The Great Betrayal - By Michael G. Thomas Page 0,2

the main computer system and checking their route. He looked at the scanners once more before crosschecking with the data on the bomber's navigation computer.

“Spartan, none of this makes sense. The computer has no idea where we are.”

The gun was ready again, and Spartan released another shot; but this time the Biomechs were ready and altered their velocities just enough for the dense charge to flash by them.

“Who cares? The scanner still shows the open Anomaly, right?”

Khan checked it for what felt like the fiftieth time.

“Yes, it’s open. There’s one cruiser blocking access.”

“Good. Then we’re going for it. How much further?”

Khan looked at the shape of the three Biomech fighters before answering.

“About ten more hours, assuming we can get past those three.”

Again the main gun fired, but there was little chance of them striking the smaller Biomech fighters. They were half the size of an Alliance Thunderbolt Heavy Fighter and reacted with great speed. The shapes were anything but streamlined and looked something more akin to a small, crewless resupply shuttle but bristling with weapons. Large retro thrusters were fitted to each corner, and a single powerful engine was planted firmly in the center of the rear. Khan watched one fire a blast at them, and a single round penetrated the starboard armor and opened multiple breaches. Alarms activated, and small clouds of sealant rushed to the small tears, sealing the craft to stop it ripping itself to pieces. He turned back to the computer system and tried once more to redirect power from one of the communication arrays to the turret controls.

“Work…you useless piece of…” he shouted before spotting an override lever.

He turned away from his system and pulled at the fallen storage box near the side of the computer. He hadn’t seen it before because a crate of spare parts had covered it. The chase must have shaken them free, revealing an entire engineer’s panel. As well as a computer display, it was fitted out with mechanical overrides to a number of systems. Without thinking, he pulled on the lever. A low hum spread through the inside, followed by the whine of motorized turrets.

“Khan? What have you done?” asked Spartan in an accusing tone.

He didn’t need to ask any further. Lines of status lights lit up all around the cockpit.

“Uh, Khan, we have power,” he said, barely believing what he was saying.

Khan laughed back at him, and Spartan tapped the icons for each of the enemy fighters. The turrets were fully automated and tracked the craft, each turret taking careful aim with their twin automatic cannons. They were simple affairs, nothing like the railgun, yet perfectly suited for use in the coldness of space. There was no trigger for these weapons. Instead, each turret adjusted its fire pattern based on their current trajectory and velocity as they fired. Two turrets eliminated their targets with minimal ammunition, but the final turret fired once and then exploded. It caused no major damage to the bomber but did tear the weapon from its mount, whereupon it vanished into the darkness. The other two turrets spun around as though in a race and tore the last fighter to pieces with a final burst.

“Uh, is that it?” Khan asked.

Spartan checked his scanners and then the damage indicators for the bomber. A sickening feeling ran through his body as he checked the gauges and status bars, each time expecting to come across the one result that would leave them stranded in uncharted space for the rest of their lives. The four-engine heavy bomber was a resilient war machine, but it had already been considered obsolete when captured two decades earlier; and previous battle damage showed along its long fuselage. They had escaped from the Biomech fleet almost a month earlier and had followed the telltale trail of debris and fuel emission through four separate Rifts before coming to this one.

“Looks clear to me, just that cruiser guarding the entrance.”

Khan nodded and finally unclipped himself so that he could pull himself through the interior of the craft to the gunnery position just behind Spartan. The space was far too small for him, so he pulled the straps from two seats around him in an improvised but useable fashion.

“How many does that make it now?”

Spartan checked the scanner before answering.

“Eleven fighters so far. I think that one might be more of a problem.”

Khan shrugged.

“I don’t care. Anything is better than being a prisoner on that dammed ship.”

Spartan nodded ruefully. It was true; both of them had