by P. R. Adams
“Thank you.”
Ferrara bowed his head, then returned his attention to the giant display.
Chao lowered his eyes. “One other thing, ma’am.”
Benson’s eyes flashed up to the display. “Yes?”
“Four defense fleet ships made a run for it.”
“Did they make it?”
“No, ma’am. The Galvan…is gone.”
Gone? Probably the most powerful ship in the entire Kedraalian Navy out of operation? It was a gut punch.
Her worries over the package Lo had sent her seemed so petty now.
“Keep working on those ships, Ensign. Do everything we can before those destroyers close. I want to leave a mark on these murderous bastards.”
Chao returned to his section of the console. He’d been rocked by the loss of the Galvan, same as she had. For now, he was keeping it together, but the energy—the connection—that had been established between her and the three bridge officers had been disrupted. Ferrara and Bales were no longer staring at the giant display. They were exchanging glances. When someone talked about Kedraal, they talked about the Home Defense Fleet. They talked about the Galvan, the pride of the Navy.
The sickening sense of slaughter remained when they fired on the enemy, but Benson now thought she might have an understanding of what an executioner experienced. Her task force wasn’t killing innocents in cold blood; it was eliminating murderers to protect society.
This enemy attacked without warning or provocation.
Durall’s voice echoed in her mind. They’re what we’re fighting for, right? She still couldn’t be sure what all the killing was for. Had the Galvan crew felt in their last moment that the fight had been worth it?
Benson wiped away a tear. She almost certainly knew some of the Galvan crew. Gone now. “Lieutenant Bales, get me a connection to whatever ship has taken command of the fleet. I want to speak to whoever’s in charge.”
Light reflected off the young man’s dark, twitching skin. “Yes, ma’am.”
What could she hope to gain from talking to the fleet? A warning that she was going to have to run? Knowledge about the apparent shortcomings of the enemy technology? It would be better to pass that directly on to Kedraal.
Except without the fleet, the planet would be—
She couldn’t flee. Even if it meant every single person in her task force died, they had to do everything they could to protect the capital.
Bales twisted around. “Commander? I’ve got a connection to the Kolkata.”
Kolkata. That was a light cruiser. Retrofitted maybe five years back. It was a good ship. Solid. But it wasn’t the Galvan. “My communicator, please.”
Hisses and pops preceded a familiar voice. “—ahead, Clarion.”
“Gillian?” Benson had to be sure. Gillian Devry had been the other distinguished graduate from Benson’s academy class. It wouldn’t be surprising at all for her to be captaining a ship in the fleet. Benson had fallen out of contact with Devry when the Pandora assignment had come in. Obviously, their careers had headed in different directions.
“Faith?” Devry’s voice was drowned out by buzzing. “—command of the Clarion?”
“We’ll have to talk over drinks. Right now, I’ve got problems.”
“You know about—” Hissing took part of what was said, but Galvan came through.
“Yes. Look, I’ve got two destroyers coming at my task force.”
“Destroyers? Can you—” More static. “—it is? Faith? Talk to me.”
Make out who it is? “I think it’s Azoren.”
“—zoren?”
“Yes. Azoren. The stealth technology, we just encountered it.”
“Good to know. I’ll have my commun—”
The signal dropped.
Benson didn’t need to say anything—Bales had a finger up while he tapped at the communications station of the helm console.
And then the connection was reestablished.
“Faith?” Devry was actually clearer now. “We took a hit.”
“I’m sorry. Can you get out of there?”
“Not our tasking. All the ships that could maneuver already made a run for it.”
Did they get away? Benson had only heard about the Galvan. “We’ve got a partial solution. Gillian? Can you hear me?”
More static. Had the message gotten through?
Chao pointed to the display, where the crude shapes of the enemy ships flickered. “Destroyers within maximum range, Commander.”
“Aggressive defensive maneuvers, Lieutenant. Take shots at the damaged ships when we have them.”
His response was lost when the connection to the Kolkata resumed. “Faith?”
“Those destroyers are on us now.”
“You said something about a solution?”
“We can get partial lock-on. We have some equipment that penetrates some of their stealth technology.”
“Can you—?” More static.
Benson pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Lieutenant Bales, is there any way we could do something about the connection?”
“They’re under constant fire, Commander. They’ve been damaged.”
And there’s probably some sort of communications-scrambling system in use. “Lieutenant Ferrara, see if you can work out maneuvers to get us closer to the defense fleet.”
The helmsman’s face seemed to grow paler. “Closer, Commander?”
“If we can help the fleet, we have to.”
Ferrara nodded. He leaned against the console, as if the idea of moving into a more intense battle zone were enough to drain energy from him.
It was probably the sickness. He was holding up better than she had a right to expect of him. The Navy assigning someone so ill to the Clarion…it seemed incomprehensible. How bad was it that the officer corps was down to people like Scalise and Ferrara? There had been a time when entering the Academy had been a mark of pride, something people struggled for.
Benson couldn’t help wondering if Gadreau were right, and her mother was partly at fault. She’d always acknowledged the need for a military, just not one meant for projecting strength. Had she finally gone too far and won budget concessions that cut too deep?
What’s the value of worrying about the poor and disadvantaged if they’re all killed by Azoren bombs?
That was an argument the two women could have over coffee.
If they lived.
Lights flickered, and it seemed like the deck rumbled beneath Benson’s booted feet. “Ensign Chao?”
“A hit amidships, Commander. They’re focusing fire now.”
“On us?”
“It appears so, Commander.”
Bales had already forwarded damage control updates to the command station display—a few casualties, the loss of some systems. She tried not to read the names, knowing that it was only a distraction, a pain she would deal with later. Any death would hurt.
But they were still operational. The redundant systems that had been built in were working.
“Let’s see how committed they are to the chase.” Benson took a final look at the damage control report to be sure the shields were back up. “Lieutenant Ferrara, continue moving the rest of the task force closer to the fleet. I want us on the outside of the maneuvers.”
“Yes, ma’am.” The sickly helmsman slumped slightly.
Chao blinked. “Commander, if we get too far from the Pandora—”
She forced a smile onto her face. “The effectiveness of the stealth systems diminishes for us. Yes, I know.”
“You want them pursuing us, ma’am?”
“Every second we can buy with ships from that enemy fleet focusing on the Clarion is a second for the defense fleet to try to get systems back online.”
The weapons officer’s impressive chest puffed out even more. “Understood, Commander.”
There was a noticeable tug of g-forces as Ferrara adjusted their maneuvering.
Then Bales pointed at
Benson’s command display. “Kolkata, Commander.”
“Gillian?”
“Faith. Good. We’re picking up your ships now. You’ve been hit?”
“Those destroyers I mentioned. They’ve got several ships pursuing us.”
“You always had a way with people. Faith, we’re probably five minutes away from getting some of the fleet back into this—weapons, maybe some maneuvering. But we’re half as far away from being blasted into superheated clouds.”
“I’m trying to pull this group they sent against us away from the main force.”
“My weapons officer just mentioned that your ship seems to be maneuvering away from your group.”
“It’s three destroyers and some frigates.”
“That tin bucket you’re in won’t stand up to that for long.”
“I know. But the Pandora—you get a connection to it, you can get lock-on. You can use your weapons once they’re online.”
Lights flashed on the giant display: The computer had detected numerous blasts but no hits.
There was a shiver to Devry’s voice when she sighed. “Go with the known, Faith.”
“I am. I know that the defense fleet has a better chance stopping this attacking force than my group does. And I know—”
“Your task force is the only thing working right now.”
Benson twisted away from the bridge officers. “We have to protect Kedraal.”
“We have to protect the knowledge and the technology. Faith, you’ve got the only chance with the Pandora. We can’t lose that.”
A shudder ran through the deck again. The damage control updated: a few more systems, many more crew. There were no systems completely offline, no functionality lost. The look in Chao’s eyes said that they were getting to the point that the damage would be too much.
I owe it to my crew to keep them alive, don’t I? Benson muted her connection. “Lieutenant Ferrara, bring the rest of the task force back in tighter with us. Ensign Chao, is there a ship in that pursuing group that we could cripple?”
Chao tapped a forefinger against his bottom lip. “A frigate, Commander.”
“Do it. Then I want maneuvers to get us out of this area. Lieutenant Ferrara?”
“Understood, Commander.” Some of the tension in the helmsman’s frame drained away.
That left telling Devry.
Benson came off mute. “Gillian?”
“Still here. You seem to be getting all the attention. Just like back at the Academy.”
“Don’t even try.”
“My weapons officer tells me you’ve left a little star in the sky.”
Chao smiled. “Direct hits. Several explosions.”
It was getting easier for Benson to deal with killing the enemy. They were still people in her mind, still fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, but they were committed to doing terrible things. It was up to her to stop them.
“Gillian, we’re going to drag this group out as far as they’ll pursue.”
“Can you outrun them?”
“I want them to follow us.” Benson shot a look to Ferrara—he understood. “You just need to last—”
“Until the cavalry comes?”
“Did you get alerts out?”
“They’re transmitting from the defense systems.”
But it would be days before a meaningful force could arrive. “If we can get them to break into smaller groups, we can scrape off these ships one at a time. We’re better locking on to them than they are to us.”
“Save that technology. Get the word out to the rest of the Navy.”
“Maybe you can drive them off with some lucky shots.”
“No.” Devry muted for a moment, then came back. “We’ve gotten a warning out to the Alexandria Shipyard. If they can get the Valor launched, it could change everything.”
The Alexandria Shipyard.
There were three major operational shipyards. Of all the bad luck, having the Valor in the one closest to Kedraal seemed pretty close to the worst possibility.
Benson knew the coordinates, but she couldn’t risk leading the pursuing ships there. It was entirely possible there was no crew for the Valor.
Hours away. Could she risk a run for the ship?
“Gillian, I’m going to send you a tight-burst data transmission. It’ll be everything we know about the Azoren technology and what we have aboard the Pandora. My chief engineer’s been tearing into it. It’s all SAID technology.”
“SAID? Talk to me. Where’d you get that?
“Long story. Maybe they’ll have other systems that can save the day.”
“Maybe. But don’t hang around on that gamble. Go.”
More lights flashed on the giant display. The enemy ships were still coming close, and they weren’t about to let their prey escape.
“Godspeed, Gillian.”
“Godspeed, Faith.”
Benson disconnected. “Lieutenant Ferrara, continue evasive actions with the task force, but move us out. Not too fast. We want those ships to stay on our tail.”
“Y-yes, ma’am.”
She brought up the data she had stored on her command tablet, forcing herself not to acknowledge the package from Lo. What mattered was all the data Parkinson had put together on the Pandora technology and the Azoren shadow technology. “Lieutenant Bales, I’m sending you a file now.”
“A file, Commander?”
“It’s everything we have on the Azoren stealth technology and the Pandora systems. I want it encrypted, then transmitted on a tight beam to the Kolkata.”
“Working on it!”
The enemy ships drifted back on the display, but they stayed in pursuit.
But for how long? They outgunned her, and they seemed serious about tracking her down. There wasn’t much she could do about them if they stayed in a group, either.
At some point, the destroyers were going to get a serious hit on the Clarion, and the pursuit—and her crew—would come to an end.
Unless she could find something to turn the tide.
Something like the Valor…
10
Morganson’s jaw ached from clenching, and his body shook from fatigue. His muscles tensed, and he worried he might tear the confines of his uniform. He forced himself to relax and drummed the command station console with long, slender fingers. They struck a precise martial beat over and over again—thrum-thrum-thrum-THRUM! It was a beat that played through his head in times of stress, such as when he was at the mercy of his human crew.
It was the stoop-shouldered helmsman who reacted first. His droopy, wet lips pursed, and his beady eyes darted about. “The captain is troubled?”
Thrum-thrum-thrum-THRUM!
The weapons officer straightened, looking like a true, graceful warrior.
Ensign Ostmann! So glorious in his pressed and tailored uniform, his aquiline profile bathed in the light of the display. Such bright and clever eyes!
Why couldn’t the rest of the humans be so enchanting?
Morganson stepped down from the command station and paced, hands clasped behind his back. It was an impressive, regal look, he knew. He’d studied himself in a mirror once and had been impressed.
But he wasn’t worried about impressing now. He was too furious, too sick of the stench of failure and incompetence rolling off his pathetic crew.
Not Ostmann but the other two ensigns, the communications and helm officers.
Morganson squinted at the helmsman. “What update do you have for me on the Thunor, Ensign?”
The pathetic old man’s beady eyes tracked his captain’s movement. “Only the last I reported, Captain; Commander Schwab has brought together the remnants of his group with the Friedrich and the Gessner. They pursue this other task force but are not closing.”
The captain fought back the urge to punch the worthless old man and instead jabbed a finger at the red-faced communications officer. “And you?”
“Sir?”
“Has the commander said a
nything more?”
“J-j-just that h-he—” The pudgy ensign dabbed sweat from his brow with the cuff of his coat. “The c-c-commander—”
“Yes, yes—the commander what?”
“The commander, he has asked if he might drop his stealth to increase power to the engines.”
“Commander Schwab asked this?”
“Yes, Captain.”
“When?”
“J-just now, Captain.”
Ostmann scowled at the other two officers. The look was meant only for the captain to see, and Morganson appreciated it. The incompetence of his crew…it wasn’t how the Spear of Destiny should have been staffed. He was a brilliant officer, tasked with the single most important operation ever undertaken in Azoren Federation history. He had at his command the most lethal fleet in existence, a fleet that could have crushed the pesky Moskav once and for all. His tasking was bolder than that, though. He was here to squash the Kedraalian Home Defense Fleet and to break them before they even knew what had happened.
But he was saddled with humans. Humans!
At least he should have been given competent officers. Schwab was capable enough. He should have been a captain himself. Someone commanding a destroyer should have held such a rank, and Morganson should have been an admiral!
It was the history of the military working against them, going back to their time as part of the Kedraalian Republic. There had been such a sustained effort to shrink the military and to push down the rank structure even then. From what he could tell from his own research, it was politicians trying to snuff out military influence.
Reason enough to strike down their parents and set fire to their old homes.
The child must ever bury the parent and reshape the castle.
Morganson returned to the command station and pulled up the latest sensor scans. They should have more data, more detailed information, but the damned shadow technology demanded such power. Feeding lies, projecting imagery, anticipating a billion possible enemy sensor signals and masking reality from them. His ships were giant computers, countermeasures and baffles, wrapped in hulls lined with materials even he couldn’t quite understand.
They should have been good enough. The enemy fleet should be expanding balls of gas, superheated metals, and liquefied organic matter.