She hated these moments, isolated pockets of calm in the midst of the chaos of battle. In a little over two minutes, Theseus would be opening fire, but there was nothing she could do other than watch and wait for the action to begin. Everyone else on the bridge had their tasks, their duties, either fighting their front in the battle or preparing for action. She simply had to sit and wait.
And think, a little too much. Her daughter was trapped on that station, a station she was running from, and Jack had been captured. Possibly killed. More than half of their fighters had been destroyed, and Churchill wasn't equipped for battle, her three missile tubes an afterthought intended more for defensive than offensive use.
Finch was good, preparing and updating firing solutions on the approaching battlecruiser, his cool demeanor belying his inexperience. He'd have a good future in the Fleet, assuming any of them had any future at all. Though given that theoretically, all of them were fugitives, charged with a variety of capital crimes, it seemed more likely that they'd end up either buried on some forgotten outpost, or on the run for the rest of their lives. She'd got her crew into this mess, and with Jack lost, now she had to take responsibility for Churchill's crew as well. Even if most of them still hated her for her imagined crimes.
“One minute, ten seconds to contact,” Morgan said, looking back from the sensor monitor. “No change to enemy target aspect. Indications that all missile tubes on Theseus are armed and ready.”
“So are ours,” Finch said with a smile.
“Damage control teams deployed,” Morgan added. “Fifty seconds to contact.”
“Clayton,” Mallory said, “Whatever happens, hold us on our current course. We've got to get clear of the enemy, no matter what. Everything other than the primary engine is expendable right now. We'll patch up any damage later. Understand?”
“Yes, ma'am,” she replied, her face growing pale. Mallory settled down in the command chair, waiting for the action to begin, watching as the trajectories of the two ships converged. A clock flashed into position on the viewscreen, counting down the seconds to firing range, Finch's hand hovering over the launch controls. The only noise on the bridge was the rattle of McGuire's fingers on his console, still fighting his private war with the enemy hacker.
“Firing first salvo,” Finch said, and the ship rocked back as a trio of missiles raced away, new contacts on the screen. “Enemy has responded.”
Six against three, the tracks surging towards each other. Compared to the battle they had just fought, this was simple. Two ships launching strikes at each other for less than a minute. The rival missiles moved onto parallel courses, the enemy gunner choosing to sacrifice half of his salvo to defend his ship. Nine tracks morphed into three, heading right for Churchill.
Frantically, Finch worked his controls, trying to get another salvo into the air before impact, Clayton rolling the ship in a bid to redirect the damage to safe area. Seconds before Finch could launch, the missiles found their target, a dull roar followed by the angry grind of battered hull armor. Churchill lurched to the side, Clayton struggling with the controls, trying to hold her on course, and a sea of red lights washed over the status board as Morgan cursed.
“Damage report,” Mallory said.
“Three impacts, all in our rear section. We've lost the auxiliary reactor, aft sensors, food fabricator, and sustained serious damage to our primary oxygen reservoir.” The ship lurched forward, and she continued, “Out-gassing from nine hull breaches on four decks. Damage control teams are on the case.” Turning to her, she added, “We were damn lucky.”
“Second salvo launched!” Finch said. “Enemy has responded.”
“Twenty-three seconds remaining in firing range,” Clayton said. “I've lost half my thrusters, Captain. We're slipping.”
“Vent all atmosphere from damaged areas,” Mallory ordered.
“Captain, there are people down there!” Morgan protested.
“And if they're smart, they'll have secured themselves. We don't have a choice, Ensign. We might survive a second strike, but we damn well can't live through a third!”
“Impact in fifteen seconds,” Finch said. “We won't get another salvo up in time.”
“Hold on, everyone,” Mallory said, watching as the two packs of missiles swooped past each other, Finch detonating his charges at the perfect second to cause maximum damage. Only two warheads emerged from the debris field this time, but there was nothing they could do to stop them. Silently, they swung into position, while Clayton frantically used their remaining thrusters to try and evade, a desperate race they couldn't win.
Two impacts, a second apart, slammed into the rear of the ship, sending it tumbling end over end as Clayton desperately tried to bring it under control. The lights flickered, two of the aft consoles rebooting, signs of damage to the power distribution nodes. Morgan threw her hands in the air in disgust as she struggled to collect reports from all decks, Finch silently looking at his console in despair.
“We're clear,” Clayton said, as the viewscreen died, the sensor display flashing a warning that it no longer had access to updated information from the external monitors. Mallory turned back to Morgan, who shook her head.
“It's bad, Captain. Main reactor this time, serious damage, and Chief Cruz wants to switch to batteries until we can get things working again. Primary engine needs to go offline for at least half an hour, a couple of hundred hull breaches.” She paused, sighed, and said, “Four dead. Five injured. Doctor Strickland is setting up triage facilities in Storage One.”
“What do we do now, Captain?” Finch asked, turning from his station.
“Lick our wounds,” Mallory replied. “And come back to finish what we started.”
Chapter 9
Jack looked across at his daughter, taking a welcome swig to empty the water bottle before dropping it to the floor. It was no surprise that he'd thought it was Kathy standing over him at first. She was almost the mirror image of her mother, though twenty years younger. Not much younger than when they'd first met. Yet there was still something of him there, something in the back of his eyes, a trace of his inheritance.
Susan looked at him, then said, “It is you, isn't it.”
He nodded, and replied, “This really wasn't how I'd envisaged our reunion, but yes, I'm your father.” Looking over her again, he added, “Under the circumstances, I suppose asking you how you are is a crazy question.”
“I'm fine,” she said. “They didn't hurt me.”
“Good,” he replied. “How did they catch you?”
“I…,” she looked down at the deck, and said, “We were at Carpenter Station. Cadet training flight. I wanted to see the nightlife.”
With a soft chuckle, Jack replied, “I guess there's something of me in you after all. Carpenter's Underlevel is a pretty wild place sometimes. I remember one furlough...”
“People died!” she said. “I dragged a friend of mine with me, and they shot him! They shot John, and he was only trying to protect me!” Tears began to flow from her eyes, and she raced towards him, instincts from her childhood flooding back after decades of abeyance. He reached his arms around her, and looked up at the ceilings. He could reassure her in a moment, tell her that John Clarke was alive, at least for the moment, but doubtless they were under surveillance, their every move monitored. Clarke had to remain free if they had any chance of escape, though seeing his daughter's pain ripped at his heart.
“Don't worry,” he said. “It'll be fine.”
“The guard who brought you,” she said, fighting the tears. “He said that you were leading an attack group. That you were going to destroy this station.”
Nodding, Jack said, “That's true.” She looked up at him, and he continued, “Listen to me. This facility is being used by a group of rogue Triplanetary officers, ones seeking a weapon that wiped out an entire race. It has to be destroyed. No matter
what the cost.” He tugged at his uniform, and said, “That's the deal we made when we put on the uniform.” With a smile, he added, “That being said, I intend to find a way to get out of here if we can.”
“I never wanted to wear the damn uniform!” she yelled. “This wasn't my idea, it was Mom's. She went on and on about how I should serve my country, that I should want to join the Triplanetary Fleet. Since I was a little girl, that was my whole future, mapped out, that I should follow her into the military.” Her eyes bitter now, she said, “I'd have probably washed out by now if I hadn't been captured.”
Shaking his head, Jack replied, “I'm sorry, Susan.”
“No, you aren't sorry. If you were sorry, you'd have been there. You wouldn't have left us. Mum told me that you'd run off, that you'd been thrown out of the Fleet.” She pulled out a datapad, brandishing it in the air, and continued, “Then I read this. You never left, did you? You've been an undercover operative, all of this time, and you left me behind with a succession of aunts and grandparents, never with my real parents. My friends had fathers. I never did.”
“You had a father,” he said, sharing her bitterness. “And leaving you was never my choice.”
“Then where were you? Where were you when I was crying in my room, wondering what I had done to drive you away? Where were you when I needed someone to talk to. Mom was no better. She was off-planet more than she was on.”
With a deep breath, he replied, “Susan, I suppose I could spin some story about it being complicated, but that would be a lie. How much do you know about what happened to me at the end of the War?”
“I know that you couldn't handle peace.”
“Maybe there's truth to that,” he replied. “I seem to have been a lot happier now I've got someone to fight again. Perhaps I should have stayed in the uniform.” With a sigh, he continued, “I was court-martialed. Thrown out of the service, for being drunk on duty.” Looking down at her, he added, “And the panel was right, and I'd have made the same decision. Damn it, I could have killed someone.”
“Why?”
“On the last day of the War, after the ceasefire, my whole squadron was wiped out. In an operation ordered by the diplomats with no real strategic significance, one that should never have happened.” Tears started to come, and he said, “They were my friends. I'd fought with them for years. Two of them were your age, damn it. Just kids. They never had a chance to know what peace was like.” He took another deep breath, and said, “You want the truth? I was weak. I couldn't handle it. The pressure broke me, smashed me into pieces, and I could only find my salvation at the bottom of a bottle.” Staring into space, he said, “I wasn't fit to be a father to you. I couldn't even look after myself.”
“But...”
“After a few years, some very good friends of mine, who I hope you will one day have the chance to meet, managed to pull me out of the death spiral. I won't pretend it wasn't a very near thing. I could easily have ended up dead in some dive. It's almost surprising that I didn't.”
“Why didn't you come home, when you recovered? Why did you stay away?”
“By then your mother and I had divorced, and she made it clear that the two of you had moved on, and that me coming home would only open up bad memories.” Shaking his head, he said, “And maybe I was still ashamed of what I'd done, and didn't know how I would have looked you in the eyes. That's not an excuse, and I don't think I can ever apologize for what I've done. I did send letters, but they always came back unread. Every year, on the anniversary of our divorce.”
In a quiet voice, she replied, “Has there been anyone else? Do I have a brother or sister running around out there?”
“Nothing long-term.” He smiled, then said, “Your mother was a tough act to follow.”
“Do you still love her?”
“You're good at the tough questions, aren't you?” he replied. “This has to be the craziest reunion in history.” He paused, then said, “I'd hoped to go to your graduation, but...”
“I said no,” she replied. “I thought you didn't want me, that you were just…,” She sighed, then said, “I don't know what I thought.”
He shook his head, then said, “I was in the middle of a battle that day anyway, I'm afraid. That was the week I got dragged back into the service.” He looked across at her, and said, “I've only been working for Triplanetary Intelligence for about five months. Before that I was running a tramp freighter, out on the frontier. I managed to scrape together some backing, enough to get started.”
“You've got your own ship?”
“Technically the bank owns about seventy percent of it, but basically, yes.” He looked down again, and continued, “I threw in with a few of my old friends, people I served with back in the War. I think your mother's the only one of the old gang that didn't sign on, and she's over there now.”
“Mom's here? In this system?”
“Commanding Churchill. My ship. She was an old fighter tender, during the War, and I bought her at auction when they demobilized the Martian Space Service, oh, six years back.” He smiled, then added, “Feels right, somehow, that she's back on active duty again. She had one hell of a combat record.”
“Then that part...”
“Was true. Your mother and I are serving together, and don't get the idea that it has been exactly fun, but I think we're getting along a lot better than we did before.” He shook his head, and said, “I'd figured when we'd got this mission over with, I'd go back to Mars and try and get some sort of relationship with you. I'm sorry you got dragged up in all of this.”
“It's my own fault,” she replied. “I never should have gone down into the Underlevel.”
Shaking his head, Jack replied, “You were probably a target right from the first, though I thought that my boss would have kept an eye on you.”
She looked up at him in horror, and said, “The man in the suit! He came into the bar, he was following the two of us, and when that dancer drew her gun he fired back.” Her eyes widened, and she continued, “They killed him, as well.”
Nodding, Jack said, “Probably a Triplanetary Intelligence agent assigned to keep you safe.”
“I've killed three people,” she said. “I didn't fire the gun, but I killed them. All of this is my fault. All of this.”
Holding her in his arms, Jack replied, “Susan, a few hours ago I tried to kill everyone on this station. I'd have died myself in the attempt.” Taking a deep breath, he continued, “It wasn't you. Admiral Knight has all the blame for this. She's killed hundreds of people already. I doubt three more even registers now. That's why we've got to win.”
“How?” she said. “There's no way out of here. I've tried.”
“We'll find a way, I promise,” he lied. “And we've got a lot of friends out there who will do everything they can to get us out of here.”
“But if this station has to be destroyed...”
“I have no intention of being here when that happens, and I'm going to make damn sure you aren't. This station has shuttles, escape pods, and we now have something you didn't have before. A safe place to land. Churchill's waiting, and if I know your mother, she's already working out some way of getting us both out of this mess.”
The door slid open, and a familiar figure walked in, a smile on her face, “I think you might be waiting a long time for your friends to come to your assistance.”
“Admiral Knight,” Jack said, rising to his feet. “I've been looking forward to meeting you for a very long time.” He looked around, noting the trio of guards standing behind her, all of them with pistols in their hands. “Is this the firing squad?”
“Do you think I would be stupid enough to visit you and your darling daughter without an escort?” Her smile grew, and she said, “I have to admit, you and that ship of yours have caused me a lot of trouble over the last few months, but all of that has now been brought to a
n end. Your ship is a wreck, your fighters scattered, and we now have two bargaining chips that I intend to exploit to the full.”
“Kathryn Mallory will not submit to blackmail,” Jack replied.
“Even when her daughter's life is at stake?” Looking at Susan, she continued, “Because believe me, it is.”
“I was quite willing to destroy this station, even knowing that my daughter was on board, and my ex-wife will have no compunctions about doing the same. She's the finest tactician in the Fleet, and I can tell you now that you've lost.” Looking around, he said, “This wonderful station of yours is extremely vulnerable, and with an enemy ship in-system, we'll find some way to get that one missile to the target.”
“You already had the best chance you possibly could,” she replied. “And incidentally, my complements on a spectacular decoy. It came very close to working.” Raising an eyebrow, she added, “As a result of which, I'm currently looking for a new Tactical Aide, if you're interested.”
“Sure,” he replied. “My first recommendation is unconditional surrender.”
She chuckled, and said, “Do you have any idea what is at stake here, Captain?”
Taking a step forward, his daughter standing behind him, he replied, “I know that a senior flag officer has decided to betray everything her uniform is supposed to represent, that she has massacred her own comrades, committed acts of treason against the Confederation.”
“Everything I have done has been for the Confederation, Captain!” she said. “Perhaps you are not as well informed on current events as you should be, but our nation is surrounded by enemies on every side. The United Nations, Lunar Republic, Cabal, countless others we haven't even known yet. Empty space proves to be somewhat crowded, Captain.”
“And the job of the Triplanetary Fleet is to protect the Confederation. Which, the last time I checked, didn't justify mass murder.” Shaking his head, he said, “Why defend the Confederation, Admiral? What's the point? If we become like our enemies, we've already lost before we even fire a shot, and you know it. At least you did, once.”
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