Gods and Writers
“Can we increase speed any?”
The woman quickly replied, “We can put the laser at 115 percent of operational levels for a brief time. However, we run the risk of overload.”
The risks did not seem that big a deal to Matthew. He looked over at Davies, “Increase power to propulsion. Prepare weapons and plot a course out of here if anything goes wrong.”
Davies looked back over at Matthew, ‘Sir that is an awfully big risk.”
Matthew’s eyes grew big and he looked back. “Oh?” he asked, hoping to sound as if he were just hearing him out and not grasping at straws. I could be back on Earth in my car, just looking at the stars; but NO, Nick and his bureaucratic idiocy had to screw that up.
“If we increase speed to that limit, the only way to prevent a certain overload would be deactivating the defense grid. If it is hostile..”
Matthew shuddered, I want to run home, not stand and fight. He thought hard about what convincing thing to say,
“I would rather be nimble than take a punch.” He said, trying to sound confident, “sting like a butterfly and all. You heard your orders.”
Davies sighed, “Yes sir.”
The craft shuddered as the defensive platforms started to go offline. Matthew had to shield his eyes as the windows protective armor opened and the brilliant light from the sun, though millions of miles away filled the room. Matthew looked forward and saw that the marked buoys were closing faster. ‘I don’t see anything.”
The relief flooded through Matthew, a false alarm!
He started to smile when Davies shouted.
“Attack frigate, bearing 250 yards! Port Beam!”
Matthew scanned the windows desperately trying to find it. He noticed the burn of the rockets closing quickly. Missiles!
“Evasive!”
“Too late!” Davies screamed, “Incoming!”
The ship shuddered under the explosions of the two missiles. A large hiss began as a section of one of the windows gave way and the vacuum of space began to suck out debris and air from the control room.
“Activate countermeasures!” Matthew screamed at Davies. He stopped for a second and noticed that the helmsmen hung lifeless in his chair, arms floating in the weightlessness of space and a large gash on the side of his head.
Matthew felt panic come over him. He knew that if he did not close the blast windows, he would suffocate in the darkness of space. He reached for his harness buckle.
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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.