Steve Gordon - Insectoid 02 - Escape from the Insectoids

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Escape From The Insectoids

Forward

Norman

North, 3 months after Vitalics:

We were caught with our guard down, and humanity paid a terrible price

for

it. We had battled the Insectoids, a race of sentient seven foot tall

insects, to a standstill in twenty years of terrible combat. We had

taken

losses, but our worlds were secure, and most of our people were safe.

And then the politicians, lured by a gullible desire to believe the

overtures of chief negotiator with the Insectoids, the traitor

Mitterand,

agreed to an armistice at Vitalics. There they ambushed and destroyed

almost all of our entire fleet.

Almost all. The small fleet under my command, combined with a task

force

from our junior Alliance partner, the June Directorate, survived, but

was

forced to flee vastly superior numbers of Insectoid battlecruisers and

battleships. Nothing stopped the Insectoids from moving in, occupying

all

our worlds and enslaving our people, putting them to work producing

material for their war machine.

But the Insectoids were smart enough to realize that as long as any of

us

were free that we were still a threat to them, that someday we would

come

back and reclaim what was rightfully ours. They sent many fleets to

hunt

us down, even as we've fled Alliance space into the unknown. We've had

two

brief battles since we left Orotis, on the edge of Alliance space, and

those two battles have cost us three warships (and a badly damaged

fourth

that had to be scuttled), as well as two of our precious merchantmen.

Our efforts to escape are not merely a mindless route; we are moving

with

a purpose, even if our crews do not fully understand or agree with it.

For

we are going to search out the technology of the Chent, the ancient

civilization who may hold the key to helping us defeat the Insectoids.

But

the Insectoids are bent on making sure we don't survive long enough to

make any discoveries, and our most immediate task right now is simple:

escape from the Insectoids.

Chapter 1: The Insectoids Make A Dangerous Enemy

"David!" said a pleasing but insistent voice.

A serious looking dark haired man continued to hack away at the soil

with

a hoe, listening to the birds chirp on... what was the name of the

planet?

Just beyond the edges of Alliance space, it only had a numerical

designation, but the man had been giving some thought to giving it a

name.

All in good time; with Amy, there was always time.

"David!" came Amy's voice, from the house he had built.

The man dropped the hoe, sighing. He really didn't like leaving things

undone. But he never had been able to resist that voice.

He made his way back to the house, admiring the trees as he listened to

the birdsong. This planet was almost perfect, and probably, given it's

location just a dozen lightyears out from the frontier world of Orotis,

would eventually start to attract settlers in 20 or 30 years. Well, 20

or

30 years was a long time, and even then it was a big planet; He and Amy

would have it to themselves for a long, long time.

She leaned against one of the supports on the porch, squinting at him

in

the late afternoon light. He stared back at her, realizing he could

never

wish for a better sight.

"David, it's happened!" she said, pulling him by the arm and taking him

inside to the interstellar radio. The man listened to the babble of

reports. The Insectoids had destroyed the fleet. The Insectoids were

taking over. The Insectoids were landing on habitable worlds.

The man said nothing. In another time, another place, his first impulse

would be to hop into his fighter and blast off. But he had Amy, and Amy

had him, and they were alone, together, and what else really mattered?

He

said as much.

She looked at him oddly. "Aren't you worried that they'll come here?"

"This is an empty world," he said. "And it's a big galaxy. I'm sure

they'll have much better things to do with their time."

"But David, what if they come?" she said, pressing against him.

"Don't worry," the man said, wrapping his arm around her. "Probably

nothing will happen, not for years."

They came almost ten weeks later. The first inkling he had of it was

when

he heard the roar of the Insectoid scoutship touching down near the

house.

He was hunting in the forest when he saw it, and he started back to the

house on a run, his blaster drawn.

He heard the screams just as he reached the clearing, and saw Amy

lifted

up by the neck by one of the Insectoid troopers. There were four of

them,

and the other three quickly pointed their weapons at the man.

"Wait!' said the man, approaching slowly. "There's no need for this!"

"Surrender," said one of the Insectoids through its harsh translation

device. Amy struggled to breathe in its grasp

The man lowered but didn't drop his weapon. "We're not a threat to

you."

"Drop your weapon," came the modulated voice. "Surrender."

Amy, screaming, continued to struggle, flailing her feet; and one of

her

random kicks caught the Insectoid holding by one if its legs. The

Insectoid, perhaps annoyed, but not really hurt, twisted its grip; and

there was a crack, and then Amy's lifeless body was tossed to the

ground.

"NO!" the man screamed, and he fired his blaster; and even though three

of

the four Insectoids had their weapons aimed at him, and his was

lowered,

he managed to kill all four of them with a single shot to each of their

foreheads before any could fire back.

The man ran over to Amy, and felt a long moment for a pulse. Sobbing,

he

cradled her head in his hands and cried hysterically.

Later, much later, the man found himself standing over a freshly dug

grave; the tombstone had been carved out of rock by a blaster, and the

flowers on the grave were fresh, though the man had no memory of how

either got there.

He stood at that spot a long time, and as the sun sank low, he

muttered,

"They took the only thing that ever meant anything to me...." Then he

paused, for a long time, and said, every so softly, while staring after

the setting sun, "This isn't over...."

******************************************************************

War Admiral Norman North eyed the status reports. They had managed to

save

64 active warships and 24 merchant/civilian vessels. The foremost and

proudest of them was, of course, the Glory, his combined command

carrier/battleship. Unfortunately, they didn't have any other

battleships

or dreadnaughts in the fleet; they had all been lost at Vitalics.

But he did have a number of smaller capital ships at his command. There

was the Amory Til, a converted heavy cruiser/half carrier that was

jammed

packed with three squadrons (it was rated for two). There was the Blue

Luna, a pocket battleship which didn't quite have the punch of a true

battleship but was almost as heavily armored and shielded as one. There

were eight battlecruisers in the fleet, four of them the newest

Tiger-class ships.

But the bulk of the fleet were cruisers--12 light, 11 regular (7 of

those

being deep space cruisers), and 7 heavies. The rest of the fleet was a

mix

of destroyers (including seven of the newest fast attack destroyers)

and

frigates as well as one minesweeper/layer.

But of course, no discussion of the fleet's military assets could be

complete without a discussion of starfighter support. They had a little

over 250 starfighters, with eight squadrons packed on the Glory and

three

on the Directorate half-carrier, the Amory Til. The Blue Luna carried a

full squadron, and the rest were scattered in three's and four's

throughout the fleet. The Glory's squadrons were the most modern

version

of the Wildcats--the 145-D and 150-B's, while the Defenders were

78-J's.

The rest of the fighters were of similar configuration, both from the

Directorate fleet and the ones we had picked up at the Battle of Hunt's

Moon, though some of the Wildcats were of the older variety, and they

had

also acquired a small collection of miscellaneous fighters--variants on

the Lancer 4FF's, mostly. North had positioned the fleet in a classic

symmetrical double V position, with the bulk of the heavy cruisers and

battlecruisers taking point in the first formation, and most of the

weaker

ships in the rear "V", though supported by a sprinkling of heavies,

such

as the Blue Luna. The Glory was positioned in the center, between the

two

V's, providing close support to the merchant vessels, who were also in

the

middle. The formation was hardly original and had its weaknesses, but

for

now that was the way North left it.

He had bigger matters to attend to. The mess and maze of logistics he

handed off to Captain Dulin and Commander Wren and the other ship

captains

as much as these tasks were delegable. The civilian ships had to be

converted to growing food as soon as possible. Some of the larger

ships,

like the Glory and the Blue Luna, had a "full/full" complement of

hydroponic labs--theoretically, they could grow enough (rationed) food

to

support their crews indefinitely. But the battlecruisers and the

smaller

ships had much smaller hydroponic bays, and were on "half/full" status;

they could supplement, but not fully replace food stocks. North hoped

the

merchant ships, once properly converted, could provide enough food to

make

them self-sufficient; now that they had left Alliance space, he didn't

think they'd be able to resupply for some time... if ever.

Fuel they would eventually run out of, but they had begun switching

over

to process hydrogen, which they could skim from any nearby star. The

energy burned less efficiently, but was an acceptable substitute. The

fleet had a fair supply of medicine, including the anti-aging vaccine,

with enough supply in stock to give boosters to the entire crew for at

least the next 50 years. Then they would start aging again.

Another important issue was unit cohesion. The fleet was an mixture of

League forces, which North originally commanded, and allied Directorate

forces, who only recently joined forces with them. Though the two had

been

allied all during the long war with the Insectoids, North knew that

there

was some resistance on the Directorate side to taking orders directly

from

him, especially from the top, from the highest ranking surviving

Directorate officer, Fleet Captain Michael Bennett, now stationed on

the

half-carrier Amory Til. The Directorate had their own procedures, their

own chain of command, even their own uniforms (Directorate white as

opposed to League blue), none of which helped to integrate the two

forces.

North had almost had a knock-down fight with the man last week when he

ordered him to redeploy his ships. Bennett had wanted to keep the

Directorate ships together, but North wanted to deploy some of his

battlecruisers to different parts of the "V" formation. It was bad

enough

that the man questioned his orders, but to do so in front of the other

fleet Captains was inexcusable. Something would have to be done to

improve

unit cohesion.

Another thought on North's mind, but still not the foremost one, was

the

composition of the forces that pursued them. They had retreated out of

Alliance escape quickly enough, which prevented the bulk of the

Insectoid

force from catching up to and destroying them; but over the past

several

weeks they had been harassed by small attack forces, indicating that

there

was still a pursuing fleet behind them.

But even the constant threat of enemy attack was not foremost in

North's

mind. Foremost in North's mind was the higher goal, of finding the

technology that would defeat the enemy. That meant searching out the

hidden technology of the Chent. North had risked capture and

destruction

of the fleet by stopping at Orotis to pick up several of the leading

researchers on the Chent, notably Professor Stevenson, but it had been

a

risk worth taking. North had consulted with Stevenson frequently on

where

they should go to conduct their search. He had hoped that some of the

artifacts that Stevenson had examined might contain clues that could

help.

But Stevenson had given a bitter laugh and said to North, "War Admiral,

I've been searching for Chent artifacts my entire life. There are, or

were, a lot of them out there, but it's a big galaxy, and most of those

that have been found have been plundered by other races." When pressed

for

a direction, Stevenson had been unable to provide specific guidance.

Nevertheless, he had given North one important piece of information:

every

Chent artifact that had been found in Alliance space had been found on

habitable worlds. And habitable worlds only orbited certain types of

stars. That, at least, narrowed their field of search a little bit.

So North constantly studied Lieutenant Shishman's long range scans,

looking for appropriate star types or even tentative scans of distant

planets to find those which were more likely than not to be suitable.

But

he had to admit, even to himself, that it was like searching for a

needle

in a haystack, and it might takes years for them to find anything

useful.

Still, they had to try. And so North constantly ordered long range

Wildcat

patrols to head out in pairs in every direction ahead of them to look

for

signs of habitable planets.

"Well, this has been another swell patrol," said Command Captain Idaho

Took. He checked the scanner to compute, once again, the range back to

the

Glory. Another routine patrol, a few planetless stars, and billions of

gallons of empty space.

"Would you rather have run into an Insectoid patrol?" said his wingman,

Lieutenant Kato Obe.

"A small one, maybe," said Took. "At least it would've given us

something

to do." Took certainly wasn't itching for a full-scale Insectoid

attack,

but Obe shared his frustration. It had been almost two weeks of quiet

now,

and it had been too quiet. Obe checked his scanner, saw three blips,

heading in the same direction as they were, back to the Glory, but

coming

from different directions.

"Getting something on scanner," said Obe.

"Must be Marsten's patrol," said Took. He switched to general comm,

"Mars,

is that you?"

"That must be Took," came the voice on the other end.

"Uh, Mars, this is Obe, how many ships do you have in your patrol?" Obe

asked.

"Two," came Marsten's voice. "You know that."

"Then why do I have a vector on three ships coming in from your

direction?"

Took checked the scanner, saw he was right. He did a focused scan: the

three ships looked like Wildcats, but only two of them were 145-D's;

the

third ship resembled a Wildcat, but had a different design; definitely

not

one of theirs.

Took set an intercept vector. "Unidentified starfighter, this is War

Captain Took of the Command Carrier Glory. Identify yourself."

They got silence for a response. Took checked the scanner. The fighter

had

already shot past Marsten and his wingman, and now only Took and Obe

stood

between it and the Glory.

"Do you suppose it could be one of those Directorate guys from the

Amory

Til? They could be on a different frequency?" said Obe.

"Different from general broadband?" said Took. "Not likely. And take a

close scan of that ship. It looks like someone took it apart and put it

together with a totally different set of pieces--the thing looks like

an

antique that's been mish-mashed together from ten different sets of

fighter parts."

"If it's such an antique, why is it almost outflying us?" said Obe.

At full speed they caught up with the ship just short of the fleet. It

was

as old and battered as the scan had indicated; and it was heading

straight

for the Glory.

Took activated his targeting scanner. "Unidentified ship, identify

yourself!" He got no answer. Took let go a volley just short of the

unknown fighter, who banked to the right immediately as the bolt

launched,

and turned around to arc towards Took. Took, tense, repeated, "This is

your last warning! Identify yourself!" Suddenly there was a scratching

sound on his comm, as if a long disused circuit had been activated or

repaired. "Do not fire," said a flat voice. "I am an allied force."

"Who are you?" said Took. He noticed Obe and his wingman closing. Good.

Reinforcements had arrived.

There was a silence for a moment, as if the pilot didn't want to

identify

himself. Then, the deadly cold voice spoke, "Ken Pilot, 04."

Took looked over at Marsten, who was flying parallel to him. "Ken

Pilot?

THE Ken Pilot?"

"That's impossible. The Ken Pilot, that Ken Pilot, he must be dead by

now," said Marsten.

Took radioed the Glory. "Glory, we've got a problem here."

Colonel Darley, the Glory's starfighter command, had been monitoring

communications on the bridge, and he quickly called over Captain Dulin

and

explained the situation.

"A Ken Pilot?" said Dulin. "The Ken Pilot, 04?" He shook his head.

"Extremely improbable."

"Should we get the War Admiral?" said Rey.

Dulin shook his head. "He's busy with Professor Stevenson. It could be

a

trap, or a kamikaze. Let's see what we have first." He toggled the

comm.

"Unidentified vessel! This is Captain Dulin of the Glory; we will send

a

shuttle out to meet you. Cut drive and wait for rendezvous." "The

Glory?"

said the voice, as if the name meant something. "Glory, I'm coming in."

The fighter accelerated.

Dulin spoke to the fighters. "Took, Obe, stop him!"

"Stop him?" came Took's voice. "You mean, blow him up?"

"You heard me," said Dulin. "He could be a kamikaze!"

"All right," said Took, with great reluctance. What if this guy was who

he

said he was? Blowing up one of the greatest fighter pilots of all time

wouldn't be a great way for Took to end his day. He looked at the

fighter

several dozen feet ahead of him, then looked down at his targeting

scanners... odd, the ship didn't show up.

Took looked up again, and understood why; in the short time he had

taken

to check his scanners, the ship was had accelerated rapidly towards the

Glory.

"Speedy little bug," Took grunted. Took and his wingmen accelerated to

maximum speed. He lined up for a shot... even at this distance he

should

still be able to hit the fleeing fighter... he squeezed the fire

button,

and a ball of energy burst out... missing the aging ship.

By now Obe and Marsten and Marsten's wingman, Chang-Wha, were firing

too,

and they were all missing. It was very odd; just as they aimed and put

the

fleeing ship in their sites, it weaved, bob, or jittered to another

vector. After a half minute of worthless firing, Took reported, "Sorry

sir, he's out of effective range."

The fighter was by now about a full minute ahead of Took and almost at

the

Glory.

"Tell laser gun crews to target and open fire!" ordered Dulin.

"Sir?" said the ops officer.

"Do it!" A hail of small caliber laser fire opened up on the old

fighter

from the smaller caliber artillery on the Glory, designed specifically

to

take out hostile fighters. But the unknown fighter turned and twisted

in

every direction, avoiding several trails of laser fire, still heading

unstoppably into Bay Two.

Dulin sounded the alarms. The fighter wasn't decelerating. He had

visions

of the fighter packed with explosives, ramming into the bay. "Clear the

bay!" he yelled as the klaxons blared.

At that moment War Admiral Norman North came onto the bridge. "What's

going on here?"

The fighter accelerated to ramming speed... and then, at the last

moment,

braked furiously, and came to a perfect three point landing less than

ten

feet from a supporting bulkhead inside the bay.

That part of the bay, being partially evacuated, was empty when the

cockpit opened and the occupant emerged....

Took and his wingmen were only a few seconds behind the intruder, and

they

landed their ships in near picture perfect formation next to his and

took

off after the pilot, who they could see running down the main corridor

just outside of the bay.

"Bridge, I have him in sight, seal off sections fourteen through

seventeen

on Deck 24," said Took, drawing his blaster as he took off in pursuit.

Thick bulkhead doors slid into place behind and in front of the

intruder

farther down the hallway. Took ran down the hallways, trailed by

several

other pilots and security officers who had joined the fray. He waited

for

them to catch up. There was no need to rush any more now.

"We have him," said Took. "Ok, open bulkhead door 17-J."

He stood to one side, his weapon drawn, and the other officers

positioned

themselves in such a way to give themselves a clear aim from different

angles. If the intruder tried to resist he would be dead very, very

quickly. But this guy seemed to have very fast reflexes; could he take

out

Took and several others before getting shot himself?

Took tried not to think about that as the door slowly grinded open,

revealing... an empty chamber.

After looking about carefully, Took entered the chamber, and then

looked

up, and saw the dark hole cut in the deckplate above. "Nimble fellow,"

Took commented. He spoke into his comm, "He got away."

"We know," came a new voice, the War Admiral's voice. "He's here with

us

now."

The Ken Pilot was unsurprised to see the weapons drawn and pointed at

him

as he entered the bridge. His own blaster, still warm, was in his hand

but

not raised. He looked about at all the unfamiliar faces, until he

latched

onto a very familiar one.

"War Admiral," he said.

North nodded slightly. "David. It's... surprising to see you here."

"Meaning what am I doing here, and now, in a very big galaxy when

you're

probably being hunted down by the Insectoids who are chasing you like

mad

and using every trick in the book to catch you," said the Ken Pilot.

"You're suspicious and want to make sure I'm really what I seem."

North nodded. "A reasonable precaution. After all, I haven't seen you

since the celebration on Eratta, after the battle of Karis."

The Ken Pilot pursed his lips. "You mean, of course, the celebration on

Whenfor, after the Battle of the Doublestar."

North nodded to the Ken Pilot, and to one of his officers as well. She

approached the Ken Pilot, and ran a scanner over him from a cautious

distance. Without turning to face North she said, "I'm sensing a highly

advanced nervous system, War Admiral. He's either a Graftonite, or

something just like it."

North nodded. "Lower your weapons," and all blasters were

simultaneously

reholstered. At that moment Took and Marsten entered the bridge on the

run. "What did I miss?" Took asked, nearly breathless.

"I stopped at one of the frontier colonies you passed by after Orotis,"

said the Ken Pilot, getting comfortable in North's ready room. "They

said

you were in the neighborhood."

"But what were you doing out here?" said North, handing him a drink.

"Seeking a life, alone."

"Alone?"

"On a frontier planet," said the Ken Pilot. "With Amy."

"Amy," said North. He started to piece things together--the Ken Pilot's

tone of voice, the circumstances of his arrival. "They came for you,

even

there, out in the frontier."

The Ken Pilot nodded.

North didn't ask any further, but he said, "You have my condolences."

He

paused, considering. "You don't just want my condolences. You want to

join

our fight, don't you?"

The Ken Pilot nodded again.

"We're heading out of Alliance space. We're not seeking out fights."

"Fights will come to you," said the Ken Pilot.

The War Admiral arranged for the Ken Pilot to have a berth with the

other

starfighter pilots. He was wise enough not to assign him to a specific

squadron; the Ken Pilot was about as a rugged an individualist as one

could get. Quite frankly, North wasn't sure how to fit him in with

their

forces. Solitary assignments would be best. Maybe to make him a

long-range

scout....?

Took and some of his buddies were getting lunch in the mess hall when

they

saw the Ken Pilot sitting alone, in a corner. Took motioned the others

that they should join him.

"I don't know, Iday," said Marsten. "He's a stranger, and he looks like

he

wants to be alone."

"Nonsense," said Took, with one of his irritating smiles. "A stranger

is

just a friend you haven't met yet."

He approached the Ken Pilot. "Mind if we join you?"

The Ken Pilot gave no answer for a moment, and then, seeing Took wasn't

going to take silence for an answer, gave a small nod.

"Good," said Took, not overanalyzing the ambiguous body language. He

sat

down, joined by Marsten, Obe, and two of the other pilots.

"By the way, we never got the chance to introduce ourselves when we

were

shooting at you," said Took. "My name is Idaho Took. This is Robert

Marsten, Kato Obe, Ben Hunter..." he introduced the others.

The Ken Pilot sipped his drink.

Took, giving a small smile, said, "I didn't catch your name."

The Ken Pilot paused, considering. "David Norman."

"Some people on the bridge were calling you the Ken Pilot," said Took.

The Ken Pilot continued to sip his drink. The tension in the air was

palpable.

"Are you?"

The Ken Pilot nodded. "I was a pilot on the Ken."

"But were you Ken Pilot, Ken Pilot 04?" Took persisted.

The Ken Pilot paused, as if considering the question. Then he nodded.

"Can someone enlighten me?" said Marsten. "The Ken incident was a bit

before my time."

"Were you sleeping through your military history class at the academy,

Mars?" said Took. "The Ken was one of those old-styled modified

"quarter

carriers", cruisers carrying one full squadron. They tangled with an

enemy

fleet around Porstan-"

"Locutus," interrupted the Ken Pilot.

"Locutus," said Took, nodding, "and ran directly into an enemy carrier,

with three or four full squadrons-"

"Four," said the Ken Pilot.

"Four," said Took, looking at the Ken Pilot as he were a legend out of

the

pages of history. "The Ken was swamped, of course, and her fighters

were

quickly overwhelmed. The ship was destroyed, as were all the

fighters...

except one. Ken Pilot number 04. The story goes that he was outnumbered

40

to one, but managed to destroy all their fighters. When a relief task

force arrived, they found his ship just sitting there, dead in space,

out

of fuel, surrounded by the carcasses of all those enemy fighters."

"Really?" said Obe skeptically. "You destroyed 40 fighters on your

own?"

"41," said the Ken Pilot.

"41," Obe repeated. "Uh-huh."

"You know, you did some pretty fancy moves out there in that hunk of

junk

of yours," said Took. "No offense, but it really looks like its on its

last legs."

The Ken Pilot made no comment.

"If you're going to fly with us, you should fly one of our 145-D's or

150-B's."

The Ken Pilot shook his head.

"That bucket of bolts you're flying could come apart on you at any

minute."

"I can handle anything that comes my way," said the Ken Pilot.

"Yeah, you've got that look about you," said Took. He noticed the

other's

confidence, took it for cockiness. "So, you think you're a better pilot

than us?"

"Iday-" Marsten interrupted.

"I can handle myself," said the Ken Pilot quietly.

"Do you think you could take one of us in a mock dogfight?"

The Ken Pilot nodded.

"Would you like to test that theory out?"

The Ken Pilot shrugged, as if he didn't care.

"Afraid?" said Took.

The Ken Pilot gave Took a cold, long look for a moment. Then he said,

"All

right."

"Who do you want to fly against?" Took asked, hoping it would be him.

"Me?

Steve Gordon - Insectoid 02 - Escape from the Insectoids

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