Samara could only imagine what was going through the heads of her companions at the moment, though if it were anything like what she was experiencing, their conversation was going to be a doozy. But now was not the time, she had to focus on getting them away from this system first.
“Look, you heard the man... Cognate… whatever,” she said, dismissing them both with a wave of her hand as she started doing as he’d suggested, reaching for the harness. “Get yourselves strapped in. I imagine we’ll be pushing this bird right to its limits before we can escape.”
The two were still dealing with a fairly healthy dollop of misgiving where she was concerned, and it showed, but finally Xeno placed his hand on Kalypso’s shoulder. “Samara is correct. Unless we can escape, none of the rest matters.”
Kalypso nodded, giving her one last wary glance before retreating with Xeno. She didn’t know how she would deal with that, but for now she had to set those concerns aside.
All right, Dresh, she told the Cognate, she’s all yours.
In an instant he was back in charge of her body, her hands moving swiftly and surely as he familiarized himself with the ship’s controls. Samara struggled to keep up with what he was doing, trying to learn the systems as quickly as he was, but that was a battle lost before it had even begun. Guardian had hinted only the best were chosen for life as Cognates, and each time she watched one in action it was easy to believe.
Within minutes the engines were online and prepped, as the two of them studied the sensors carefully. Do we have a course? he asked her.
Worry about that later, she answered, we can change course anytime. Get us out of the system first.
... Agreed.
Another glance at the sensors showed there was still a great deal of activity going on, though it was ebbing. Most of the ships had already departed or had moved closer in to set up a cordon around the planet itself. Not being able to read or understand Chell was a hindrance, since it meant they couldn’t bluff their way out, or respond to any orders sent to them. The only tools left in their kit were guile and bravado, and she suspected they’d be borrowing heavily against both of them soon.
She froze as something caught her attention. There, she told the Cognate, far end of the docks. It was big, a battlecruiser maybe, or something even larger, and it looked as if it was casting off. Maybe... just maybe…
... What do you propose? Dresh asked.
Until it moves, we won’t know where it’s headed; to the planet or out of the system, she explained, but if it is leaving, we can use that. It’ll mean some fancy footwork on our end, though.
... footwork? I do not understand, the Cognate replied. Elaborate.
If we crowd that ship it’ll ask us what the hell we’re doing, but if we take a different tack, we risk drawing attention from the system authorities. What we need is a trajectory that gives us the best of both worlds; far enough from the cruiser it doesn’t think we’re an escort, but close enough so that the government thinks we are, she clarified.
There was a pause as Dresh considered that. It is an intriguing plan, he said at last, one that costs little in the attempt, yet leaves us with options should it fail.
My thoughts exactly, she agreed. Can you do it?
... I believe so, Dresh informed her. There are several variables I cannot account for, but I will do my best to approximate.
Moments later the ship shuddered as it cleared the dock, edging away from the scaffolding on thrusters as the Cognate went to work. Samara tracked their progress on the monitor, and although he’d only had seconds to make it work the course Dresh had picked looked like a winner. Once they cleared the dock and engaged main engines their trajectory should place them port and to the rear of the battlecruiser, on a slightly diverging track. There was more than a little guesswork involved, but Samara knew she couldn’t have done any better.
Ten minutes into their escape, the situation unraveled.
A burst of noise from the com system suddenly had their full attention. It is from the planet, Dresh informed her. While I cannot translate the message…
They want to know what the hell we’re doing, she said with a sudden sinking feeling.
... That is the likeliest explanation, the Cognate agreed. I can have the engines at full power in less than a microcycle.
Wait, Samara interrupted him, not just yet. Increase power gradually if you can, but don’t jump the gun. We still have time to play with.
... Delaying our escape increases the risk, Dresh cautioned. Explain.
You’ve been stuck in that box too long, Samara snorted, you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be alive and breathing. Right now they know nothing. We’re an anomaly to them, that’s all. Maybe our communications are out. Maybe we’re suffering an engine malfunction. At the moment we’re just a loose end they want sorted out, not an active threat. But the moment we go to full power and start running, they’ll know we’re not what we seem. Better to leave them guessing for as long as we can.
The Cognate was silent for several seconds as he mulled that over... an eternity for him. I can find no fault in your reasoning, he said finally. Under what parameters should our posture shift from passive to active escape?
When they send ships after us or start shooting, whichever comes first, she sighed. They’ll probably use the battlecruiser, so angle us away from them.
... Very well, he concurred.
The maneuver bought them some time, though the squawking coming from the console grew louder and more insistent. This ship has weapons, doesn’t it? she asked.
... It does, Dresh informed her, spinal mounted particle cannons mounted fore and aft. But if you intend to use them against the other ship, I must caution you it is well armed and armored.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
Only as a last resort, Samara thought grimly. Throw up a system plot on the monitor.
Her fingers danced across the controls as the displayed image zoomed out, showing her the system primary and its orbiting bodies. She nodded as she found what she was looking for.
There, Samara pointed, jabbing her finger at the screen. When we have to run for it, make that your heading, maximum acceleration.
She could feel the skepticism and incredulity as Dresh regarded her. I can only assume you have taken leave of your senses, he said at last. Piloting this vessel into the planet would destroy the ship and its occupants. I must therefore reject your proposition.
I’m not planning our deaths, you idiot, she snapped at him. I know you have a thousand fancy maneuvers in your database, but this situation calls for something more direct.
The Cognate wasn’t budging. Explain.
Damn it, can’t you just trust me for once? she exclaimed. If it doesn’t work, she’s all yours... hell, I’ll even let you knock me out. Just get ready to change course and open the throttle when they make their move.
His distrust dialed back somewhat, but she could still sense leeriness on his part. Very well, he said at last, I will agree to your suggestion... for now. But should it prove untenable...
Yeah, yeah, she thought back with a dismissive wave, I hear you. Now get ready, I can’t imagine they’ll hold off much longer.
Her words proved prophetic. Minutes later the battlecruiser shifted orbit, now on an intercept course with their ship. Renewed shouting came from the speakers, and it didn’t take a fortune teller to guess where that was coming from.
We’re out of time, she thought frantically, Go!
The ship leapt forward, freed from its restraints as it raced for the rocky planet Samara had shown him. Moments later the battlecruiser followed suit, hot on their trail.
... You have 13.561 microcycles to elaborate your strategy, before I must overrule your decision and take independent action, Dresh warned.
Samara just smiled. Allow me to introduce you to an ancient Terran sport, she chuckled.
We call it… “Chicken”.
----------------------------------------
Despite their early lead, the battlecruiser with its more massive engines was rapidly gaining ground. Dresh was jinking the ship around as the Tu’udh’hizh’ak vessel charged weapons, preparing to fire.
Can’t you go any faster? Samara urged him.
... We are already straining the vessel’s tolerances, he informed her.
That is not what I asked. Can. She. Go. Faster?
There was a long pause. In theory, Dresh admitted.
Then do it, she hissed. We have one chance to escape. One. Factor that into your equations.
Samara sensed his resignation, his reluctant bowing to the inevitable. I can increase our velocity by five percent, he said finally. Any more and the risk of catastrophic failure becomes unacceptable.
She could sense that was as far as he’d be pushed. I’ll take what I can get, she conceded, as the numbers crept upward.
... Incoming weapons fire, he warned her, the ship wrenching hard as he fought to avoid the hit.
Return fire! she ordered, but he had already beaten her to the punch, spitting streams of directed energy back at their pursuer. It would take a miracle shot to disable the battlecruiser, but maybe they could rattle them enough to spoil their aim.
... Hull temperature increasing, Dresh reported. Time to impact, 4.3 microcycles.
Any sign they’re breaking off? Samara asked hopefully.
Another pause. Negative, he reported. Another shudder, as they dodged another bolt. 3.2 microcycles until we must alter course, or else face destruction in the planet’s gravity well.
I know, she growled.
Another shudder, this one accompanied by an alarm and a flashing image on the display. A hit, aft thrusters. Emergency bulkheads have been engaged. Compensating, Dresh informed her.
At least Xeno and Kalypso still have their suits, she grimaced. Unfortunately, she didn’t have a helmet to replace the one the Chell had destroyed during the assault. They can replace my damn head, but not the helmet, she thought, rolling her eyes, even as she realized she was trying to distract herself from what was happening. Samara watched as they scored a hit of their own, but to no effect.
... 2 microcycles until impact, he reminded her, as if she needed reminding. At 1 microcycle I will alter course, no matter what action the battlecruiser takes.
... But… she began, only to be interrupted.
... I am already cutting our safety margins to the bare minimum, he warned her. I will not reduce them further.
There was nothing she could do. Without some means to take back control, it was literally out of her hands. Samara sat and watched, a passive observer in her own body, while the scene played out to the bitter end.
... Status change, Dresh blurted. Battlecruiser is altering course, starboard side high.
Samara wanted to cheer. Maybe they wouldn’t die today. You know what to do, she grinned.
... Matching course, he reported. New trajectory plotted and laid in.
And now comes the fun part, she thought, watching the battlecruiser continue to pull away while steeling herself for what was coming next.
... Hull temperature reaching critical, Dresh stated. Breakaway maneuver in five...four...three...two...one. Execute.
They plunged into the atmosphere as they broke hard to port, using the sphere’s gravity to slingshot themselves around the planet. The ship screamed in protest, the metal components being pushed to their absolute limits and beyond, the sound of tearing and buckling bulkheads filling her ears. She wrenched hard, fighting the gravitational waves, and it was only Dresh’s steady hand... well, her hand, with his guidance... that kept them from being ripped apart.
Samara gasped for air as it threw her against the straps. Gravitational Assist, as they called the maneuver, had been used for centuries prior to Earth’s destruction, though mostly with unmanned probes. The manned craft that had attempted it, however, had had somewhat mixed results. The basic rule of thumb was the closer you got to the planet, the greater the risk... and they were diving in extremely close, piling on the acceleration to aid in their escape.
That she’d been able to talk Dresh into it at all spoke volumes about just how dire their situation really was.
The small craft roared past the planet, their distance from the surface increasing as they reached the outbound leg of their hyperbolic orbit. Rocketing away from the lifeless world, Samara risked a quick glance at the ship they’d left far in their wake. Its crew had realized too late what they were attempting, leaving them moving at reduced speed on the far side of the planet in the wrong direction.
... Your strategy appears to have worked, Dresh said, obviously surprised.
You don’t need to sound so shocked, she said wearily. Any chance that battlecruiser can catch us?
... Unlikely, he decided. By time they maneuver around the planet and accelerate, we should be well outside detection range, allowing us to alter course once more. Without prior knowledge of our next destination, the odds of the other vessel reacquiring our signal are practically nil.
Wonderful, she sighed, utterly drained. Can I have my body back now?
... Of course, he agreed, withdrawing from her consciousness.
Samara took a deep lungful of air while she flexed her limbs, reveling because it was just her again. She knew it was all in her head, but every time a Cognate took over, she felt like she was being suffocated. Between Hosk’s Run-and-Gun and playing chicken with Dresh she was exhausted. On Rächerin she would have stumbled back to her cabin and collapsed, but that ship was gone now, just a drifting field of debris. She didn’t want to think about that, or Rook’s destruction. Or Gideon and Persephone’s sacrifice. Or Xeno and Kalypso’s mistrust.
She didn’t want to think about any of it.
Samara had just barely loosened the harness straps before drifting off to sleep, still in her suit, nestled on the acceleration couch of their new ship.