The Province Of Terrans

A Starshatter adventure

My fellow Terrans, today is Sci-Friday and once again, I offer you another chapter full of exciting adventure! Follow Vinson, our Terran Morale Officer, as he engages in vibroblade duels with vicious space pirates… or lasers them into crispy oblivion.

For those of you new to VYOA, this is a story of interactive nature, where you, the reader, choose one of three paths standing before the main character. Your vote is the guiding force of this adventure!

With one week between the chapters, there is more than enough time for you to make your decision. Share the story with your friends on Substack, see if they support your choice or vote a different way. Voting cycle will end each Thursday so I may have enough time to complete the chapter.

Those who like can discuss the protagonist’s options and I promise to answer your questions concerting Terran culture, philosophy, and worldbuilding to the best of my ability!

If you like what you read, consider buying any of my published works.

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Index: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

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Chapter 3

Shootout

The three pirate Rangers waited for him to go out on the street, their beamguns charged and ready to draw. He made sure that they wouldn’t detect him spying on them, by setting his scanner on passive mode. The device worked slower, couple star-seconds to be exact, but there was little risk of being caught in the act.

“Just so ye know, if me sees aniethieng bigger than a handgun...” – warned one of the pirates and made the hissing sound of a firing beamgun, followed by a pop.

That was not the female, but one of her companions. His was the most heavily modified particle-beam rifle; among other things, this exported Taz’aran weapon was fitted with armor-piercing module. Even if Vinson’s shield was not overheated, it could still be overpowered and his body sliced through and through, nevermind the armored uniform.

The morale officer raised an eyebrow – “Ye’s gonn’ shoo’eth muh ded on da spot?”

“Whaddya know,” – chimed in the female Ranger – “our sneaky friend speaks like a propar Clanner!”

“Den ehwhy ain’t he comen out? Be no ‘fraid stalkien Terr’aan, ye can get beamed onleh once!” – sneered the third pirate, whose heavy accent betrayed his Taz’aran roots.

Vinson switched his comm link to the coded Terran channel and pressed on the mic transmission button for three star-seconds. In response he got a series of clicks; the intervals between each sound a message coded in Morse:

“I am close.”

The Morale Officer switched back to the pirate comm link. He kept his watchful eye on the Clanner’s movements, recalibrating the scanner ever so slightly every six or eight star-seconds. With a clear mind and a playful gleam in his eye, he initiated the confusion part of his stratagem.

“I need something ironed out first.”

“Ehwhat es it, liddal’ Terr’aan?” – inquired the Taz’aran with glee.

“Of course, I have not even the tiniest shred of doubt that you will fight me honorably.” – Vinson continued, articulating his every word – “I simply wish to ask for a tiny favor, a warrior to warrior.”

“What’tis gonna be?” – inquired the female Ranger.

“A proper space burial.”

On his scanner feed he watched the three exchange hand signs, nods, and smiles. Only a handful of seconds ticked away and the pirates kept yakking, obviously entertained to no end. They weren’t looking behind their backs; the female Ranger had her hand scanner set on wide acquisition mode, just in case. For the time being, at least, the shrewd Clanners actually did assume that Vinson was the Terran they were looking for.

“In warfare, assumptions kill.” – Warned all Terran strategists and with good reason.

The Rangers’ calm demeanor meant that his own suspicion, one based upon experience, was correct. There was a ship nearby, ready to extract the Clanners if things got too hairy for them to handle. Since his own scanner was a short-range model, Vinson hoped that his Terran friend would be on overwatch soon and scouting for stealthy trouble.

“Ye got our word, Terr’aan.” – The female Clanner gleefully lied through her teeth.

He made a intentional five second pause and not just for dramatic effect since he already put the stall part of the stratagem into play.

“I thank you from the bottom of my heart!” – The Morale Officer said, just as new clicks warned him that his buddy was “In position.”

“Their ship?” – asked Vinson in Morse.

Three seconds later he received the answer – “Hovering over the road.”

“Now,” – Vinson slowly walked outside holstering his pistol on the move – “who is going to be first?”

Finally out on the street, he saw the Clanners’ faces through their transparent faceplates. Hands hovering over their beam pistols, on first glance it did appear that the pirates would honor their word. Yet, Vinson was too good a study of sentient nature to miss the telltales of deception. The quick, reassuring glances, faces hiding raging emotion, and the twitch of fingers, eager to draw. Moreover, the Ranger’s beam rifles were mag-locked to their spacesuits in rather convenient way.

To not suspect foul play one had to be daft. Surrounded and outnumbered, the Terrans survived only because they were supremely furtive. To outthink a sly enemy, one who thrived on preying upon the weak and backstabbing the strong required a specific set of skills. The Terran Morale Officers were not masters of subterfuge, but this did not mean they couldn’t counter deceit.

As the female Ranger made two steps forward, Vinson assumed the drawing stance that his friend, Northstone Firehand taught him.

“We draw on three.” – she said and gave her companions a concealed hand sign.

“Dodge the guy on your left.” – Vinson’s comms cracked – “I’ve got her.”

The gentle wind made himself present once more. This gust came from the fields and carried with it the aroma of growth, mixed in with the calls of farm animals. Tiny flowers and bugs flew together, dressed in their life-giving cloaks of colorful pollen. There was something however, an invisible obstruction floating above the road. Certain parts of said spacefaring object were made if not visible, at the very least easy to notice by bugs and petals and Vinson smirked.

This craft had remained under cloak for too long; a heavy burden was put on its grav-drive in this planet’s abnormal magnetic field. The pilot probably had little time left before this ship systems overheated. That meant they’d be forced to deactivate their shield and switch to maneuvering thrusters or risk frying their systems.

In this situation stalling for time was perhaps the best tactical choice.

There was a notable contrast between the design and coloring of Terran and Clanner spacesuits. The Rangers of this Clan painted their suits gray and brown. The coat was fresh and those with good eyes could count the great number of dints and scratches on the pirate armorplating. The latter was light and angled, which afforded Rangers greater mobility, not to mention having to suffer less weight when their mag-boots stomped dirt.

To complete the old Earth shootout vibes, but a few tumbleweeds need frolic across the street and a whole lot of dust swirl in the hot, sweaty wind. Instead, Vinson and the three Rangers saw worker bees and butterflies dancing their graceful jig in the petal-carrying wind.

The silence before the beams hissed their deadly song was shattered by another set of clicks in Vinson’s comms:

“Ready when you are.”

The Morale Officer gave his opponent a nod, cracked his neck and took a deep breath.

“One,” – counted the Taz’aran pirate – “two, th-” – and the Clanners reached for their guns.

Vinson drew, fired once, and dashed to the right.

A gunshot’s loud roar and the whistling of projectile slashing the air ended with one head-less pirate Ranger.

Even though the Morale Officer jumped out of the way, his side was grazed by a particle-beam. If not for the armored plates in his uniform, the energy discharge would’ve caused organ damage. Aiming his pistol for another shot, he noticed that the laser he fired hit better than his enemy’s beam rifle. A molten hole smoldered in the Taz’aran’s shoulder as he drew his sidearm, begrudgingly backing away from his rolling in the dust particle-beam rife as he fired a shot.

The Morale Officer fired, aiming for the man’s belly and was hit himself square in the upper torso. Again, the armored plate saved him, and though the pain was significantly greater, Vinson rose to his feet with a half-grin. Screaming, the pirate made one more step back and his insides caught on fire; orange, greenish, and pink flames bursting out from his spacesuit.

One gunshot later and the third Ranger got hit. This man did the sensible thing when under sniper and laserfire. He quickly zigzagged towards the cloaked ship following one undeniably skillful engine flight through the air. When the high-explosive tipped projectile caught up with him, it hit his lightly armored side. Cut in two, what was left of his upper torso loudly squished on the metal road while his legs made one more step before they too, fell.

It was then, when the cloaking shields of the pirate shuttle finally overheated. Hissing out steam and scintillating with energy discharge, the vessel’s glowing red heatsink was first to make itself visible as the craft decloaked. To say that the Clanner who piloted it was skilled would be an understatement. Whoever he or she was, they masterfully switched from gliding in grav-drive to maneuvering thrusters.

The nozzles of this swept wing craft bellowed leg size streaks of drive plasma which turned the pirate corpse underneath it into ash and molten metal. Made from much stronger metal the road became red hot, yet it did not melt even though a spacecraft hovered over it. Painted red and white, the shuttle’s elongated hull careened its nose down, revealing a twin-barreled turret that her pilot aimed at Vinson without even a shred of hesitation.

“Lad, what are we gonna do?!” – Asked an elderly man with a British accent – “My Elizabeth is a gorgeous shooter, but even she can’t perforate something like this.”

“You lay low, George!” – bellowed Vinson, as he holstered his laser pistol and reached for the HRAR strapped on his back.

True, the heavy railgun assault rifle was capable of accurate automatic fire, yet the armor-piercing projectiles could only defeat infantry armor. However, even if it couldn’t bring a shuttle down, a concentrated barrage would definitely damage a light craft like this one, especially when its energy shielding was down.

“I can ride me Enfield full speed to the gun stash and back. Only takes a couple minutes, I swear!” – Grumbled the old man with painful to hear, wet cough.

“Why, what do you have there?” – asked the Morale officer as he ran between the buildings for cover, beams hissing through the air, and gritting his teeth from the pain.

“Got me a crate full Wires and boy, they all be mark twos!” – the oldster said with some cheer in his voice, though Vinson was concerned for him since that cough did not sound at all good.

The “Wire” was a shoulder-held, light-weight disposable missile and rocket platform. Wire-guided or dumbfire, the weapon was mass-produced by a great multitude of Terran gunsmiths. Shielded from curious scanning beams by a launching tube manufactured from stealth composites, it was was nearly impossible to electronically jam the anti-material projectile. A Wire was probably the best armament to use against a small vessel like this shuttle.

However...

Vinson had to consider a couple of factors in his next decision.

(One) Despite the pain in his side and chest, he wasn’t bleeding or suffered internals. His enemy, however, has probably been cooking alive in his or her spacesuit for the past half-hour... or longer. Cloaking shields gave whoever employed them a great edge, yet nothing in this life came without disadvantages. Heatsinks were set to operate on their lowest settings or risk revealing the cloaked vessel. Which meant that Vinson could, with great degree of success, run around the village hugging the sturdier metallic buildings for cover. Already overheated and wasting precious fuel, the pirate pilot would have to chose between his safety and exacting vengeance upon not one, but two Terrans.

(Two) Vinson didn’t like it, but his buddy could indeed bring that shuttle down. One good hit from a Wire could ruin the day of tankers and even put jagged holes in small mechs. To give his friend time, he would run around, duck for cover and pepper the pirate vessel with railgun projectiles. While he kept the Clanner occupied, George would ride that old Enfield motorcycle of his to the weapon stash and back. Then?! Well, then it was missile time!

(Three) George’s painful cough didn’t sound good. What if the oldster was sick? One strain too many and his heart could fail! No, Vinson was not going to risk his friend’s health just to shoot down a single shuttle, nor would he let its pilot fly home without something to fuel their nightmares. Railguns, especially heavy ones were hated by all enemies of the Terran Minarchy. Vinson may not be able to riddle this craft full of jagged holes from bow to stern, yet what he was definitely capable of was blasting its turret to pieces with his HRAR. He would try shooting at the shuttle’s viewing port for good measure and hope this convinced the Clanner to retreat. After all, dead pirates spent to decats...

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Dear reader, please do not forget to post your pick in the comments below, and elaborate upon why you think our protagonist should do so.