by Lance Berry
“Reroute some power to our forward shield grids. Let’s get them working if we’re gonna mix it up,” Stubbs ordered. Mara replied affirmatively, then quickly set about working in tandem with Tamamura at her Ops console to substitute power from any systems that might not immediately be in use—lifts on several decks, the mess hall, life support from the deck which housed the NCA chapel—and fed it through to the command buffers for the forward shield emitters. Several of the MPRS lines within the forward grid were damaged to the point where only eighty percent power could be achieved, and Mara said a quick, silent prayer that it would be enough as the enemy vessels closed in swiftly.
Before they knew it, the Hawking and its sister ships were engaged again in close quarters combat with their Calvorian counterparts. Other Heavy Cruisers rushed to their aid, and fire was exchanged continually between both sides. As the two forces struggled, a new reading came over Mara’s sensors. Her eyes widened and she craned her neck to look over at Stubbs.
“The Necrosis is making its way out of firing range! It’s on a course to head out-system!”
“Helm, after it,” Stubbs ordered.
“We can’t, sir,” the helmsman replied somberly. “We’re too fenced in. Even in its crippled state, the Necrosis will finally make it to out-system before we get clear of this mess.”
On the bridge of the Horizon, Tanner Matthews had just finished relaying the same information to David Christenson.
Several enemy ship captains had indeed rallied together enough to charge to the protection of Tholin, and managed to interpose their own ships between the Earthers’ and the General’s crippled vessel. Christenson threw out a curse and swung his chair around to face the communications console. “Buttlefield!
Tell Sittam and her squad to double-time it back here! Half of them are to get these ships off us, the other to block the Necrosis by any means! I don’t want that fucking ship getting out of here, got me?” He all but screamed this last at the young com officer, who nodded excitedly and hurriedly sent a signal to the intended vessels.
The Horizon was jostled mightily as its shields underwent a severe pounding from several surrounding enemy ships. On the central viewer, the Necrosis was receding into the distance.
Several of Captain Sittam’s ships could be seen in the background, coming about to attempt to bar the enemy flagship’s path. But they were too far away, and Christenson knew they’d never make it in time. It became all the more frustrating as a couple of the Calvorian battlecruisers began to move in tighter, cutting off his view of his enemy’s ship entirely.
Christenson’s brow furrowed in anger. He gritted his teeth, coming to what he realized might be an extremely rash decision. “Tactical—full power to shields! Throw everything into it, including two-thirds life support! Helm, move us forward…ram those ships out of the way!”
Sean Winfred, Christenson’s first officer, turned from his Ops console to look aghast at his captain, as all on the bridge were doing. “Sir—?” he said uneasily.
Christenson ignored him as the bridge lights began to dim to near blackness, signaling the rerouting of all power from other functions to the shielding grids. The captain focused an icy gaze on the helmsman. “You bloody well heard me. Ram those ships.”
Winfred jumped to his feet. “Sir! Even with all energy thrown into our shields, there’s no guarantee—”
The look from Christenson cut him short. The air on the bridge began to chill rapidly as two-thirds of the life support functions were taken away. “God only knows when we’ll get another chance. I’m not letting him get away. Today is the day we have to end this, if we ever will. Tanner, do you read me?”
“Still here, sir.”
“As we clear halfway through the gauntlet, I want you to shunt power from all other functions to our engines in order to catch up. Bare minimal for shielding at that point. When we reach Necrosis, it’s all for weapons. Understand?”
“Decisively.”
Christenson turned away from his first officer and looked at the helmsman once more. “Now, damn it.”
The commanding officers of the two nearest Calvorian battlecruisers fencing in the Earth fleet could scarcely believe what their tactical officers told them: the human flagship was moving toward them, with their shields increased by a solid one hundred percent! Realizing too late what Christenson was up to, they attempted to move out of the way—but the Horizon came barreling forward, its magnetic repulsion shields treating the two ships exactly as if they were merely energy bolts: matching their mass on a positive charge in order to forcefully push them aside!
The enemy ships were completely unprepared, their own shields buckling and snapping under the assault and their hulls partially crumpling inwards as they unwillingly moved aside.
The Horizon came charging through the gauntlet, sparks and explosions flaring from its own hide as Matthews lowered the shield strength to bare minimum in order to push the engines on further, as Christenson had ordered. The ships from Sittam’s squadron that had attempted to block the Necrosis’ exit out-system found themselves in turn set upon by a renewed assault from the remainder of Tholin’s fleet. It seemed that just as the humans knew the value of ending the fleet commander’s life, so did the soldiers serving under the General. They knew that if they failed in allowing Tholin to retreat safely, their own lives might very well be found forfeit by their High Command.
The Horizon pressed onward, its speed increasing with every erg of power being rerouted into its fusion engines. It was close, so very close to its quarry…
At the last second, as the Horizon was releasing a volley of six more antimatter torpedoes, the Calvorian flagship’s two remaining engines flared dramatically to life, and a somewhat unstable warp entrance opened wide in front of the ship. The Necrosis jumped inside…and it was gone.
“Damn it to hell,” Christenson shouted as he watched the warp entrance close and disappear on the main viewscreen. He slapped the armrest on his chair. With a hard grunt, he swung his chair to the side and put a fist to his mouth, flexing it continually as a dozen emotions roiled across his countenance, seeming to vie for control of him. Another moment, and he threw the hand down as he stood and looked at his bridge crew, who were watching him cautiously. They had seen him in various states before, but never as upset as this. Tholin was his one true obsession…and it seemed the only thing that could really get beneath his skin.
“All right,” David said as he let out a slow sigh. “All right, that’s it, then. There’ll be another time. There always is…”
He turned to Winfred. “What’s the status of the rest of the battle?”
Winfred regarded him silently a moment more before turning partway to his Ops console to study readings. “The enemy ships are pulling away. They’re starting to head out-system as well.” He turned to Christenson and shook his head.
“There’s just too much hard radiation here, David. The Calvorians realize that, that’s why they’re leaving.”
Christenson licked his lips briskly as he considered something. “Tanner. The enemy ships…did any of them stop to pick up refugees from the base proper?”
“No, sir,” the tactical chief replied over the ODC. “And I’m reading life signs beginning to diminish over there. Slowly, but they are dropping.”
“They’re finished over there,” David said, more to his first officer than anyone else. “The ships at the graving yard are fairly worthless, steeped in radiation, like everything else soon will be in this system. Let’s get the life support back up, Tanner. Sean, we’ll begin searching our own damaged ships for any survivors. We need to destroy any lost ships, so as not to leave behind any tactical knowledge for the enemy.” He then looked to Buttlefield once more. “Send the signal to all ships: pull out. We’re heading back to Earth.”
Chapter 31
The door to Tholin’s quarters slid down into the floor, revealing Naddar standing in the hallway outside. “Apologies, My Lord. We have received wo
rd from Aava. We are not to return home at this time. Any repairs to be made will be carried out at Orbital Repair Facility 1059.”
Tholin sighed heavily as he sat down on the edge of his bed and gestured for Naddar to enter. The flagship commander’s head bowed slightly in defeat. First his humiliation once more by David Christenson, and now this—!
“It is punishment, Naddar. The Seven know that I wish to bring the Necrosis home for repairs primarily so that I can see my wife and son once more. How long has it been since we’ve set to home port?”
Naddar was well aware that his ally already knew the answer, but he replied anyway. “Seven months, My Lord.”
Tholin nodded slowly and reached out to the nightstand at the foot of his bed. He flicked off the small holographic emitter which projected a three-inch tall image of his wife Bessma and their son Thalin. The emitter was a gift from his wife, given to him just before the last time the Necrosis left orbit of their home world. He switched it on only in his saddest moments, to remind him that he would be with them again at some point.
“How could I have been so foolish, Naddar?” Tholin asked as he looked up at his first officer. “Dropping behind and letting me pass by was the simplest of tactics, yet I blundered into it like a Tac-Sima cadet!”
“It is the simplest maneuvers which work best at times, Tholin. Do not berate yourself. Far lesser commanders than you would have been deceived.”
Tholin shook his head. “There is something about this particular human which unhinges my reason, Naddar. His tactics, his thinking, his style of command…if I believed in reincarnation, I would swear he must have been a Calvorian in a past life. Possibly one of the Great Warlords themselves.”
Naddar let out a small chuckle at the notion. “He is a human, Tholin. And all humans are weak, flawed. We are the top of the evolutionary chain. We have proved it on countless worlds—”
“Doro?”
Naddar grunted deeply within his throat, displeased at the mentioning of that cursed aquatic world. “And will you now compare those easily-bled fish to the Great Warlords as well?”
Tholin shook his head slowly. “We are not perfect, Naddar.
We are close, but we are not perfect. If David Christenson is to be defeated, if his species is to fall, then we must begin thinking as he does. If we are at the top of our evolutionary pinnacle, then he is the zenith of theirs as well. Only one can remain.”
Naddar considered his ally’s words carefully. He walked across the room and lifted a chair from its resting place and set it down a few feet before Tholin. The first officer turned it around and straddled it, locking eyes with his commanding officer. “Then perhaps we should follow his example, in this one way at least. He did say that he knew you were close enough to the base that The Seven would have no choice but to send you in. Perhaps we should start researching him as he did you. Find out what he values the most, and take it away.”
Tholin’s eyes widened in understanding and renewed determination. And he wished once more that his species possessed the proper facial muscles to allow him to smile…
Chapter 32
“Would you have let Missy die?” Mara whispered pointedly at Captain Stubbs, whom she had requested to speak to at the rear of the Hawking’s bridge. Stubbs’ eyes widened slightly, surprised the question had been put to him. He exhaled lightly and nodded. “I did think about it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he whispered back. “Not so much her personally…I am aware she’s a friend of yours…but if I had to sacrifice every soldier’s life aboard every last one of those pods in order to see Tholin taken out, then it would have been what I consider a necessary loss.”
“And what if Nikki had been on one of those pods instead?”
Stubbs grunted, displeased. “Don’t you dare try to turn this into a what-if of alternate possibilities, since that scenario’s not even feasible. You’re not going to get me to empathize with what you were feeling at that moment, Mara. Every soldier knows that once an engagement begins, they could die at any moment. It’s part and parcel from the moment we place our thumbs to the pad and seal the deal. You’re damn sure old enough to understand it, so don’t try to guilt-trip me. It ain’t gonna happen.” He turned away, walked a few paces, then looked back at her. “And since your friend is alive, you should be down in the bay greeting her, rather than trying to second-guess my command decisions.” At the distance he was from Mara, it was a natural course of events that everyone on the bridge would hear him. Several officers half-turned to look at both of them, and the desired effect was carried out: Mara was too embarrassed to stay on the bridge, so she stepped into the lift and departed immediately.
In the launch bay of the Hawking, dozens of crew members from the deceased Delaware had disembarked from their escape pods. The flight deck officer and several assistants were logging in their names and service numbers, when Mara entered. She went directly to the flight officer and inquired as to Missy’s whereabouts. The officer glanced around and pointed to a section near amid-ships of the deck. Mara thanked him and rushed over, not-so-gently pushing her way through the crowds of recovering soldiers. Missy was sitting alone on a cargo crate, sipping from a cup of hot cocoa and wiping tears from her eyes. She and Mara spotted each other simultaneously, and Missy dropped the cup as her friend rushed to her, taking her into a grateful embrace.
Missy shuddered in Mara’s arms. “I’ve never been so scared in my life. Thank you. Thank you for saving me.”
Mara kissed her on the cheek, then held her just a couple feet apart. “It was all my boyfriend’s idea. He said I’d be miserable the rest of my life if I never got back those ‘credits you still owe me from our days at Omega Base.”
The two friends laughed and shared a brief peck on the lips.
They hugged again and sat together on the crate. Mara let Missy lean her head on her shoulder, and they sat in silence for a bit. Eventually they began talking about other things, and it was enough to get Missy’s mind off what she’d just gone through, if only for a little while.
The Horizon and its remaining fleet of two hundred and forty-five ships traveled back to Earth at high lightspeed through normal three dimensional space, utilizing their fusion backup engines to generate null fields, rather than using artificial wormholes. Some of the remaining ships had sustained moderate to heavy exterior damage, and travel via null field—which reduced a ship’s overall mass to nearly zero— was safer than the full power of an artificial wormhole, which still commanded some of the crushing gravitational mass of a standard one. Even though this mode of travel was actually more energy consumptive, it was easier for all the ships to stay together, rather than risk some falling behind.
David Christenson had turned command of his ship over to his first officer, and now sat in his quarters, making notes on a dsp. He had long since taken off his uniform jacket and undone his shirt in an attempt to get more comfortable. He had a bottle of real gin—a gift from Panther upon achieving captaincy of the Horizon—sitting on his desk, and every so often would take a sip as he wrote.
The ODC clicked on. “Bridge to Captain Christenson. You have a transpace message coming in from the Hawking.”
“Pipe it to my screen,” he answered as he turned on his vid-com, allowing it to display the UEF standard. The words ‘incoming transmission’ flashed at him, but were quickly replaced by the face of Mara Elliot. “David, I—” She stopped short, spying the bottle. “Is that real gin?”
David held up the dsp as he said, “I’m writing condolence letters to the families of the Cruiser captains we lost today. I finish a letter, I take a little sip. It helps get me through.” She averted her eyes a moment, and David sighed wearily. “You don’t approve?”
Mara looked at him. “I don’t approve of vices, no. Alcohol can do things to a person, make them say things they wouldn’t say normally. Do things they wouldn’t—“
“Mara,” he said with more of an edge in his voice than he intended, “I’m a grown man.
And this bottle was a gift from Panther. The least I can do is use it.”