Genellan: Planetfall

by Скотт Г. Джир

  "Composite radar returns received from our attacking missiles reveal the disposition of the alien fleet at the time of attack. Eight interstellars are confirmed, and at least thirty smaller ships— pickets, or scouts. Updates from the second and third waves are beginning to arrive. As you can see, their picket array has lost its organization. It will cost them fuel and time to regain position. Each subsequent attack will further degrade these defenses."

  The wall presentation zoomed away from the alien fleet to reveal multiple brilliant red arrows. Relative to the great distances of the planetary system, the arrows were already near the battle zone.

  "Our second wave—twenty piloted interceptors and eighty drone missiles—will engage by this time tomorrow. Third and fourth waves, the same mix, will arrive simultaneously less than four hours later. Preparations for additional attacks, if necessary, are underway." The audience stirred as the briefer paused to review his notes.

  Unbidden, Emperor-General Gorruk stood and turned to face the assembly. "We will saturate their defenses and overwhelm the alien fleet," he bellowed. "The invaders will be destroyed or repelled, and once again we will have satisfied our vows." The audience turned to stare, and a low shoveling of impudent hissing could be heard emitting from the southerners.

  "Thank you, most excellent Emperor-General," said Defense Commanding General Talsali, quelling the disturbance with his gavel. "Perhaps it would be prudent to advise caution until the outcome of the battle is better defined." General Talsali, a nonaligned northerner, was the officer in command of the Planetary Defense Force. He was quite advanced in years, having survived several regimes, but his voice was clear, his tone giving no indication of emotion or judgment. General Talsali was renowned for his diplomacy, a necessary survival skill.

  Gorruk glowered at the Planetary Defense Commander, searching for a hint of sarcasm or disrespect, any excuse to initiate a rebuke, but none was apparent. Gorruk reclined in his lounge, and Talsali recognized a member of a southern delegation. The delegate rose to his hinds and turned in Gorruk' s direction.

  "Emperor-General Gorruk," said the southern official, a wizened noblekone. "We find it disturbing that aliens have been in our system all this time and only your government has been aware of that fact."

  Gorruk had been forced to confirm the presence of aliens on Genellan in the face of persistent and pointed inquiries by the Planetary Defense Command—no doubt the work of the elusive Et Avian and Et Kalass. Exasperated, Gorruk bolted back to his hinds and faced his accuser.

  "You speak from ignorance!" he responded. "I answer not for what transpired under my predecessor. The presence of aliens was only recently made known to me, and I assure you, had I known sooner, I would have done everything in my power to eliminate them—sooner."

  "That is not my point, most excellent General," the southern official replied, ignoring the insult. "Should we not make an effort to communicate with the aliens?"

  "As I have reported," Gorruk snapped, "it has been attempted, and the aliens reacted aggressively. One of our most capable scientists was killed while in their hands. They are hostile." The delegates looked at each other, some skeptically, but most shook their heads in fearful condolence. Xenophobia ran deep.

  "The fact remains," Gorruk continued, "another fleet of alien interstellar ships has penetrated deep within our system. What other explanation for their persistence than aggression? Remember our vows. We have sworn to repel invaders from space." The vast majority of delegates nodded and rumbled their acknowledgment. The vows were sacred rituals of their history. Gorruk sensed the groundswell of support. "The mission is clear. We must destroy the perfidious enemy! You will appreciate my vigilance and decisiveness before this is over!"

  The crowd rumbled in support of Gorruk' s position. The inquisitor sat down and turned to discuss the issue with his neighbors.

  "Your vigilance and decisiveness are beyond reproach, Emperor-General," Talsali interjected, turning to the audience. "The obligations of the vows are compelling. We must not let our planet be attacked again. Aliens have arrived in our system, and their intentions must be assumed hostile. We press the attack."

  * * *

  The second wave of interceptors bore down on the ragged screen. Two divisions of corvettes had been assigned new coordinates to compensate for the weakening of defenses caused by Tasmania's engineering casualty. Carmichael piloted Peregrine One in a mad, fuel-consuming dash to its new assignment.

  "On station, Commander," his copilot announced. "Retro checklist complete. Weapons are up, and all stations are ready. Fuel state twenty-two point three!"

  "Roger, report in to screen commander." Carmichael set the tactical display at maximum range and noted the advancing progress of the first few enemy missiles. Fuel was now his biggest concern. Fortunately, the first wave of enemy missiles had all been target-locked—the missiles had not maneuvered—and fire control solutions required little expenditure of fuel. Peregrine One had taken out two attackers. Regardless, Carmichael would have to conserve fuel. He hit the maneuvering alarm and punched the ignition control button for retrograde burn. The «backward» flying corvette accelerated to zero velocity relative to the screen's reference datum.

  "Eire has taken the point. Coordinates are updating," the second officer announced. "Tasmania's still drifting to sector two, and her drift rate has increased. They've been unable to get her to link."

  "Can she return fire?" Carmichael asked.

  "Only partially," the second officer replied. "Two of her primary batteries are disabled, and she can't maneuver. She has coverage gaps, and she's masking defensive fire from motherships in that sector."

  "Bad news—" the copilot started to say.

  "Osprey's engaging!" the second officer interrupted, his voice pitching higher. "She's reporting maneuvering targets!" "Picnic's over, kids," Carmichael said quietly.

  * * *

  Sarah Merriwether stared at the flagship's tactical display. Her stomach churned bitterly. She watched Tasmania drift inexorably out of the grid.

  "We are at station limits, Captain," advised the Officer-of-thedeck, his voice hinting of anxiety.

  "Maintain station on Tasmania," Merriwether said calmly. "Establish and hold grid link. We are the guide. Admiral Runacres will keep everyone together. Order all nonoperational crew to their lifeboat stations and notify weapons they are cleared to fire."

  "Aye, sir," said the Officer-of-the-deck, turning to his console.

  * * *

  "What is Merriwether doing?" Runacres demanded, peering down at the flagship's command bridge. "She's taking Eire off the guide bearing!"

  "Captain Merriwether is keeping Tasmania in grid contact," Wells reported. "Eire still shows a partial link."

  "She can't do it alone. Direct Baffin and Novaya to support Eire's movements," Runacres ordered angrily. "Swing TDF a half span to sector two."

  Merriwether was going to have some explaining to do. She was causing the fleet defensive positions to collapse to one side. The enemy could exploit the maneuver and concentrate its attack. Runacres scanned the situation plot and noted with grim satisfaction his motherships moving smartly along the new defensive axis defined by Tasmania's excursion. It would take two hours to complete the realignment. Too late to make a difference in the fleet defenses, but it was the right thing to do. It was the only thing to do.

  * * *

  "Engaging alien screens, flight leader," the konish copilot said.

  "Very well," the interceptor pilot replied. The noblekone scanned his tactical display, checking the disposition of his squadron. The other interceptors were in position. His mission was to trail two flights of drones through the picket screen. While the first flight disrupted the screen defenses, his flight was to follow the subsequent brace of drones through the gap.

  Everything was proceeding to plan. His tactical display depicted engagements in progress. The alien energy beams were powerful; two of the leading drone warheads had already been destroy
ed. He wiggled his broad shoulders and stretched his neck, trying to loosen the tightness. He scanned the limitless blackness of space before him, the enemy ships invisible in the distance.

  Brilliant light ahead! A flowering incandescence provided a reference point in the infinite distances, and his rocket streaked past white and pink wisps of brightness as if they had never been there. A missile ahead of them had exploded, probably hit by an alien picket's beam of destruction. His flight was in the battle zone.

  "Enemy ship closing from sector three," the copilot reported.

  The pilot checked the tactical display and saw the symbol for an alien approaching. Another enemy symbol popped onto the screen—this one directly «overhead» — also closing on his track. But neither of the enemy ships carried enough speed; their vectorswere inadequate to intercept. His ships were through the screen! The konish flight leader shifted his attention to the radar returns of the distant starships.

  * * *

  "We can't catch them!" Carmichael cursed. He watched in vain as the enemy flight eluded them, moving too fast for an intercept from his position. Another flight of enemy missiles appeared on screen, and Carmichael horsed Peregrine One to a new vector, accelerating abruptly, using precious fuel. He would not allow another flight to penetrate his sector. "Uplink the enemy positions back to fleet ops, and pass the alert. That first group looks like trouble."

  "Aye, aye, Commander," the second officer shouted.

  "Our fuel situation stinks, Commander," the copilot reported. "I know! I know!" Carmichael replied in exasperation. "We'll make a pass at these targets, and then we have no choice but to bingo. Set up a lead pursuit. You got the ship."

  Carmichael pushed back from the controls, flexing his hands. They had knocked out two more enemy missiles, one of which had been piloted, but how much longer could they keep it up? The screen ships were scattered over a wide area, most in pursuit, some destroyed or disabled by action, and some—like Peregrine One— too low on fuel to pursue at high power. How much longer would they be able to keep up their end of the defensive load? The motherships could not handle everything.

  * * *

  Tasmania drifted helplessly, spewing lifeboats into the darkness. Only skeleton crews manned battle stations. The lifeboats, infinitesimal motes, each with a cargo of frightened human beings, floated away on assigned vectors, their tiny strobes flickering nervously against the never-ending blackness of deep space.

  Belligerent konish spaceships maneuvered to attack; Tasmania was their focus. Tasmania's skipper noted with helpless resignation the flagship maneuvering from the battle axis to support his ship's precarious situation. He could ill afford to dwell on those thoughts; a flight of two alien interceptors approached his weapons perimeter, another flight of four followed closely behind, and four more were behind those. They were coming to destroy his ship.

  "Main batteries are recharged. Weapons has good lock, Captain," his officer-of-the-deck reported. "All targets are acquired."

  "Very well," the captain replied. "Commence firing at range limit."

  The first two aliens disintegrated just after entering Tasmania's firing range, the mothership's lethal directed energy batteries lashing out with massive power and accuracy. The next flight of four missiles poured through the same gap. The aliens had deduced the Legion lasers needed charging time, and the safest place to attack was through the «craters» made by previous discharges.

  A second pair of Tasmania's energy batteries deflected hard over to cover the vulnerable sector, locking on the approaching flight. The battery director confirmed acquisition and target lock. She depressed the trigger button, and the great engine of power embedded in the operations core of the mothership hummed its deadly tune. The firing aperture flicked open and the glassy eyeball of destruction flared for a full tenth of second, darting a pulse of pure energy instantaneously across the great gulf of space. Nearly instantaneously!

  In that fraction of time three of the interceptors jinked outwards leaving the lead ship to be vaporized as the huge, hot beam raced through its molecules. The surviving ships weaved and darted, but their tracks were unerringly defined by their common objective—the Tasmania.

  That Legion mothership unleashed another laser blast of energy and only two interceptors remained.

  * * *

  "Tasmania's fire control has been overwhelmed, Captain!" reported Eire's weapons control officer. "She's receiving fire!"

  Sarah Merriwether' s flagship was also fully engaged; the big ship's energy batteries, located twenty-eight levels below the bridge, were firing beyond rated capacity. Seven enemy missiles had been annihilated. More were inbound. Merriwether switched her helmet circuit to pick up bridge-to-bridge communications. She monitored the excited intership gabble. Tasmania reported two more hits to her operations core.

  "Can you help her?" Merriwether demanded over the command circuit.

  "It'll be a tough shot, Captain. The enemy's between us and Tasmania. We may hit our own ships or the lifeboats."

  "If you get a shot, take it!" Merriwether ordered.

  "Aye, Captain."

  Within seconds the weapons control officer came back up. "Sir, Tasmania's clean, but she'll need a new coat of paint. We picked the last two bogies right off her back."

  Merriwether acknowledged and switched her attention to her own ship. Three interceptors were closing on widely separated tracks. One of them disappeared from the screen—a kill. Moments later a second one was destroyed. The third enemy ship pressed closer and closer through the most active quadrant, taking advantage of the recharging batteries. Merriwether wondered if her weapons people had spent too much time worrying about Tasmania. The bogey streaked within lethal firing range. The collision alarm sounded, and Merriwether felt the hollow crunch of explosive impact somewhere deep within her ship. The enemy interceptor had thrust its knife.

  * * *

  The konish pilot swept past the looming shape of the alien ship, maneuvering desperately to avoid the sure death of energy beams. With grim satisfaction, he watched his laser ripple across the thin metal skin of the starship. His missiles had already struck home. Every second of survival this close to the enemy was a victory, his radar images flashing back to Kon, sending vital intelligence data to Defense Command. The information would increase the success of subsequent intercepts, and his death would not be in vain, for he knew he would surely die.

  The energy beam struck with merciful instantaneity, and the pilot's atoms joined those of his ship and became one with the universe.

  * * *

  "Damage control, I need reports, now!" Merriwether demanded. The second wave had been destroyed.

  "All operations stations are functioning," the officer-of-thedeck reported. "We took missile hits in the core, Level 30, frame 123, above the 'vette bays. Overpressure shield is intact, but battle armor in bay one is penetrated. Damage control reports numerous residual fires. Habitability ring was holed by laser blasts in two places. Preliminary casualty report is four dead, ten injured and eight missing—probably overboard."

  Merriwether second-guessed herself—she should have launched lifeboats.

  "The fleet? How's the fleet?" she asked her operations officer. "Three corvettes lost, Captain," the operations officer responded. "Including Eagle One."

  "How's Tasmania?" Merriwether asked, shaking her head— Eagle One was one of Eire's corvettes—one of hers.

  "She's in bad shape, but she's asking us if we need any help." Merriwether smiled grimly.

  "Peregrine One is requesting a tug assist for a no-fuel approach, Captain," reported the officer-of-the-deck. "She's completely out of fuel and Tasmania can't take her aboard."

  "Bring her in. Can she make it on her own?"

  "Negative," said the officer-of-the-deck. "She's bone dry and coasting. We have tugs collecting lifeboats in position to intercept." "Have a tug bring her in," Merriwether ordered.

  * * *

  The officers of the Planetary Defense
Senior Command filed into the amphitheater and took their usual seats at the semicircular table beneath the briefing stage. Gorruk was irritated by the briefing delay. He was too busy to be sitting idle, waiting for others to be on time; the responsibilities of running half the world were pressing. And rumors of strange militia movements were filtering in. Gorruk sat and fumed, his gaze wandering about the auditorium. His scan stopped suddenly. Chief Scientist Samamkook was fraternizing with newly arrived noblekones, immersed in deep discussions, on the other side of the center aisle—the enemy side. Gorruk's anger flowered explosively. General Talsali addressed the room, but Gorruk was not listening. Why would Samamkook be consorting with southerners? Gorruk studied the noblekones in Samamkook' s company. They were familiar but Gorruk could not place them. The cluster of noblekones and Samamkook turned to stare directly at him, their eyes unwavering.

  "— General Gorruk!" Talsali said loudly, summoning Gorruk' s attention.

  Gorruk levered his steely glance from Samamkook and turned to face the podium. "Excuse me, General. Were you addressing me?"

  "Yes, most excellent General," Talsali replied sternly, in a decidedly undiplomatic tone. "We have received a petition to suspend the intercepts. It has been presented to and approved by all legal authorities of the southern hemisphere. I have been asked to seek concurrence of the northern governments."

  "Suspend the intercepts? Absurd! We are under attack!" An angry murmur swelled.

  "What are the results of our second wave?" he demanded.

  "The intercepts go well, most excellent Emperor-General," Talsali replied, polite in form only. "Our preliminary assessment is that two alien starships have been disabled, one of them severely. Their defensive array has broken down and the screening ships have suffered losses. Our next two waves are in position to severely damage the enemy fleet. Perhaps to destroy it."

  "And you want to stop?" Gorruk was dumbfounded.

  "It is not solely my decision, most excellent General," responded the defense commander. "New information has become available indicating the aliens have come in peace. I seek permission to suspend our attacks while this evidence is presented and corroborated."