Tabitha Chirrick - Overshadowed

Shy circled to find the underside hangar bay. There were hardly any ships inside.

“Are the fighters still out there chasing everyone else?” Tayel asked.

“It’s probable. Hopefully Locke’s jammer will keep it that way,” Balcruf said.

“The ships may be gone, but there are still people,” Shy said.

Balcruf crossed his arms. “Does this thing have a cannon?”

Shy stiffened. Tayel leaned forward. Raiders patrolled the hangar bay, some with tools to work on the docked vessels, others with guns, guarding the interior entrances. Tayel recognized the Sinosian clothing they wore, and that Shy stopped moving forward.

“If we fire on them from here,” Tayel said, “there’s a good chance we either blow up all the docking stations or trigger hangar doors to lock down.”

Balcruf considered the thought, his ears twitching. “Then land close enough we can fire on them upon exiting.”

Shy nodded, and steered them inside. Tayel tried to stay calm as the ship lowered to the docking platform. She’d made it this far. They all had, and they were all still alive. There wasn’t a reason to be scared. It was a decent attempt to lie to herself, but fear flared as their ship locked into place.

The side door slammed open, and Varg unloaded with their weapons drawn. Surprised raiders dove for cover, firing sloppily aimed rounds against the advancing war pack. Tayel ducked back into the hold, and met eyes with Jace.

“Ready?” she breathed.

He nodded.

She jumped onto the docking platform first, holding her arm out to keep Jace from moving past her. Shy and Fehn dropped next, but there wasn’t any action left for any of them. Aside from the few raiders lying unmoving around the bay, there was no opposing force. No troops from any of the doors leading deeper into the ship.

“So we’re going to the center of the ship,” Shy said.

“Locke said the command center is the best bet,” Jace said.

Tayel surveyed the back of the bay. Three doors stood out on the back wall, all of them as promising-looking as the next. None gave any clues as to what might lay beyond them. Two Varg set up a defensive barricade in the hangar with Balcruf, but the rest bounded away through the door the furthest to the left.

Balcruf bounded toward her. “Do you have the sphere?”

“I do,” Jace said.

“Good. I’m going with you.”

Shy leaned back. “What?”

“Your brother is a scattered man, princess, but his intellect has given our people chances where there should have been none. If he insists this data is important enough to risk your life, then I will risk mine, too.”

“What about your people?” Tayel asked.

“My kin are strong. They will accomplish their task to free their brothers.” He removed his overcoat, revealing flowing black garb which left his arms uncovered. He tore off his snow shoes, leaving his paws bare, and removed a crossbow from his back the size of his broad chest, loading it with an icy bolt from a quiver to his side. “Do you accept my help?”

“Yeah,” Fehn said. “I think we’d be stupid not to.”

Jace rapped his talon over his satchel. Tayel gave him a reassuring smile, the most honest one she could muster, and started forward. They all jogged through the far right door, sirens chasing them through paths carving ever deeper into the Rokkir mothership.

The blaring alarm snapped Ruxbane out of his paperwork trance. He’d never heard the ship’s siren before, but the orange swath of flashing lights and the sudden fear in his requisition officer’s widening eyes told him all he needed to know: he and his people were in danger.

He thrust the list of lab equipment requests back into the officer’s hands and ran. Out the door, to the left. The command center would be at the end of the hall, and with any luck it would have answers. There were no windows this deep into the ship, no possible way to tell if the trouble came from outside. There was no sign of trouble from the inside either. Only the sirens and the lights casting his shadow as he sprinted down the corridor.

His mind raced with possibilities: a severe blizzard storm, a malfunctioned engine, another Varg attack. No, it couldn’t be the Varg. When they’d charged the city from Kalanie Outpost, Ruxbane had ordered a full assault; a technologically deficient war pack couldn’t possibly breach a Rokkir carrier. But if they did — it was impossible, but if they did — then every Rokkir onboard was waiting for slaughter. That whisper of doubt pushed him faster.

He slowed enough at the door to let it slide automatically open. The command deck beyond bustled with activity, twenty of the brightest operations managers the Rokkir had were running from station to station, shouting commands. Ruxbane ran past them all, ignoring the weight of turning faces as he took the single staircase at the back of the room. The archway at the top let through to the command deck’s second tier. He froze, following the eyes of slack-jawed helmsmen watching the bridge’s main screen.

A camera feed from the first quadrant of the main labs recorded in real time. Dozens of Varg tore through desks, stations, equipment, and people, their rampage a silent, horrifying display even without the audio accompanying it. Ruxbane supported himself against the archway. Those beasts had actually made it on.

Onscreen, a Rokkir scientist fell in the stampede, and a Varg moved quick to finish her off. Her body lurched as his sword sunk deep. She was still for one heartbeat before dissolving around the blade, evaporating upward into the dark matter cloud that was every Rokkir’s truest form. This is when any enemy would walk away. The Rokkir’s physiology would be an enigma to this destitute dog and that scientist would survive.

Instead, the Varg sneered, and plunged his sword into the center of the mass. Ruxbane stiffened. He glared at the understanding on the creature’s face, the way it shuddered when the Rokkir went out like city lights, every strand of neurons that made it life going dark. The matter dissipated, dead, the only way a Rokkir could be.

Ruxbane shivered.

“Sir!” One of the helmsmen caught sight of him. “Sir, we’ve been boarded.”

“I can see that.” Ruxbane snapped the tablet out of the man’s hand.

“That’s a path tracer program for the two groups we’re tracking. One’s the core group of Varg — the ones you’re seeing on the main screen — and the others are—”

A dull ring filled Ruxbane’s head as he flipped to a feed of the second group. His cure, his test subject, and that damned raider princess. His pulse pounded against his ears. This was the last time she would get in his way.

“Sir?”

“Where are our raiders?” Ruxbane asked.

“Sir, you asked for every last troop onboard to be sent into battle against the approaching rovers.”

“Then call them back!”

“We — we’ve been trying, but our communications are blocked. We think the Varg brought a signal jammer onboard, but—”

Another ring sounded in Ruxbane’s skull like a deep pulse. His breaths sounded short against his throbbing eardrums — wheezy, raspy; his hands had clenched into fists. His people were dying. Their work was under siege. He’d failed them. He never should have started this mess. Heat surfaced at the front of his head and combed away the excess thoughts. It was a relief, and it started to spread.

“Get me Adonna,” he demanded.

“At once, sir.”

The helmsman ran off, and Ruxbane dropped the tablet face up on an empty station. He watched back and forth between the princess’ party and the Varg. This ship was a carrier first, and its fighters were all gone. It was a research vessel second, and that meant no defensive suite, no armed security team, and no battle-tested checkpoints to hide behind. The people onboard weren’t aetherions, weren’t soldiers — just scientists and admins. Ruxbane had only one option.