Chapter 2, updated and revised as Grammarly sometimes doesn't like the changes it made itself. Chapter 3 will follow suit, and then Chapter 4 will hopefully be released soon. Stay tuned.
Phantom out.
A blockade. It was a freaking blockade in the NZ! And it belonged to none other than the UFF. Of course, it did; why wouldn't it? The UFF could do anything they wanted and get away with it because they were the victims. It disgusted James how petty the ICA and the UFF had become during this stupid civil war. He wanted to get as far away as possible from the violent showdown of Karens. However, the only way to do that was with the experimental FTL drive he'd designed and built.
But there was a high risk of being reduced to atoms if it failed, and James was not overly fond of that idea, especially when he had a critical mission.
The dirty-blonde-haired man let out a frustrated huff, his cheeks puffing out as he blew out hot air to clear his turmoiling thoughts. James weighed his options, with Krystal hovering behind him with a worried expression on her blue vulpine face. He didn't want to risk killing himself and Krystal via mechanical failure, but he couldn't let the supposed princess fall into the hands of the UFF or the ICA.
Another bout of frustration washed over the young engineer, and he screwed his eyes shut. Then, with a swear and shake of his head, James slammed his fist on the center console. Krystal jumped and stared at the human wide-eyed. "Buckle up, Krystal," he said, flipping the numerous switches in front of and above him. "And pray to whatever deity you have that this works."
The blue vixen did as he told, seating herself in the hastily put-together seat James had welded in place for her and fastened the straps over her frame. She even uttered a silent prayer of good fortune in her native tongue.
James swallowed the lump in his aching, tight throat as his hand hovered over the button that would determine his and Krystal's fate, beads of sweat forming along his brow. Without a further moment's hesitation, he pressed it and braced for his inevitable and immediate atomization. But nothing of the sort happened. Instead, he and Krystal were again thrust back into their seats as the black void around them became a kaleidoscope of various colors and shapes. James felt the strain on his body taking its toll, and he screamed from the intense pressure pressing down on him. Behind him, Krystal shared in his suffering. Then, everything went black, and a deafening silence befell the duo.
Captain Edward Smith watched as the speck that was James and Krystal exploded in a blinding, white light. A frown curled on his frail, aging lips when it died away. "Damn it," he cursed softly. Almost instantly, his vision flashed with stars, and he fell to his hands and knees.
"Silence, traitor!" a gravelly, shrill voice shrieked at him.
Smith spat a thick mix of blood and saliva onto the bridge floor, courtesy of his uninvited guests. "Nice to see you too, Kenzi," he said, dripping with sarcasm.
His former second-in-command, a thin woman half his age but with the mindset of a tantrum-throwing toddler, growled and dealt another blow to his head with her rifle butt. "I said, 'silence,' traitor."
'As if repeating it will make any difference,' Smith bitterly thought, blinking rapidly to rid himself of the migraine plaguing him.
"Now, Captain Koffman," spoke a smooth, oh-so-evil voice. Smith involuntarily shivered when he heard it. "That's no way to treat an old friend, is it?"
The woman huffed and stood off to the side but kept a wary stink eye on Smith.
On the other hand, Smith staggered to his feet, leaning on the map table for support, and glared at the uniformed man standing next to his command chair. "I wish I could say the for you, Nelson," he growled hoarsely.
The man in question, tall and thin in stature with an air of commanding presence surrounding him, stared out of the bridge viewport before glancing at Smith over his shoulder. A thin smile spread across his equally thin lips, and he said, "At least I believe that the feeling is mutual, old friend."
Admiral William Nelson was in charge of the entire ICA fleet, calling the shots from his flagship, the ICAS Liberty, and always in the thick of it on the battlefield. He had a spotless service record with nary an infraction in the ICA's eyes. But Captain Smith - a childhood friend and former comrade-in-arms of the admiral - knew a terrible truth. After all, the two were responsible for the Mare Imbrium and Mars Massacre; however, Smith had questioned the logic and morals behind the orders before eventually defecting after the Terran Civil War began. But Nelson didn't see the two incidents as such. He was always cold and ruthless since childhood, believing that civilian losses were necessary for the greater good. He would not hesitate to send his men to their deaths, even if it meant a devastating defeat for the ICA.
"You are no friend, William," Smith weakly spat venomously.
Nelson hummed, turned to him, and approached him slowly until he was a mere few feet away. "You are right, dear Edward," he said with a sickening calm tone. "You and I are no longer the best friends we used to be." Nelson punched Smith in the gut, causing the man to double over and fall to one knee. Nelson took several paces back and watched Smith with cold, emotionless grey eyes before rubbing the sore hand he used to deliver the blow. "Now that we've gotten the reunion out of the way, I'd like to ask all of you rebels a few questions." Nelson turned to face the surviving bridge crew and glanced at each member before beginning his impromptu interrogation. "Do any of you happen to know what it was, precisely, that your dear captain was hiding on this ship?" Nelson received no immediate answer and tutted, shaking his head in feigned disappointment.
"Captain, captain, captain," he scolded Smith. "You never bothered to tell your ever-so-loyal crew what it was they were fighting to protect? It must have been essential to keep it a secret from them." He then pulled a sidearm from his thigh holster and aimed at the junior comms officer. "In that case, none of these rats are useful to me. What is one less pest to deal with, anyway?" Nelson squeezed the trigger, and a shot rang out on the bridge.
Bang!
The young officer, whom Smith had taken under his wing, crumpled to the ground in a headless heap. Smith roared furiously and attempted to rise to his feet but got knocked down again from behind.
Nelson spared a sideways glance at the fallen man and sneered. "Such a waste of air, space, and talent," he said coldly. "You had so much potential, Eddie. The ICA had many uses for your exceptional skills and prowess." His sneer turned into a snarl, and he aimed for the helmswoman. Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger, and another corpse collapsed to the bridge floor. "And yet, you threw your lot in with their likes!" Another shot followed his fiery rant, and the navigations officer had lost their life.
Anger seethed and boiled in Smith's veins, but there was nothing he could do to halt the execution of his staff. So, he sat on the floor helplessly, unable to save the lives they entrusted him. Nelson lowered his weapon, fully faced Smith, and glowered down at him. "What were you hiding on our ship, Edward?" he hissed. "I'm sure your crew would love to hear all about it." He let out an ominous chuckle and smiled wickedly. "I might be generous enough to spare most of your crew's pathetic little lives if you simply tell the truth."
Smith spat out another nasty mixed glob of blood and saliva, which landed short of Nelson's polished Oxford's. "I'm not saying anything, you bastard."
Nelson lost his smile and sighed with another shake of his head. "I was afraid you'd say that, Edward. And you know how much I loathe not getting instant results." He raised his gun and pressed the muzzle against Smith's forehead. "Goodbye, old friend."
Smith gave Nelson one final glare and said, "See you in hell, friend." Then he closed his eyes and welcomed the cold embrace of death.
Bang!
William Nelson swiped a thumb over his blood-speckled cheekbone and made a face. "Now you've gone and dirtied my uniform," he muttered, putting away his sidearm. "Captain Koffman," he called, the woman snapping to rigid attention. "The rest of the crew are of no use to me. Dispose of them as you see fit. Return to the Liberty when you are finished." She nodded wordlessly, and a multitude of automatic gunfire echoed within the bridge walls, silencing the numerous screaming pleas for mercy. Meanwhile, Nelson straightened the cuffs of his jacket sleeves and calmly walked away as if nothing had happened.
As he left the bridge, two guards outside the door fell in line behind him on either side. "Gather the other boarding parties and cleanse this ship. Bring them to me if any of these vermin have something worthwhile for my time. Otherwise, kill them all."
Before they could depart to carry out his orders, a soldier approached them with a UFF officer in tow. "Sir," he said, halting in his tracks and presenting his prisoner. "This one says he knows what this ship's special cargo was."
Nelson quirked a curious eyebrow, and he stared at the officer. "Really? Interesting." As much as a cold, stone-hearted man like him could manage, he gave a friendly smile and said to the officer, "What is your name, young man?"
The officer straightened his posture and puffed his chest out. "Sir, Lieutenant Jackson, sir."
"And what was this 'special cargo' the captain was transporting?" Nelson inquired.
There was a moment's hesitation, and Jackson shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot before he replied, "With all due respect, sir, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."
The Valkyrie shook and rattled violently; the hull and superstructure within creaked and groaned in protest as gravity became too much for it to bear. The engine was barely holding itself together as the extra energy from the FTL drive fed into it, and smoke began to pour out from whatever crevice it had. Time and space became irrelevant as a hole was torn in the continuum. The Valkyrie slipped through the hole just before it sealed itself and carried her across the universe for a few brief seconds before being spat out into unknown space.
She drifted aimlessly, her systems offline from her journey through the fabric of space and time. The engines were permanently damaged and overloaded thanks to the FTL drive. The only thing that remained functional was the life support system - but only barely. The only two occupants were out cold, the strain on their mortal bodies having proved too much for them to withstand. The Valkyrie was now a dead ship, destined to drift for eternity with no hope for rescue.
Or so it seemed.
Inside the cockpit, a green light slowly pulsed on the central console in front of an unconscious James. It remained like that until it suddenly became a solid green, and static came through, indicating that whatever was out there had established a radio connection. The static then gave way to a garbled voice, incomprehensible and almost impossible to decipher. But when it spoke again, the static cleared and gave way to a female voice.
"-I repeat, identify yourself. You are trespassing CDF and CIC airspace. Please respond." White noise followed the hail, the speaker on the other side waiting for a reply. But none came through, and the voice spoke again: "Unidentified spacecraft, prepare to be boarded. Do not attempt to resist, please." With that, the transmission ended and left the Valkyrie drifting in silence.