hawthorne said. “Meanwhile, she needs to convalesce, allow her body time to heal. The immediate crisis for her may have passed, but she’s not yet out of danger.”
Grady placed his hand on the doctor’s shoulder, nodded without a word, turned, and headed down the passage as fast as his aching leg would let him. He thought about turning back and asking Hawthorne for more painkillers, but decided he already had enough drugs in his system. “I guess coffee will have to do,” he murmured.
He reflected on recent events at New Heb. Phil had notified him that the station had been re-taken, but at a significant cost in human lives—combatants and civilians—as well as damage to its facilities. An impression of Rosie’s blood-spattered corpse flitted across the screen of his mind. All the sacrifices would be in vain if the enemy won the battle and broke through to conquer, or destroy, the rebel base. He clenched his jaw as he neared the flight deck entrance. “Not if I can help it.”
Grasping the joystick after taking his seat, he let his gaze roam over the floating displays before glancing over his shoulder. “Sergeant, weapons status?”
Mbeki answered without taking his eyes off the holo facing him. “Laser and ion cannons are online, Captain, and a full spread of torpedoes loaded.”
“Very good,” Grady said. “Then let’s put them to suitable use.” He flicked his eyes to the ceiling. “Mal, sound battle stations.”
As he sent the gunship hurtling toward the engagement, he scrutinized the tactical holo and concluded that the imperial fleet was in severe disarray. The wrecked destroyer drifted forlornly, haloed by a cloud of debris and the distorted bodies of its crew, while the crippled starcarrier was now enveloped by a screen of smaller ships and had been taken in tow by a cruiser.
Grady almost triggered the external comm, tempted to contact Cavill. What must be going through the arrogant officer’s mind, his mighty ship disabled by upstart rebels? But gloating wasn’t in Grady’s nature. And besides, no one on the enemy side was aware he was responsible for the Ganymede’s plight, and he preferred to keep it that way. No point giving Cavill a further excuse to send more assassins after me, he reasoned.
Green dots signifying the rebels—fighters, bombers, and Phil’s armed freighter—darted in among the confused imperial craft. Scattered dogfights ringed the cluster of vessels with the starcarrier at its heart, enemy fighters desperately attempting to prevent the rebels from scoring further hits on the flagship.
A knot of fast-moving ships caught Grady’s attention. A bulky cruiser, flanked by a dwindling screen of fighters, had broken away from the main imperial fleet and was angling toward distant New Heb. Rebel craft harried the larger vessel, pouring laser blasts into its shields.
“Prepare to fire torpedoes,” Grady said, tilting the control stick and banking to intercept the cruiser. “Ready,” came Mbeki’s response, his bass voice calm and resonant. The deck vibrated as Adventurer accelerated, closing the gap. A pair of the cruiser’s protective fighters must have spotted the gunship’s approach and peeled off, preparing to engage.
“I’m on it,” Tara called, triggering the front-facing laser cannons nestled in the gunship’s wings. A slight shudder thrummed through the hull as Mbeki activated the weapons under his control. The combined salvos savaged the two incoming fighters, hammering their shields. One spun away, its defensive barrier almost drained, the pilot attempting to evade further strikes.
The second fighter maintained its course and opened fire, spraying Adventurer’s shields with laser bursts. “Gutsy bastard!” Grady said. “Not for long,” Tara retorted.
More energy beams lanced from the gunship, crashing into the oncoming fighter’s weakened shields. For a moment, the craft seemed to hang suspended in space, almost unmoving. Then the canopy and forward section sheared away in a spray of explosive gases, the pilot ejecting moments before the fighter disintegrated in a flurry of fiery, mangled debris.
A surge of white light drew Grady’s gaze to the primary viewscreen. A rebel bomber had scored a hit on the cruiser, its missile detonating against the hulking ship’s shields. “Now’s our chance,” Grady said, a hint of eagerness—and determination—tingeing his tone. “Their shields should be almost drained. Launch torpedoes. Hit that cruiser with everything we’ve got!”
Mbeki thumbed a virtual button on the weapons holo. “Torpedoes away.” The deck shivered as smears of light, moving too fast for the human eye to distinguish, streaked from the gunship. “Twelve seconds to impact,” declared the sergeant.
The first two projectiles were blocked by the cruiser’s shields, detonating with incandescent—but ineffectual—fury. Grady suppressed a curse and was about to order a second barrage when searing light blossomed along the enemy ship’s hull. Its shields had failed, allowing the remaining torpedoes to slam into the now unprotected superstructure. A series of internal explosions followed, massive chunks of wreckage swirling outward. An imperial fighter was caught in the blast and disappeared in a blaze of light. The cruiser’s momentum slowed, and it began to turn away.
Grady grabbed for the external comm. “Get clear!” he yelled on the rebel fleet’s channel. “She’s going to blow.”
Seconds later, as the rebel fighters and bombers heeded his warning, a gigantic explosion ripped through the cruiser, splitting the ship in half. “Those poor sods,” Tara said, her tone somber. Grady nodded, his lips a thin line as he imagined the hellish scene onboard the doomed vessel. He hoped some of the crew would make it to the escape pods in time.
The cruiser’s dramatic destruction seemed to signal an end to the battle. No more imperial ships sought to break through the line of rebel craft and attack New Heb. Instead, as it continued to limp away, the starcarrier formed the nucleus of a much-reduced enemy fleet. The last few dogfights petered out and soon Phil’s voice came over the comm, sounding weary but jubilant: “To all ships. Disengage and regroup, we’re returning to base. Well done, everyone. Victory is ours.”
Grady adjusted the comm settings and selected a single ship. “Speaking of heading home, Phil.” An image of the armed freighter, Freedom Defender, appeared on an overlay atop the main display as his friend’s voice echoed from the speakers. “I guess it’s that time, huh?”
With a hurried look at Tara, who nodded, Grady said, “I owe it to my crew and our loved ones. The rebellion has won an important victory today and we’re glad to have played a part. But now it’s time for us to return to our own dimension and resume our mission.”
“I can’t persuade you to stay? We could use your ship’s firepower.”
“Sorry, no can do,” Grady said. “I doubt if the imperials will trouble you hereabouts for a while after this defeat. You’ll have time to repair New Heb, strengthen your forces, and maybe even go on the offensive.”
