This is the prologue to Starless Skies, a novella based in Rift's Phaseworld dimension. Feel free to comment, but most of all, enjoy.

Phase World™, Naruni™, and Kreeghor™ are trademarks owned and licensed by Kevin Siembieda and Palladium Books, Inc."

starless skies - a phaseworld adventure

by Irvin L. Jackson, copywrite 2002

Prologue

Rivin Nebulo squirmed to get more comfortable in the seat of the aging Broadsword fighter. His armored flightsuit squeaked against the faux dragonhide seat as he craned his neck around in a complete circle, trying to loosen up.

"Alright gentlebeings, this is it," crackled the radio, filling Rivin's cockpit with the computer-washed voice of his wing commander. "Grey squadron is to take out the listening post's defenses, Green squadron will handle fighter interference and Black squadron will escort the shuttles to the objectives."

Rivin and the rest of Green squadron angled their twelve Broadswords into the front of the mass of ships rising from the night side of Charis IV, a lifeless, massive rock in the uninhabited Charis system. The converted supercargo hauler the Free World Council used as a carrier had already "jumped" outsystem to a safe point to await the signal to come pick them up. Behind the two squadrons of Broadswords and one squadron of Fire Eaters were three assault shuttles, a Proctor long-range fighter which held the fighter group's wing commander, and two heavily armored and armed Merchantman cargo ships which now functioned as pocket destroyers.

The Free World Council, a collection of about a hundred planets in the heart of the Transgalactic Empire, had been in open rebellion against the Empire for over a century. Their equipment was a motley collection of outdated equipment from the Consortium of Civilized Worlds (which not-so-covertly aided their cause) and anything they could buy from Naruni Enterprises or steal from the Transgalactic Empire.

Over the last three months supply raids on Free World Council shipments by the Empire had grown increasingly successful and accurate. The Council's intelligence network only a week ago had discovered the detailed sensor suite located on a listening post orbiting Charis IV. If they could destroy the listening post that would make supply shipments far more secure. If they could take the facility intact…even better.

This was Rivin's first real combat mission. Sure, he had flown patrols and even had a kill to his name, but this was the first time he had been assigned to full offensive combat duty. He tried to downplay in his own mind the fact that the Council had been shuffling more and more pilots to frontline duty, due to losses. He liked to think they finally noticed his natural talent.

"Set shields to equal distribution," commanded Green Leader, a woman named Telana Dutch who, like Rivin, was human. "All fighters report in."
Rivin pressed the comm button twice in rapid succession, which would make a slot on the command console in Commander Dutch's fighter light up, acknowledging he was ready. He listened and counted the double-clicks he could hear over the tactical net. His 3-D forward sensor monitor lit up, outlining a speck in the distance in a green laser box and expanding the box to show Rivin a fat cylinder, bristling with protrusions and dishes, a couple heavy cannons and weapon emplacements and three bulbous habitat modules.

"The Kreeghor never were much for aesthetics, were they?" One of the Green squad pilots quipped, mirroring Rivin's thoughts.

"Pipe down, Green seven," Dutch bit. "Besides, looks like we got a couple other ugly examples of Kreeghor engineering to deal with. Pan left two degrees."

Rivin did as was ordered and the sensors locked onto three spiny, fish-like vessels. Rivin whistled in appreciation. Berserkers. Kreeghor missle frigates which were the terror of the space lanes. The three vessels were beginning to turn toward the onrushing fighters.

"Looks like they know we're comin'!" Dutch shouted. "Go to full burn and watch for enemy fighters."

The fighters in Green squad lurched forward, gaining speed exponentially as their thrusters kicked out white-hot plasma and used the gravity of the planetoid below to slingshot them even faster. The squadron formed three diamonds of four fighters each and split toward their selected cruisers. Grey squadron's less sleek, winged saucer-shaped fighter bombers, came in behind, making a wide arc toward the listening post in order to avoid fire from the three Berserkers.

Rivin watched the distance between the squadron and the Berserkers plummet at a ridiculous pace, the acceleration pushing him back into his seat. His hands gripped the control yoke tighter, and he flicked the weapon selector switch over to the gravity rail cannons.

As the fighters closed the gap on the three frigates, the frigates vomited a volumous amount of missles into the fighter group.

"Missle screen, now!" Dutch shouted over the tac-net to the three other fighters, including Rivin, in her four-fighter flight. The three fighters spread out a bit behind her and opened up with their gravity rail guns, sending bursts of 10-pound neutronium slugs accelerating into the oncoming missle swarm. Several of the missles exploded. Their explosions bloomed out, kissing other missles trying to pass them by and setting those missles off as well.

"Plow through! Plow through!" Dutch shouted as the entire storm of missles exploded in an expanding cloud of plasma that the fighters were plunging right into.

All twelve fighters pierced the rolling, seething, superheated cloud of incandescent gas, and came out safely on the other side, shields glowing softly from the particle storm released from the multitude of explosions. The lead Berserker filled the lead flight's viewports as the four fighter's neatly flipped over and ducked under the massive ship.

Rivin targeted the frigate's belly and leaned on the trigger to the fighter's dual gravity cannons in time with the rest of the flight. The rounds traced eight lines of fire across the underside of the frigate. As most Berserker captains tended to do, the ship's shields were all focused toward the front in order to absorb damage from any other enemy capital ships in the area, and sometimes, in order for a near-suicidal blitz on a weakened enemy cruiser.

"Go to missles!" Dutch shouted, fitting action to words as she let loose four plasma missles, no larger than a soda can, from the stubby "hilt" of the sword-shaped fighter. The rest of the squadron followed suit and soon the interior of the belly was alive with fire, heat and brief flashes of light.

But the other two Berserkers, placed farther back, had fared better against the onslaught, their commanders equally distributing the shields across the entire ship. As Dutch was about to speak, the Wing Commander's voice came over the tac net with overriding orders.

"Green Flight One, those Berserkers are accelerating to engage the shuttles and the Merchantmen, focus your attacks on their missle batteries and shield generators."

"Alright, you heard the man! Reform on me and follow me in," Dutch brought her fighter in a tight over-head loop, flipping the fighter upright, relative to the Berserker at the apex of the loop. The rest of the flight followed suit.

Rivin flipped through sensor targets until a cruise missle battery on the enemy ship's hull was selected. He switched to plasma guns and locked on. The Berserker obviously detected the lock, either that or two gravity rail gun operators on board decided they just didn't like him. His cockpit was lit up with directed streams of ammunition. He reinforced his forward shields, and began to weave the fighter through the firestorm, dropping the fighter closer to the surface of the ship as he passed the massive engines. A couple shots scored hits on his shields, but they held.

As soon as he could visually see the cruise missle battery sitting on side of the ship's hull, he depressed the trigger. Twin orange streams flowed from his fighter instantly to his target, which blossomed into an argent ball of flame. He fired two more times, getting two more eruptions. Another fighter behind him made short work of the two gravity rail gun cannons and there were explosions from the other side of the frigate as well.

"Dammit, looks like we'll have to make another pa…look!" Dutch cried as her fighter arced over the bow of the frigate so close that the entire bridge crew must have ducked. The explosions from the cruise missle laucher continued to reverberate through the ship's hull. Somewhere inside, the burning ordinance from missle launchers adjacent to the gravity rail guns got together with the anti-matter warhead cartridge of cruise missle battery and had a little party. A line of fire split the frigate neatly into two pieces, the bow twisting to port and the still thrustering stern section ramming into it. Both pieces flashed white and soon space was littered with debris.

"That should even things out a bit!" the Wing Commander's grizzly voice, who Rivin realized he had never met nor knew his name, chuckled over the net." Liberty and Independence, move in to engage, but watch out for that Berserker missle rush. Black squadron flights two and three, peel off and form a missle screen for our cruisers. The rest of you, follow me in to that listening post!"

The other two flights of Green squadron, two fighters short, joined up with the lead flight. The concentrated group swept past the two Berserkers, who were too far apart to cover the sudden breach in their line made by the loss of their command ship.

"Grey squadron in firing range," came the hissing, inhuman voice of Grey squadron's Seljuk commander, "in four, three, two…oh frack!"

In a puff of dust and silvery particles one of the habitats on the listening post exploded outward, unleashing a swarm of at least 40 fighters. Three of Grey squadron's fighters were shot down before they could peel out by concentrated fire power and the squadron lost one more when a damaged Fire Eater smacked into one of the Kreeghor's expanding cloud of fighters.

The base's defenses added to the hellish storm of enemy fire as the bulk of the fighters formed up and rushed the oncoming rebels. The Wing Commander's gruff voice was like a salve of calm.

"Try to stay with your wingman and watch each other's back! Black flight One, form on me and escort those shuttles in. Green squadron make us a corridor!"

The remaining ten fighters of Green squadron streaked out in front once again and opened up with a variety of lasers and gravity rail guns. The Kreeghor "Flying Fang" fighters answered with autocannons and missles. The tactical net sounded like a wrestling match as pilots grunted and groaned against the sudden g-forces exerted on their bodies as the fighters broke formation and mixed it up over the listening post. In the distance behind them, one of the Berserker's flared and died a brief, brilliant death, but a Merchantman, perforated by several dozen missle strikes, ejected what lifepods remained as Charis IV's gravity well welcomed it into an inevitably deadly embrace.

Rivin checked to see if his wingman, a grackletooth, young, like himself, was still with him and then peeled to follow a Kreeghor fighter racing toward one of the shuttles. He dropped in above and behind the weaving craft, knowing the pilot would have to pull back on the stick and arc the craft toward the shuttle at his current angle. When he saw the Fang fighter's missle pods open up, he opened fire with a storm of gravity rail rounds. The rounds formed a curtain of white-hot metal in front of the Kreeghor pilot just as he unleashed a swarm of plasma missles. The missles began detonating as soon as they cleared the fighter's shields, their explosions blowing the fighter out of its attack pattern and temporarily depleting its shields.

Rivin took careful aim with his plasma guns and unleashed a brutal storm of energy directly onto the fighter's cockpit. The pilot inside boiled alive long before the three consecutive blasts Rivin let loose pierced the bottom of the fighter and broke it into two neatly spinning pieces. Both of which tumbled lazily to either side of the assault shuttle.

Rivin and his wingman swept back around into the fire lane preceeding the approaching assault shuttles, the listening post growing larger and larger in their viewports. The two fighters juked a barrage of autocannon fire as they came behind Green leader and her wingmate. Green leader had lost one missle launcher and the two fighters were being harried by a pair of enemy fighters.

"Take the one on the left, I'll take the leader," Rivin said, banking his Broadsword behind the fighter dogging Green leader. His wingman double-clicked in acknowledgement and immediately began pouring laser fire into the back of the other enemy fighter. "Bring him to the left a little Commander…"

He saw Dutch's fighter sweep left, and the enemy craft swung to follow, but kept swinging left, not giving Rivin a chance to fire in the brief moment it passed through his targeting recepticle.

But Dutch took the opportunity to bank hard to the right and kick in her thrusters. In a rush to keep her in his sights, the enemy pilot banked to follow, and the broad wide top of his fighter passed right in front of Rivin's eyes. Rivin cut loose with a staggering rain of 32 mini-missles. Most detonated on the ship's shields but enough damage rolled over them and onto the fighter to send it spinning crazily into the side of the listening post. A large gash in the side of the ship vented precious atmosphere, and several hulking, humanoid shapes, into space for several moments afterward.

Then Rivin and Dutch were racing across the hull. Their two wingmen had swept under to the otherside and were peeling back around, having gotten the enemy fighter to overshoot.

The two sleek fighters skimmed the hull by mere meters, too close for the stations automated defenses to lock in on. Just as their two wingman swept over the hull to join them, Rivin's wingmate let out an inarticulate scream as several missles and a hail of energy pounded through his real shields and detonated his engine. The craft pitched wildly, and like it's namesake, plunged into a heavily armored section of the hull of the listening post. Rivin looked around desperately as four enemy fighters dropped in on the three remaining fighters' tails.

"Stay calm and take 'em toward that habitat module," Dutch ordered.

The three fighters juked and rolled, angling toward the far, mushroom-shaped protrusion where a large chunk of the post's crew likely lived. The enemy fighter's stuck to them tight, trying to close the distance and box the three fighters in with laser fire.

Just as the module filled their viewports Dutch shouted "Green two break right, Green three follow me!"

The three fighters split up, Dutch and Rivin going left around the tower and Dutch's wingmate going right. The enemy fighters strained to follow, separating in twos. Just as Rivin was wondering how this would help them they came to the halfway point of the habitat module and saw Green Two and two enemy fighters facing them. Dutch and Rivin poured on plasma fire just as Green two pulled up hard away from the post's surface. "Go for the cockpits!" Dutch shouted.

Rivin bit back a comment about the futility of trying to blow through the front of the fighters' fully charged shields, but followed orders, bathing the cockpit area of the fighters in orange energy. Dutch did the same, despite the fact that the enemy shields were gobbling up the blasts greedily.

"Now, hard up!" Dutch shouted, mere seconds later. Rivin strained to stay on her tail, passing over the two enemy fighters by less than a foot. Blinded by the stream of brilliant plasma fire, the two ships were unable to pull up before ramming into Dutch and Rivin's persuers. One of them skipped across the habitat module like a stone.

Rivin let out a loud whoop as Dutch chuckled and checked the status of the two other fighters left in her flight. "Good flyin' kid. We should have moved you up to the front lines a while ago."

Rivin grinned at the accolades as the flight yawed over the three-dimensional battlefield. He saw the three shuttles angling to attach themselves to sections of the post's hull as nine remaining members of black squadron harried the rest of the enemy fighters. The last merchantman, the Independence, limped into firing range, an expanding cloud of hot vapors all that remained of the last Berserker. There were only six fighters left in their squad.

The six fighters in Green squadron regrouped and dived back into the battle, strafing enemy fighters with coordinated autocannon fire. The Proctor-class heavy fighter commanded by the wing commander ripped its way through the enemy from the rear, minus its two cruise missles, which had been dispatched up the engines of the last Berserker, contributing greatly to its recent demise.

Only five of Grey squadron's Fire Eaters remained, and concentrated the last of their long-range missles on the last of the post's particle beam cannons. Several enemy fighters, morale broken, tried to flee, but the combined might of the three remaining squadrons cut them to ribbons. Then the fight was over. In space anyway.

Inside the listening post was a totally different story. The Free World Coucil marines fought corridor by corridor toward the post's bridge, the mostly human troops fared poorly against the stronger and naturally heavily armored Kreeghor defenders. However a few seljuks, huge saurian warriors endowed with incredible strength, a couple mages and psychics soon turned the tide. In about an hour, with heavy losses the listening post was under FWC control.

Out of the thirty-six fighters who had begun the assault, only twenty remained. Soon the converted carrier jumped in system and the fighters docked for refueling, rearming and repairs, while intel squads went over the Imperial base with a fine-toothed comb.

Once Rivin had docked with the massive carrier, he eagerly climbed out of the hot cockpit and yanked off the helmet to his black Naruni flight suit. Sweat plastered sandy brown hair to his head and his bones cracked as he stretched his six-foot two frame.

A heavy slap against his shoulder almost sent hin sprawling to the floor. He nearly drew the small laser pistol at his hip as he turned. But instead of an enemy he saw a huge wolfen, a race of canine, thick-furred humanoids, in a flight suit with wing commander insignia.

"You fight better than many of my vets pup," said the wolfen, giving Rivin a smile filled with razor-sharp teeth. "If Dutch isn't careful I might have to steal you away for Black Squadron…once you get a little more blood under your claws."

Rivin straightened up naturally and mumbled a clumsy thank you. The wolfen eyed him for a second more, intently, before a tech called him back over to his fighter.

"Dugalan's right you know," said a smooth female voice from behind. "You are a natural."

Rivin turned to stare down at his squadron leader, Telana Dutch. Barely topping five feet, she had a compact, curvy frame that one didn't usually think of when you thought of fighter pilots. Rivin knew, however, that her small stature was no indication of her strength. Her accent placed her from Tarabin, a heavy gravity gas giant known for heavy metal mining facilities on its four moons. The higher gravity of the planet made its inhabitants stocky, but strong and tough.

"Just don't let it get to your head," she smiled, sauntering past toward the improvised showers for the flight crews. Rivin fell in step next to her, anxious to get out of the flight suit and into something looser and cooler. Anxious to wash the grit from his body and the screams of beings dying from his mind.