Stellar Objects

Chapter 12: Space Invader

Andra slammed into the bars of her cell.

The ship heaved and tilted until Andra was upside down. George tumbled in the cage and bounced off the bars, then the ceiling. Andra grabbed hold of the steel bars, now below her, and refused to let go as they became the ceiling. She was suspended above George, and she glanced down to make sure he was all right.

"The ship's lost power," George said, now sitting on what was once the ceiling.

Andra carefully lowered herself down to join him.

"Guess he found me," sighed Judson.

"Who?" asked Andra.

"Whoever shot at us," said George.

"What? Shot?" she asked. Why would anyone be stupid enough to shoot at a Galactic Navy vessel?

"A mate of yours?" asked Shakes from the corner cell.

"Not exactly," replied Judson, holding his head. "I stole something he wants."

Suddenly, Andra felt the ground tilt and at once she was rising and falling inside the cell, landing with a hard THUD on the floor. She was relieved that up was up and down was down, but she felt caged and helpless to protect her brother from whatever threat had attacked the ship.

"Let us out!!" she screamed.

                                                                                            *

The Captain sprawled, face down, on the steel floor of the bridge.

His chair was upturned, lying behind him. Nitin pressed himself up onto his palms and rotated his body to right the chair. On the screen above him, the attacking ship zoomed past at close range. He knew the attack was meant as a warning shot, to get his attention.

"Captain?" called Shelly, rushing to his aid.

"Get back to your station," he ordered.

"But sir," she said, ignoring his command.

The ship shook with an aftershock. "Station," he called again, "and strap yourself in."

She returned to her position and buckled herself into the straight-back chair that was magnetically tethered to the floor.

"How bad is it?" he asked.

Shelly looked at him. "You've got no cuts, no bleeding, but your head—"

"No, the ship!" he said, impatiently. Nitin knew he wasn't dead, but wanted to make sure the Ghandi was holding up. Its titanium hull was the only thing between them and the cold, vacuum of space.

"We lost the starboard solar mast," she said, "and the gravity generator went offline, but I've rerouted power to keep us stable."

"Good," he said. Nitin locked both wheels of his chair. He didn't want it rolling away as he lifted himself back into it.

"Can I help you, sir?" asked Shelly.

"Yes," he said, "fully charge our core shield make sure it tracks any incoming."

"No, I meant—"

"I know what you meant," Nitin replied. He turned himself around and grabbed hold of the chair. He pulled his upper body up with the strength of his triceps. His useless legs followed. Once he squared his bottom in the seat, he unclipped the locks of the wheels, and swung himself around to face Shelly. "It's just you and me left, so the help I need from you is to make sure this ship stays together."

"Aye," she replied. "The attacker is coming around. I've got shields at full power, focused on the most likely strike points, but I'm not sure the reactor is functioning."

The bridge filled with the sound of static. The glass pad on Nitin's chair, miraculously intact, pulsed blue with an incoming transmission.

He tapped the screen and the bridge filled with the voice of a stranger:

"Hand over the cargo, and I'll let you live."

Nitin straightened himself in his chair. "Who are you to demand—"

"I'm the one giving you two minutes to return my cargo," the voice replied, adding, "or be destroyed."

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