Ray Gun Revival magazine, Issue 53

into the gap between the lock and
the frame, grabbed the knob in both
hands. Drawing a quick breath, he
jerked the knob upward and set his
shoulder against the door, popping
the lock. Priest shot inside. Graves
followed a heartbeat later, pressing
the door closed. They waited, frozen
in the darkness.
“Red Dog thanks fool human for
soda and watches fool human return
to work. Red Dog suggests fool
human ask for raise.”
“Got that right,” growled a voice
in the hallway, and Graves listened
until he was past. Satisfied, he
switched on his flashlight, panning
the room.
“What on Earth, pardon my pun,
is that?” Priest said, pointing to the
wall. Instead of the usual desk and
terminal, there stood a wooden
secretary desk flanked by a pair of
square black minarets.
“File cabinets,” Graves replied.
Apparently, he was not the only
one who understood technological
myopia. Few things were as secure
on Earth as the written word in a
locked drawer. “Have I ever told you
that Senator Hazel reminds me of
my grandmother?”
***
“Cowboys away!”
Not a moment too soon. Nuclear
fire smeared across the Orion’s hull,
spilling into the still-open launch bay
six and wiping it clean like death’s
own hand. The missile’s deliverer
was part of the explosion, torn apart
by depleted uranium slugs pouring
from the point defense turrets.
House prowled the rim of his platform
in CIC like a lion in a cage. “I
asked, how many?” He struggled to
keep his voice down, his tone calm.
“PD 4 ammo feed just jammed!”
“I can’t tell,” the tech smacked her
console with the heel of her hand.
“Somebody’s jamming the sens—”
“Hecate reads at least twenty,”
Beta Max interrupted. “Rain’s asking
permission to engage.”
“No. Negative.” With his salvage
claim being tossed around as a political
baseball, House did not dare
commit the cruiser, did not dare
draw more attention to it. And
somebody out there knew it. “Anything
heavier than a fighter?”
“Two escort-bombers,” Max answered.
“One now. The other is
spread across the hull.”
“Put the cowboys on it. Leave the
fighters to PD.”
“Port laser bays one and two online.
Forward arc, online. Starboard
one and two, online.”
House finally smiled. It was not a
comforting sight. “Fire at will.”
Two of the attacking fighters
erupted, a third tumbled out of control.
The escort spun on its axis and
a quartet of fighters braced it for
another attack run, this one from
behind, on the Orion’s engines.
House’s cowboys struggled to find
each other in the confusion of a
scrambled launch.
“Chase missiles?” House asked,
trying to sound unconcerned.
“Coming online now, sir.”
“PD 2, 5, 7 destroyed. We’re weak
up front.”
“One thing at a time.” House
made himself clasp his hands behind
his back. “Bring us around. Use
the Hecate as a screen.” The Orion
maneuvered like a pregnant hippo
but he would take what advantages
he could get.
“Firing ECM decoys, fore and aft.
Chase missiles away.”
A trio of building-sized missiles
drifted away from the Orion, dead
in space for an agonizing second before
their guidance systems locked
and thrusters lit. They burned
through their first-stage thrusters
a second later, the hollow shells
falling away. The escort’s fighters
poured fire into the missiles as they
raced at each other. ECM decoys
and tracer rounds twinkled in the
void as they died. A counter-missile
exploded into a cloud of high-tech
ball bearings and one of the chase
missiles detonated, its companions
whipped through the debris. A second
missile faltered, spinning madly
head over tail before detonating. A
pair of the Orion’s cowboys found
each other, angled in, cutting the
distance between themselves and
ISSUE 53
the escort-class bomber.
The third chase missile struck the
escort, slopping plasma across its
hull, tearing the ship like a piece of
paper. Half of the escort’s missiles
and all of its port maneuvering jets
joined most of its hull as a trail of
dully glowing slag, trailing behind
the ship like a comet’s tail. Fiendishly,
the escort’s pilot kept it steady
long enough to fire its remaining
missiles before one of its own
fighters slewed out of control and
crashed into the ship, both evaporating
into a radioactive mist of gas
and metal.
Its missiles blossomed against the
Orion’s hull and House gripped his
railing until he was certain his hands
would fuse with it.
“Main engines shutting down.”
The tech twisted in his seat to look
back at House. “Override?”
“Negative. Containment?”
“Containment’s good.”
House nodded. “Let the reactors
power down. We’re not desperate
enough to risk blowing ourselves
up.” Not yet.
“Hull breach! Port foredeck
three!”
“Damage control teams en route,
sir.”
“As you were.” House stood still.
The fight was largely out of his
hands. His job now was to look confident
so his crew could stay calm
enough to do their jobs.
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