With a sigh, Terry turned to Garrison. “We got here a day and a half ago to turn on the lights. More crews are coming.”
“Gotta get the starter facilities running as fast as we can.” Xander already looked harried. “Soon enough we’ll start hauling in the first ships from Relleker for salvage.”
A look of pain crossed Orli’s face. “Relleker was my real home for years. I was absorbed in my compy work, and DD was my best friend.” She drew a deep breath, and Garrison held her as she spoke. “Everyone I knew on Relleker is dead now. At least Matthew is alive on New Portugal.”
With his mistress and his new baby, Garrison thought. There wasn’t anything he could do to make her forget her former husband or her past on Relleker, though, and he didn’t want to forget his own scars.
Not noticing Orli’s sadness, Xander gestured them toward the tunnels leading into the asteroid. “Plenty of rooms are ready for guests. You’re welcome to claim any you like, but I thought you’d want your old rooms, Garrison? From before?” Xander lowered his voice. “We found the memorial plaque you left, and all the recorded messages from clan Reeves. I listened to many of them … but I had to stop.”
“We’re very sorry about what happened to your family,” Terry said.
“I am too.” Garrison kept his voice low as Seth ran off with OK and DD. Once the boy was gone, he said, “My clan made their own decision, and it was a bad one. No fixing it now.”
Orli said, “Seems to me, your stubborn father was the reason for the disaster. He made the wrong decision. The rest of them just followed him.”
“And following him was their decision,” Garrison said, then let out a long sigh. He had made bad decisions, too—such as marrying Elisa Enturi. And yet even that poor choice had produced the silver lining of his son, and he wouldn’t trade Seth for anything. And when his relationship with Elisa had fallen apart, it set off a long chain of events that had led to him meeting Orli. Happy endings.
Each decision had consequences, a cascade of effects, some good, some bad, all of them culminating in now. And he didn’t want to change that.
“We’re here because of who we are.” Garrison slid his arm around Orli again and looked at Xander and Terry. “Rendezvous should never have been restored to exactly what it was. I like your idea better. Considering the history of this place and how much the Roamers want it to succeed, I think Handon Station will be even more successful than Ulio was.”
“We’re not going to call it Handon Station,” Terry insisted.
“I think we are,” Xander said in a singsong voice.
When Garrison said it again, even Terry looked as if the argument was lost.
CHAPTER
45
XANDER BRINDLE
Xander knew the Roamer clans would recognize a good opportunity when it was right in front of them. Each person had a Guiding Star, and in this instance, those stars all clustered together. Handon Station was going to be glorious.
Terry was not an outgoing person; he preferred a quiet life, but Xander wouldn’t let him get away with that, since he was the head of these operations. When Terry grumbled about his new responsibilities, Xander said, “Sometimes ambitions are forced upon you. You have money and big dreams, but implementing them is the hard work. Once we have the place up and running, we’ll delegate all the pain-in-the-ass work. That’s what executives do.”
“I’ve never been an executive before,” Terry said. “I want to keep busy, do something useful.”
Xander laughed. “We’ll keep you useful—and busy.”
More Roamer ships arrived daily with clan members offering their services as space construction workers, mechanics, life-support technicians, stardrive specialists. Delivery ships brought in the enormous amounts of equipment and supplies required for setting up the new operations. Terry paid the entire up-front investment, and it made no noticeable dent in his account balance. Still, he felt conscientious about waste, and he tried to keep track of the expenditures.
Garrison proved to be a competent manager. He had experience supervising work teams at the Big Ring and in the Lunar Orbital Complex at Earth, and Terry happily handed over more of the administrative tasks.
Orli spread the word that she was ready to work on any compies that needed maintenance, and DD looked forward to having new friends. Some Roamers arrived at the complex with their own damaged ships, asking for cut rates on repairs because they were among the first customers. Xander dickered with them, but not too vigorously, since the maintenance teams needed practice. “Handon Station has to start somewhere,” he said.
With the basic structure in place, Xander was anxious to get rolling on a much bigger scale. “If you want to make an impression, Terry, we need ships—a lot of ships—to make this a full-fledged repair yard. We should go to Relleker ourselves to see what’s worth salvaging. Garrison can handle operations here.”
“It may be a short trip. Most of the ships there must have been destroyed in the attack,” Terry said.
“‘Destroyed’ is a relative term. You’re not thinking like a Roamer. Just imagine all the hull sections, stardrives, and just plain spare parts we can round up. You know what Maria would have done with all that.”
In his years working at Ulio, Terry had learned how to make even the smallest of scraps count. “You’re right. We should lead the first teams at Relleker. Garrison can watch over operations here, and you and I will be salvage managers.”
“Is that supposed to be an impressive title?”
“Senior salvage manager,” Terry said. “I’ll let you have that one.”
Before they departed, four clunky old-model vessels from clan Selise limped into the Rendezvous complex, and after one look at them, Xander assumed they were customers for the repair facilities. Xander gave them a cheery welcome: “We don’t have enough functional spacedocks to take all four of you at once, but we’ll get your ships fixed up.”
Omar Selise, an old clan leader with a lantern-shaped face and scraggly gray hair, looked offended by Xander’s suggestion. “Repairs? These old ships work just fine. We came to offer our services.”
From an even worse-looking ship, a second scruffy man said, “These ships have been workhorses for clan Selise since before you were born, boy! Doesn’t matter what it looks like on the outside, I pay attention to how it works under the hood. I said the same thing about my second wife.”
“Then we’re pleased to have you join us,” Terry said in a conciliatory tone. “Welcome.”
When Xander told them of their upcoming mission to Relleker, all four Selise ships volunteered to take part in the salvage activities there. Later, while Terry finished the final loading and preparations to take the Verne out, Xander was caught off guard when Omar Selise approached him alone in a rock-walled corridor. The old man poked a finger at him. “Need to talk to you, Brindle. I know you put out private word for some very specific medical research projects, and I’ve done a little digging.” Omar leaned closer to him. “Got a paralyzed grandson of my own. Same condition as your partner’s.”
That caught Xander’s attention.
The man’s watery brown eyes narrowed. “You see, I’ve been keeping an eye out for the same kind of research you’re interested in.”
Xander had indeed made quiet inquiries on Terry’s behalf, offering large rewards to anyone who could provide innovative but proven spinal-repair treatments—neurological fusions, cellular rewiring, anything that could take care of the rare, degenerative damage that made Terry unable to walk. Given the huge amount of money Maria Ulio had left him, something had to be available.
Omar surreptitiously pressed a datapack into Xander’s hand. “This is everything I know. None of it is official, but the program shows some promise. I’ve wanted to test it on my grandson, but … couldn’t afford it.”
Xander felt a rush of hope. “Let me look this over. If the technique works, maybe we can come to an arrangement. Tell me more.”
“There’s a big
drawback.” The scraggly old clan leader set his mouth in a grim line. “Some of these programs were done at Rakkem.”
The very name of Rakkem sent a chill through Xander. He had seen the horrific age-rejuvenation treatments that Rakkem had used as a scam. “I wouldn’t trust any treatment they proposed.”
“The planet’s shut down now, but not everything there was a fraud. This particular scientist left Rakkem long before the raid, says he was never part of any shady activities. Check it out, do the research yourself. Find out whether it’s worth investigating.” Omar raised his eyebrows. “Your message said you were willing to try just about anything.”
“I am,” Xander said, though he wasn’t sure if Terry was. “Thank you, I’ll do my due diligence. And how much do I have to pay you for this?”
Again Omar Selise looked offended. “I’m not doing this for the money, dammit—it’s for my grandson. If the procedure works, then you tell me. Maybe we can get both of them to walk again.”
The clan leader moved away with long lanky strides in the low gravity. Xander held the datapack, feeling his thoughts churn with both hope and hesitation. He couldn’t dismiss the potential chance for a cure. He would have OK check it out as thoroughly as possible.
CHAPTER
46
GENERAL NALANI KEAH
When the shadow cloud unfolded outside of lunar orbit and disgorged thousands—hundreds of thousands—of robot battleships, General Keah raced headlong back toward the LOC in the small shuttle. The acceleration slammed her back in her seat, but she managed to keep her hands on the controls, aiming straight for her docked flagship.
She yelled into the comm system, “Battle stations! All hands to battle stations—in case you haven’t noticed.”
Running lights winked on across the eighty Manta cruisers parked above the orbiting facilities and manufacturing domes in the lunar rubble. Numerous Remoras engaged in test exercises now swooped back to their home ships.
Keah’s shuttle plunged like a projectile toward her Juggernaut, which was still anchored inside the gridwork of its spacedock repair facility. “Kutuzov, prepare to launch! Open landing bay three for me—I’ll be coming in hot.”
She hoped she could decelerate fast enough to land relatively safely. She didn’t care about wrecking the shuttle; she just didn’t want to damage her battleship. She was obviously going to be needing it.
“But General, we’re still in spacedock.” On the screen, her first officer’s face appeared gray and sweaty. “Only half of the repairs are completed!”
“I can see that, Mr. Wingo, but the shadows aren’t going to wait around for us to finish. Have the construction crews get to safety, then blow the connections.” She gritted her teeth, knowing that everyone could listen in on the open channel. No use being gentle—they had all seen what happened at Relleker. “This is going to be bad—very bad. I can’t say whether it’d be safer for the repair crews inside the LOC or aboard the Kutuzov. Leave it to their discretion, but they have to make up their minds quick. Either way, we are taking my ship into battle within minutes.”
She risked a glance toward the shadow cloud, saw the hex cylinders gliding out of their nether universe like alien cattle prods. Waves and waves of identical robot ships poured out, as numerous as the stars in the sky. “Damn bugbots!”
According to her screens the first attackers would reach the LOC within ten minutes … right about the time Keah got back aboard her ship.
“Mr. Patton, activate your weapons banks and prepare to fire even before disengaging from spacedock. If you’re good, you can take out a hundred bugbots on our way out the door.”
Her weapons officer cut in, “General, we can’t open fire while we’re still in dock!”
“Prove yourself wrong, Mr. Patton. I bet you can figure out a way.”
She ignored the comm so she could concentrate on guiding her shuttle straight toward the tiny launching bay on the side of her Juggernaut.
From inside the LOC headquarters rock, Admiral Harvard blurted out on the broad-spectrum open channel, “We are under attack! All capable ships stand your ground and prepare to defend the LOC.”
Keah didn’t think the military headquarters was the bugbots’ prime target, though. This would be just a warm-up for Earth.
Admirals Handies and Haroun were aboard their Juggernauts, while Harvard remained inside the central headquarters. Haroun managed to get his Juggernaut moving much sooner than his counterpart did. Keah watched the Okrun heading in toward the LOC, flanked by several Mantas that were also rallying, while the Rafani, Admiral Handies’s flagship, backed away from the rubble as if to get into a better strategic firing position … at least that was what she hoped Handies intended.
Trapped inside the spacedock framework, the Kutuzov looked like a behemoth about to outgrow a flimsy cage. All of its lights were activated; the engines glowed, building up thrust in the reactors. Lines of indicators on the spacedock support structure flared red in warning. The engine exhaust cones glowed brighter, and the big hulk began to move. Many of the umbilicals and connecting anchors had already been removed, but some stragglers tore away in showers of sparks as the battleship shook itself free.
Keah adjusted her shuttle’s course, tracking the tiny open landing bay, which was her target—but now a moving target. “I’m always up for a challenge,” she muttered.
Any sensible person would decelerate and approach with caution, but right now she didn’t have time to be sensible. The black robots were coming in.
The ferocious angular ships began strafing the LOC complex with so many energy beams that the vicinity became a spider web of bright blasts. Most of the beams struck dead rock, but they blasted away indiscriminately. The bugbots didn’t bother to choose particular targets; they simply meant to wreck everything.
The General transmitted her Identify Friend/Foe signal, hoping some desperate yahoo wouldn’t see the shuttle racing in and assume it was a threat. She braced herself, saw the Juggernaut loom large, tracked its movement as it picked up speed, and compensated so she could aim directly for the launching bay.
With a bright flare, an entire battery of the Kutuzov’s laser cannons fired, vaporizing the remnants of the spacedock framework that held it back. More beams struck out to annihilate dozens of oncoming black vessels. At least Patton had figured that part out.
Keah hammered her controls, slammed into full deceleration in hopes she wouldn’t pulp herself against the inner wall of the landing bay. The force hit her like a punch in the gut, but she gripped the controls, held on, and guided herself forward. Alarm lights flared inside the bay. Automated warnings told her to change course and abort the landing, but she flew ahead anyway, her shields up.
The shuttle slowed, tracked, then plunged into the open bay, missing the gate framework by no more than a meter. Her ship plowed along the deck, slowed, skidded, slewed in a waterfall of sparks. She ignored the cacaphony of alarms in her cockpit. The shuttle spun a full three-sixty on the deck, but the shields dampened her landing energy enough that she screeched to a halt, thumped against the far bulkhead—causing damage, but nothing serious—and finally came to rest.
Without catching her breath, Keah unclipped the crash restraints, opened the hatch, and bounded out, already heading toward the bank of lifts. She paid no attention to the smoke and lingering sparks behind her. The Kutuzov was moving, and she could hear the rumble of explosive impacts against the hull. She needed to be on her bridge to run this show.
Two of the lifts weren’t functioning, but Keah bounded up ladders, finally found a lift on the next deck that took her directly to the bridge. When she stepped out onto the main deck, she saw that her crew was behaving admirably in a desperate situation. She expected no less. “I’m taking command! Mr. Wingo—situation update.”
As the Juggernaut headed away from the LOC complex and into the thick of the fight, the screen was filled with tumbling rocks and a flurry of ships, some evacuating, some converging in a de
fensive formation.
“The situation is extremely fluid, General.”
“I can see that.”
At his weapons station, Dylan Patton was directing the fire patterns. Laser-cannon batteries shot out fire hoses of light, blasting countless robot ships. “It’s a target-rich environment, General. We can’t keep up with it all.”
“Clear away about fifty thousand of those bugbots, and you’ll be able to see better,” she said. “Proceed.”
“Doing my best, General.”
The tendons stood out on Wingo’s neck. “But where did all the robots come from? We must have tanked a hundred thousand of them already at Relleker with our sun bombs. There seem to be more than ever.”
From his command-and-control center deep inside the main LOC rock, Admiral Harvard transmitted, “Awaiting your orders, General Keah.”
“Admiral, launch all CDF ships—and I mean all of them. Even a janitor scow with a jazer might help out in a pinch. If a ship can fly, even at partial strength, it’s an asset. On the other hand, any vessel stuck in spacedock is a target.”
Keah looked at the tactical screens that showed the sheer number of black robots coming in for the attack, and she worked very hard to keep her expression neutral even though her heart stuttered with dismay. It did not seem possible to get out of this. Simply. Not. Possible.
Seventeen Mantas from the LOC converged and put themselves in front of the oncoming bugbot warships like cannon fodder. With uncoordinated but enthusiastic fire, they blasted the robots using laser cannons augmented with traditional jazers. Even though the barrage damaged hundreds of robot ships, the enemy was willing to sacrifice a thousand of their vessels to obliterate the handful of Mantas standing in their way—and they did exactly that. The bugbots absorbed and ignored their casualties, and kept coming. They destroyed the Mantas and plowed right through the wreckage of the CDF ships.
Remoras zipped in, individually engaging one robot ship after another, but the fighter craft were no match for the enemy battleships. They barely even caused a delay in the onslaught.
Eternity's Mind Page 21