From Darkness

[Manticore]

STEVEN

Steven Falkland had to suppress the urge to smile as the helmsman guided the Mesa Verde into the lane that would whisk them back to the Bering gate and from there, to Liberty. Things had gone beautifully – in fact, better than he’d imagined. His hated executive officer had leapt at the chance to abandon his duty to save his precious marines. Now, he would certainly die, and once Falkland had played up the man’s dereliction of duty and disregard for orders back in Liberty, he would most certainly be remembered in death only as a reckless deserter.

He reached up to touch the edge of his temple – a place that once had carried a very noticeable scar but was now smooth, unblemished skin. The only downside to things working out this way was that James Lambert would never have a chance to learn the truth of things. The man who played at being Steven Falkland would not get to enjoy his revenge in person. Still, it was a small price to pay, considering.

“Sir, something’s wrong!”

Falkland’s eyes flashed up to the tac screen as the alarmed voice of his helmsman snatched his attention. They had just exited the lane, and the Bering gate stood before them. They were the first from the task group to arrive, as planned, but something was amiss. The gate was… different. Chunks of the enormous steel frame were missing, and it noticeably vented gaseous fuel at several points.

“Ping Gate Control again with our credentials. We don’t have time to waste.” Falkland strained to keep the rising concern out of his voice. Ageira’s gate protocols were highly secure, and did not permit any group, even a house government, to deny passage to any ship with valid credentials. That left only one possible option…

“Sir, they’re not even acknowledging. I’m not getting anything from the gate at all, sir.” This time it was his communications officer.

Falkland frowned, his eyes narrowing. “Flash a priority message to Task Group Command. Tell them the gate is not responding and we are requesting new orders."

Mentally, Falkland cursed his erstwhile Rheinland contact. He’d anticipated the rather overzealous fleet response from the Military, but to explosively disable their own gate leading to Liberty was an entirely unexpected overreaction. He pursed his lips as he thought. Perhaps the measure had been planned for some time, and they had merely been waiting for the appropriate moment.

Regardless, he had no intention of dying here in Hamburg alongside the other Libertonians. He would find a way to escape this, and complete this phase of his plan by returning to Liberty as a heroic survivor of the tragically failed raid.

“Incoming transmission from the flagship, sir!” his communication officer shouted.

“Play it,” Falkland ordered.

“All units, fall back to the Bering jumphole. Sending a waypoint through now.” It was Polstari himself. Falkland watched on the visual feed as the wounded shape of the China Lake appeared from the tradelane behind them. It was quickly followed by two wings of Wraiths, hot on the stern of the Libertonian flagship.

The only other member of the once-proud task group that had made it this far was a lamed gunboat. That ship slowly dropped back to pull alongside the more heavily damaged flagship, attempting to use its remaining turrets to knock the Rheinland fighters back.

“Helm, drop us back alongside the flagship. Guns, get our turrets to continuous rapid-fire. Target the nearest Rheinlanders, and keep it up as long as they stay in range.”

His orders were acknowledged and Falkland watched as silent blue bolts began firing from his ship in a continuous stream. They maneuvered the converted transport to follow the savaged dreadnought as it pulled about and began making the long, slow journey towards a nearby asteroid field. The purple beacon of their waypoint shone from the interior of the field on Falkland’s tactical screen, bright with the promise of safety.

“Kill confirmed,” his tactical officer intoned softly. “Shields reading at eighty percent.”

Three klicks to their stern, two Rheinland battleships emerged from the lane, and opened up at the extreme range – sending mortars and missiles charging up their wake.

“Evasive pattern Charlie,” Falkland ordered, as calmly as possible. “Stay on those fighters.”

The ship lurched into evasive action to avoid the fire now coming from every direction, as they crept at agonizingly slow pace towards their goal. The small distance readings below the purple diamond of the waypoint ticked ever downwards as the three ships charged through a hailstorm of energy. The safety the jumphole represented was tantalizingly close, but with every bracing impact their hope diminished.

Falkland’s scanners updated as asteroids began to appear in front of them, fortunately mostly of the variety smaller than any of the capital ships. His helmsman began to divert slightly from the dreadnought’s course as they swerved to avoid the first of them.

As they entered the field, Falkland suppressed a grimace as his gunner’s accuracy noticeably began to drop, the Wraiths now using the numerous rocks as cover for their attack runs. Still, the danger they represented paled in comparison to the battleships, still slinging missiles and mortars at them from range. The China Lake’s shields were flickering, her hull integrity down to critical levels. One more solid hit from one of those capital-grade weapons would be the end of her.

Abruptly, the fire from the battleships slackened – a final mortar harmlessly pulverizing an asteroid. Falkland looked as his scanner with disbelief as the pursuing battleships began to drop off behind them, now well out of even extreme range. They pulled up on the fringe of the field, refusing to enter.

The Wraiths kept up the pressure but the real danger was now behind them. Falkland allowed himself a small breath of relief as the three battered ships closed on the jumphole. Active scanners reached out ahead of them, probing for a trap but none revealed itself. It seemed the Rheinlanders were content to let them go.

As they arrived at the jumphole and prepared to depart Rheinland space, Falkland thought about the next stage of things. He and Polstari would have to report the events of the last hour to the rest of the primary fleet, and Falkland intended to shine a very unfavorable light on a certain recently-deceased Lieutenant.

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