We Interrupt This Program . . .
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2020 by Walter Reimer


Thumbnail art by  Major Matt Mason


Prompt: advent
Story suggestion by  EOCostello


The monitor Mars Ultor was the first ship of its class; it and its six brothers had been built when Markus the Cruel was in the prime of his life, and had been given to the Colonies when the Terran Confederacy had been established. Everything still worked, which was a tribute to the dedication of its caretakers.

The few Confed ships that had been in the Indawo System were chased away, outnumbered more than four to one, leaving the occupying ground forces to resist the Colonial force who wanted to evict them. Surrender demands were ignored.

Sensor masks were being used by the occupiers, but the absence of a thing can be just as glaring as its presence.


***


Piotr couldn’t believe it.

Simply could not believe it.

The bulldog had been pissed off and ready to join the nascent militia that had started up after the Confed had arrived and killed the Governing Council. Everyone he knew was just as mad as he was, and a number of his neighbors had left to enlist.

But then, the new occupation government announced that things would be back to normal as soon as possible, and to illustrate this point they had allowed sports to be broadcast again. The football season had resumed, and Piotr had changed his mind about taking up arms against the occupying forces.

Association football had been one team sport that had survived the migrations of Terrans from their home planet. It required only a wide space and a ball, and under certain circumstances it could be played in nullgrav. Indawo had six professional teams, part of a wider league that encompassed several systems, and Piotr’s favorite side had been slated to play in the league championship when the Confedders had showed up.

Now, after a month-long hiatus, the bulldog’s favorite team, the Gauteng Dragons, was playing the New Edinburg Stars at Indawo City Stadium. It promised to be a good match, despite the fact that the stadium itself held no spectators. A spokesfur for the occupation government stated that they didn’t want any trouble.

Piotr agreed. He didn’t want anything to disturb the game, and he opened a container of beer and sat back to watch as his living room’s holoprojector connected to the local net. The Dragons had won the traditional coin toss, and the bulldog cheered as the action literally filled his living room.


***


“Captain?” The weasel femme glanced away from the Mars Ultor’s main screen and her communications officer said, “Signal from the Yahweh. We’re ordered to close in for a fire mission.” Ears perked as the rest of the bridge crew turned to stare at the alligator.

“Stations!” the Executive Officer, a slightly tubby badger, barked, and the ratings returned to their duties and watched the targeting data scrolling across their screens. “Helm, course to the planet.” The ship’s helmsfur began moving the ship in from its staging area at one of Indawo’s Lagrange points. The troop transports that had accompanied it hung back. It wasn’t their fight yet.

“Take station over primary target, at one hundred twenty kilometers,” the Captain added. “Weapons free. Communications, ask the Yahweh for escorts in case we’re attacked.” The monitor’s weapons were almost entirely offensive, and the ship itself was slow and unwieldy.

The alligator relayed the request, and said, “Acknowledged, Ma’am. Four destroyers will take overwatch stations.”

“Very well. Weapons Officer, prepare to charge the mass drivers and begin the arming sequence for the missiles.”


***


An empty beer can, crushed by a paw, went sailing through the hologram to bounce off the opposite wall of the living room.

Foam flecked the bulldog’s jaws and chin as he screamed inarticulately, standing in the middle of the projection as the Dragons conceded a tying goal to the Stars in the ninetieth minute. “You fucking idiot!” he shouted as the 3D simulacrum of the wolf whose misstep had allowed the opposing team’s striker get behind him loped off after the ball.

The four minutes of stoppage time crawled by, leaving the Stars and the Dragons even, 2-2. With the specter of extra time looming, Piotr stamped out of the room to relieve his bladder.

And to get something stronger than beer to drink.


***


The bridge lights flickered, causing several of the crew to glance around before the Captain said, “Just relax, everyone. The main weapons on this tub take a lot of power.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later the Weapons Officer said, “Mass drivers spooled up and ready, Ma’am. Engineer reports that they’re ready to provide thrust to offset the recoil.”

The weasel femme nodded as the Mars Ultor maneuvered closer to its aiming point. “Captain,” the Communications Officer said, “signal from the Q-45,” naming one of the escorting destroyers. “They report that a Confed cruiser’s broken through the outer screen and may be headed toward us.”

“Understood. Weapons, point defenses active. Time to primary target?”

“Eight minutes, twenty seconds, Ma’am.”

The Captain frowned, looking at the target data on her repeater screen. The Confed encampment was next to a sports stadium in the middle of a residential area. The use of both shots from the Mars Ultor’s mass drivers would cause a huge number of civilian casualties.

It was her call to make.


***


Into the second overtime period, Piotr sat hunched over in his chair chewing on his claws as the Dragons and the Stars moved back and forth across the field. The score was still tied at two goals apiece, but neither side seemed to get an opening.

Suddenly a Gauteng midfielder somehow managed to get around a New Edinburg defender and delivered a left-footed kick from the left that seemed to float over the heads of the teams as they charged toward the Stars goal. Piotr was on his feet and screaming encouragement as the Gauteng striker went up to head the ball toward the net . . .

And the entire projection went blank, replaced by a flustered-looking oryx femme in a suit. "We need to interrupt, citizens, to bring you this important information . . ."

Whatever she might have said was lost as Piotr launched into a screaming fit, promising to march straight to the infonet station and kill everyone there, including the oryx, who was probably a projection anyway, and if she was, he would rip the top off the AI tank and skull-fuck it even though it didn’t have a skull, and furthermore . . .

Mercifully for the bulldog’s blood pressure, the oryx’s message was brief and the football match reappeared. No one was celebrating, and players from both teams were milling about. Piotr’s ears flicked forward as the last few minutes were replayed.

The Dragons striker had been fouled in the penalty box. He’d gone up to head the ball and a Stars player had charged and launched a high kick that caught the lion behind his knee and caused him to do a clumsy backflip in midair before crashing to the ground. The ball had sailed past, and had gone out of bounds.

It was a straight red card, and the New Edinburg player was sent off as three separate arguments broke out between members of the opposing teams. The call was completely indisputable; even the Stars' manager could be seen berating the player as he was sent off. The Gauteng striker had to be carted off the field on an artigrav stretcher, and the team captain took his position to kick the penalty.


***


“Destroyers report that the cruiser’s closing on our position.”

“Understood. Firing solution, primary target, one round only.” The Weapons Officer glanced at the Captain, who nodded. “My option, Lieutenant.”

“Yes. Ma’am. Recommend starboard driver. Optimum solution in seven seconds.”

Seven seconds later, the ship jerked slightly to the right as the rod of dense alloy was launched.


***


The Gauteng striker, a tiger, wiggled his hips like a feral cat preparing to pounce before taking a few almost dancing steps at the ball.

He launched the kick.

There was a bright flash seen outside Piotr’s window as the projection and every light in the house went out. The bulldog didn’t scream this time; he was in too much shock.

The light outside drew his attention, and he turned to see a bright streak in the sky, now fading to red, that ended at ground level with an explosion that was raising a huge mushroom-shaped cloud.

Seconds later, the entire neighborhood shook as a shockwave hit the area, accompanied by a low, bone-rattling wave of sound.

“Huh,” he murmured. “That’s what that femme was going on about.”

A stray thought expressed relief that he hadn’t been able to get a ticket.


***


“Target destroyed, Ma’am.”

“Evasive, best speed.”


***


Nearly three months later, it was determined that the kick had been good, and Gauteng had won the match.

They were awarded the trophy posthumously.





end