Conqueror

by Richard Tongue

  “Come on, Vicky,” Nguyen protested. “We’re in a civilian shuttle.”

  “True,” Winter said with a smile. “They, however, don’t know that.” He pulled the shuttle around, twisting onto the new course, then said, “Danny, overload the forward thruster array. We don’t need it for docking, and they’ll think we’re arming some sort of weapons system.”

  “Great. We started out on a rescue mission, and we’re turning ourselves into a flying decoy.”

  “We’re still on a rescue mission. We’re just rescuing more people that we’d expected.”

  Amber lights flickered on the display as he guided the shuttle into position, his daughter by his side, fine-tuning the course, while Nguyen funneled more power to the engines, trying to give them the acceleration they would need if they had a chance of surviving the planned maneuver. A smile crept across Winter’s face as two of the enemy fighters broke out of their carefully arranged formation, turning around in a bid to intercept the shuttle. Four missiles that wouldn’t be heading for Ariadne.

  Now he had to thread the needle. He’d lured part of the enemy force away, and all he had to do was make sure that they survived the encounter. He killed his acceleration for a second, throwing off their approach, then fired his engines hard once more, pulsing his thrusters to send the shuttle wildly off-trajectory, doing his best to throw off their combat computers. He had to stay out of missile range, to throw off any chance of a target lock.

  “Whoa!” Nguyen said. “We’re being painted.”

  “At this range?” Winter asked. “That’s impossible!”

  “Tell them that,” the engineer said. His hands danced across the controls, and he added, “We don’t have the systems package to throw them off. I haven’t had time to install any mil-spec software on this thing, and even if I did, I’m not sure it’s got the capacity to make use of it.”

  Winter fired the thrusters again, trying to shake the sensor lock, but the remorseless fighters continued onwards, ranging towards their target. He looked up at the monitor, trying to hold some distance, hoping that he might still be able to swing past them, but his hopes were dashed as four new contacts appeared on the screen, missiles closing for impact.

  “Unidentified type, faster than Foxfire, lower estimated yield,” Nguyen said. “None of that’s going to matter if they score so much as a near miss, Jack.”

  “More speed,” Winter said. “Throw everything at the engines. We’ve got to gain as much ground as we can.” Turning to Bradley, he asked, “Anything we might be able to use nearby, anything at all?”

  “Nothing. We’re in free space, no appreciable debris, no other targets in range.”

  “I figured you’d say that, but I guess a man can hope.” The engines surged again, red lights swimming across the monitor screens, warning him that they were pushing the shuttle far above its designed limits. “Any more, Danny?”

  “That’s all I’ve got, and I don’t know how long I’ll be able to keep the feed stable.”

  Winter looked at the controls, sighed, and said, “There’s only one answer, I’m afraid. Vicky, prepare the rescue pod. We’re going to have to abandon ship.”

  “Some rescue,” she said with a smile, reaching for the controls. Winter frantically programmed a series of rapid course changes into the helm, hoping to trick the enemy into thinking that there was still someone flying the shuttle. A loud report echoed from the airlock as the inflatable pod locked into position, Bradley scrambling inside to prepare the escape craft for launch.

  Shaking his head, Nguyen said, “The owner of this shuttle’s going to have some harsh words for us when we get home.”

  “I’m sure his insurance will cover it,” Winter replied with a smile as the two of them joined Bradley in the pod. He looked at the monitor screen, watching as the quartet of serpentine missiles drove towards the shuttle, then finally locked the hatch and threw the lever to send them hurtling free into space, tumbling end over end as the shuttle continued on its final run, weaving and diving under the control of the hastily programmed autopilot, the fighters diving closer to press their attack.

  The pod’s thrusters fired in one long burn, hurling them safely away from the shuttle with seconds to spare as the missiles slammed into the hapless craft, the force of the four warheads exploding at the same instant reducing it to a cloud of tangled, blackened debris. The two fighters that had launched the wasted attack turned back for the moon, away from any possible retaliation, while the others pressed their attack on Ariadne, the main event of the battle.

  The corvette’s point defense cannons erupted with violet light as they opened up, hurling energy bolts at the incoming fighters in a desperate attempt to ward off their attack. The first rounds were hopeless misses, far enough away from their targets that it was instantly apparent that they’d had a chance to study the Patrol manual, one more act of sabotage. Some quick-minded gunner, acting on instant, turned two of the eight cannons away, breaking the regular pattern to fire in a more random sequence, getting closer and closer to the fighters as they gambled too heavily on the reliability of their stolen tactical data.

  Winter watched as the fighters launched their missiles, the automated cannons concentrating on attempts to knock them down, the enemy warheads nimbly dancing around any possible attempts to destroy them. Glancing back at Nguyen, he saw the engineer shaking his head, holding up a datapad.

  “Terran design. They might be flying Hawks, but the missiles are way, way above spec, and I’m guessing they’ve done a lot of work with the software systems package as well. They’ve really got some good people out there.”

  “Got one!” Bradley yelled, and Winter turned back in time to watch a second missile explode, the manned cannons again having better luck than those left on automatic. That left six warheads remaining, though, and they dived underneath the firing arc of the point-defense systems, carefully selecting their targets to do the maximum possible damage, a series of explosions ripping along the side of the ship, Ariadne’s engines dying as the power lines ruptured. Winter shook his head, cursing under his breath.

  “That was a hell of a lot more damage than those warheads should have done,” Nguyen said.

  “Someone told them exactly where the weak spots were,” Winter replied. “Maybe even fired beacons to guide them in.” Looking at the monitors, he said, “They’ve lost point-defense. That’s going to leave them wide open to an attack.” He slammed his fist onto the cramped control panel, and added, “This was a trap, right from the beginning. They wanted to decoy Ariadne in for a strike, and we fell right into it, did everything exactly as they wanted.”

  “You can’t blame yourself, Dad, nobody could have seen it,” Bradley protested.

  “She’s right, Jack,” Nguyen added. “There’s a lot of blame to go around. If they’d listened to us two months ago, none of this would have happened.” At Bradley’s puzzled expression, he continued, “There’s no harm telling you now, I guess, though I suppose it’s still technically on the secret list. That’s why your father and I spent six weeks hiding out in an abandoned pleasure resort out Golgotha way. Our base ship was wiped out by that cruiser and its fighters. A warning shot across the bows, and we decided to ignore it.”

  “They’re making a firing pass,” Winter said, his eyes locked on the display. “Finishing what they started.”

  The Hawks dived as one towards the helpless corvette, Ariadne’s helmsman attempting to turn, to protect their damaged side from further attacks, but he simply didn’t have the thruster capacity to complete the maneuver in time, and the pulsar cannons on the enemy fighters blazed, eight bolts of energy ripping into the hull, fountains of air gushing out into space as breaches tore down the side, the ship tossed and turned on an invisible wind from the force of the escaping atmosphere. The last had curved forward, both its shots hitting its goal, and Bradley closed her eyes, unable to watch any further.

  “The bridge. They got the bridge,” she said.

&nb
sp; “Christ,” Winter replied, with a deep sigh. “Danny, report.”

  “They’re pulling away,” Nguyen said. “Heading home.” Turning to Winter, he added, “They’re going to pay for this, Jack. We’re going to make damn sure of that. I’ll get on to Mitchell Station and arrange for a couple of tugs. We should be able to get Ariadne home in relatively short order, and Cassie will have our fighters back up in plenty of time to provide us with an escort.” He paused, then added, “I guess they’d better pick us up at the same time.”

  “Probably a good idea,” Winter replied, sotto voce.

  “Dad?” Bradley said, “There’s a signal coming in. All stations, coming from the far side of Taranis.”

  “Let’s hear it,” Winter ordered, and an obviously computer-generated voice barked from the speakers.

  “This is the High Secretary of the Terran Congress. We are here to claim the ancestral rights of Holy Terra to Caledonia and its associated planets. What was ours is ours again. I call upon you to surrender to our government within the next twelve hours, or face the wrath of a Terran Task Force. We have the ability to destroy your fleet, to destroy every orbital installation, to lay waste to Caledonia if we wish. The decision is yours. We will contact you in twelve terrestrial hours to hear your reply. For your sake, for the sake of your people, I call upon you to make the choice that will save the lives of thousands, perhaps millions of your people. We pledge peace and freedom under our rule, under the rule of the Congress. It can be the peace of prosperity, or the peace of the gun. We shall be victorious. If you doubt this, you should consult the crew of Ariadne, destroyed after launching an unprovoked attack upon our ships. Already you have strained our mercy to its limits. Do not strain it any further. That is all.”

  “That is all,” Nguyen said, shaking his head. “What happens now?”

  “We fight,” Winter replied. “To the last ship, to the last man. Whatever it takes.” He looked at his daughter, and repeated, “Whatever it takes.”

  Chapter 10

  Ariadne slowly drifted into position beside the station, the tugs providing only the slightest impetus to guide it to the cavernous docking port, the support cradle being hastily clamped into place by the engineers to keep the hull stable. Bradley waited at the hatch, a medical team behind her, waiting impatiently for it to open. She’d only been on the ship for a few days, but somehow, it felt as though a part of her was torn out. Having a front-row seat for the attack that had almost destroyed it had affected her in ways she could hardly comprehend.

  Finally, the hatch cracked open and she led the way inside, eyes wide at the devastation beyond. Gone were the pristine, well-ordered corridors from before, replace with blackened, burnt passages, wires dangling from the ceiling, the carpet ripped and torn, hanging in strips where it had remained in place. Half the ship had been decompressed from the multiple hull breaches, the surviving crew struggling to put the ship even into a condition that would allow it to take a tow. She turned to the medical team, who nodded, moving ahead of her to their assigned positions, some to Sickbay, others to critical areas of the ship to help where they could. At the end of the corridor, a weary Bishop walked towards her, uniform jacket gone, shirt torn, her arm festooned with blood-stained bandages.

  “It’s not as bad as it looks,” she said. “I caught some shrapnel when the bulkheads went.” Looking around, she added, “We’ll get her back together again, one way or another.”

  “Squadron Leader Winter wants to see Ariadne’s commanding officer,” Bradley said. “We’re going to need a damage report, some sort of repair estimate.” Looking around, she added, “All of this from one attack?”

  “They knew what they were doing, and I’m pretty sure that our friendly neighborhood saboteur prepared the ground for them.” Shaking her head, she said, “I’ve already left Chief Parrish in charge. Let’s go.”

  “You’re in command?” Bradley asked. “But….”

  “Commander Murphy and Lieutenant Abbott died on the bridge. Lieutenant Gorski is still alive, but he’s in critical condition. We’ve got to get him to a proper medical facility as fast as we can, and there are a dozen others in the same state. We took one hell of a pounding, and I’ve been left to clean up the mess. Shall we?” Nodding, Bradley turned, leading the way to the corridor, a crowd gathering outside as news of the battle spread across the station.

  “Sorry about this,” Bradley said. “Pretty much everyone watched what happened. I’m not sure it’s sunk in.”

  Walking about the eerily quiet concourse, gawkers still staring at them, Bishop replied, “I suppose I can’t blame them for that. We’ve never experienced anything like this. Not since the Colonial Wars, and even then, I don’t remember any battles quite this one-sided. We never had a chance.” She paused, then said, “Having said that, we wouldn’t be here at all if it wasn’t for you. What you did out on the side of the hull…”

  “I did what I had to do. Nothing more than that,” the red-faced Bradley replied.

  Placing a hand on her shoulder, Bishop said, “You did a damned sight more than that, Cadet. I don’t know that many people who would have been willing to step up like you did. You didn’t hesitate, you didn’t even look back, you just climbed into a suit and got on with the job. You probably saved dozens of lives, and you certainly saved the ship. If we hadn’t been able to get the point-defense cannons on line, they could have matched speeds and methodically torn them to pieces. You prevented that from happening. I’m going to make all that quite clear in my report, and if you ever find that the Aerospace Force isn’t treating you as it should, they’ll always be a home for you in the Orbital Patrol.”

  Shaking her head, Bradley replied, “There might be a time when I take you up on that.”

  “I hope you do,” she said, as the smell of frying beef hit her nostrils. “Where are we going?”

  “Twenty-Second Squadron Headquarters. Which is apparently also known as the Gateway Grill.”

  “This is cruel,” Bishop said, as they stepped inside. Sitting at a long table in the middle of the room was Winter, with Cohen, Dubois, Garcia and Nguyen around, empty seats for Bishop and Bradley, with a wheeled monitor placed at the head of the table. Condiments and cutlery were scattered around, and a waitress brought over a pair of laden plates for the two newcomers.

  “Before you ask,” Garcia said, “I’ve got more being distributed on your ship now. After what your people went through, the least you can have is a good meal. There are shuttles ready to take your wounded back to Caledonia, as well. Your medical officer can coordinate that with the local civilian team. We’re only a couple of steps above first aid out here, I’m afraid, but Ken Ballard put everything we’ve got at your disposal.”

  “I don’t think we’ve been formally introduced. Squadron Leader Jack Winter, commanding the Double-Deuce,” Winter said. “Flight Lieutenants Cohen and Dubois, Flight Officers Garcia and Nguyen. Flight Officer Haynes is on ready-alert, just in case someone else turns up. I understand you’ve got a couple of fighter pilots on board…”

  “They’re yours,” Bishop said. “Sub-Lieutenant Teri Bishop. Formerly Deck Officer. Now Acting Captain.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Lieutenant, but you look like hell.”

  “That’s about how I feel,” Bishop said. Bradley made to leave the room, but Winter shook his head.

  “Take your seat, Cadet. You’re the only one who saw the whole battle take place. The Sky Commodore might want to ask you a few questions.” Turning to Nguyen, he said, “Do we have the link yet?”

  “Coming up now, boss.” He threw a control, and a flickering image appeared on the screen, the severe glare of Sky Commodore Tyler looking at the assembled officers. Her eyes widened as she looked around the room, shaking her head.

  “Unusual décor,” she said.

  “There wasn’t any space for a Squadron Headquarters, ma’am,” Winter replied. “This was donated by a reserve officer. We are working on something more pe
rmanent, but for the present, this is it.”

  “I see. To begin, all those who took part in the battle are getting letters of commendation on their file. Flight Officer Haynes, Sub-Lieutenant Bishop, and Cadet Bradley have all been nominated for Military Service medals.” With a faint smile, she added, “Cadet, it might interest you to know that should it be approved, you will be the youngest recipient of that particular award in the history of the Aerospace Force.”

  “I only did what I had to do, ma’am. It wasn’t a decision. Just instinct,” she replied, her face reddening.

  “Be that as it may, Cadet, my judgment is that you earned it. Oh, Bishop, I’ve got something to pass on from Commodore Maddox. You are promoted to Lieutenant, effective immediately. Permanent rank, not a brevet. You were scheduled for the second stripe in the January lists anyway, so this is just moving things up by a few months, but under the circumstances, we all think it merited.”

  “Thank you, ma’am,” Bishop replied.

  “What condition is Ariadne in, Lieutenant?”

  “She suffered severe damage to her power network, the bridge is destroyed, primary armament is offline. The engines are intact, though, even the hyperdrive, and the point-defense weapons and sensor suite are intact. She’s going to need some serious shipyard time, ma’am, but in my judgement, she’s certainly salvageable. I’ve got our engineering teams working on preparing her to transit to Caledonian orbit under her own power. Seventy-two hours, we think, assuming we don’t find any more surprises waiting for us.”

  “I’m afraid I’ve got one for you, right off the bat,” Tyler replied. “Aside from your medical team and two of your damage control teams, your staff have to head back home right now. Commander Peters is getting Ares into service immediately, and he’s short-handed. We’re not writing off Ariadne, but the priority has to be those ships that we can put into the line right away. You’ll remain with Ariadne until you get her back home.”

  “That’s going to hurt, ma’am,” Bishop said. “If I could…”