by Scott Warren
“Come on,” said Tessa, grabbing a handful of the Dirregaunt’s mane, “You’re going to show me where this secondary bridge is.”
“Missiles away, Vick”
As if she couldn’t see the goddamn things on the view screen, tearing through the ion cloud on a contrail of vibrant, burning plasma as the range on the Grayling cutters chewed through an alarming number of kilometers.
“Huian, roll us over and dive down, see if we can’t confuse this wake a bit,” said Victoria. The false horizon twisted and dropped below the view-screen as the Condor went perpendicular to the stellar plane. She referenced her tactical repeater, watching the cutters swoop down to stay between her and the star. Shit, they knew what she was about. The cloud churned behind her as momentum continued carrying her towards the cutters. Bargult was slowing to match her relative velocity, even as the missile volleys carved a path towards his two cutters.
“Conn, Tac. Twelve seconds to impact on the primary.”
“Light up the rails, try and sneak it through their point defense while they’re busy with the missiles,” she ordered.
The relative motion of the cutters and the Condor would reduce the Grayling’s window to deal with new attacks as light took time to reflect off the Condor and bounce to the cutters, but they were quickly closing into a range at which light-delay tactics would become almost nil. Graylings preferred the up-close kill.
“Solution locked, firing as she bears … firing.”
The lights dimmed as power funneled to the twin magnetic drivers running the length of the ship. A spray of tungsten bolts erupted from the front of the shuddering Condor, accelerated faster than any missile and small enough to be missed by most sensors. But Bargult was a familiar enemy, and even if the Grayling didn’t understand projectile weapons, he’d sure learned to fear their bite.
“The primary is maneuvering, Vick.”
Bargult knew what it meant when the Condor’s bow swung towards him, even during what should seem like a benign trajectory adjustment.
Her screen flashed. That maneuvering had cost him his point-defense precision. He wasn’t exactly torn to pieces by the rail guns, but two of the six missiles she’d fired had made it close enough to damage him. It looked like a second star flaring briefly in the cloud, a corona that must be distressingly close to be visible without magnification.
He was out of the fight with that ship for now, but not dead yet. Worse still, Bargult had used the opportunity to close the distance between the Condor and the second cutter. Every maneuver Victoria made was a calculated sacrifice, trading precious range for careful positioning and opportunities to hit back.
“Huian, level us out, all ahead and put our dorsal plating towards his first salvo.”
The ship spun again, the flat, shrouded disc of the star centering on the view-screen as the Condor continued to push towards the core of the system.
“Conn, Tac, the secondary is on a parabolic intercept, we have a solution that might shake up his course.”
“Tactical, you have the rails, and send out the last of our new toys,” said Victoria as the cutter’s arc was highlighted on her view screen. Her pilot surrendered the controls momentarily as her tactical team nudged the Condor into position and fired another volley of tungsten slugs amidst another three missiles. One containing electric chaff exploded in between the Condor and the intercept path. The other small missiles sped out ahead of the Condor.
The Grayling correctly anticipated the attack, and increased their acceleration to avoid the invisible hailstorm of metal shards. Smart buggers, but the first of the two missiles was spreading chaff across their new intercept path.
“Here he comes, Huian,” said Victoria, “load the evasion program.”
The Grayling cutter emerged from a thick bank of the ion cloud, screaming towards the Condor on a similar wake of superheated gas. Victoria increased the magnification on the view screen, and could see the prongs of the cutter’s deadly arc throwers sparking to life.
Plasmic lightning tore across the gulf between the two ships, tendrils snapping and igniting small pockets of flammable vapors along the path before biting into the cloud of conductive chaff. The Condor bucked as the rail guns fired again, the projectiles turning red-hot as they passed through the Grayling barrage. The first arcs of lightning began to lick the hull of the Condor as the cutter burned through the chaff buffer. Warnings blared as the ablative plating was stripped away.
“Huian, turn us about, military acceleration, past the dampers,” said Victoria. She thumbed the general circuit on her command console as she secured her harness. “Crew, prepare for emergency acceleration.”
A low rumble engulfed the Condor as the ion engines drove her beyond the limit of the inertial dampers’ ability to react. Black spots crowded the edge of her vision as she was pressed against the command couch by the g-forces.
“Conn, sensors.” It was Avery, sounding every bit as labored as she felt. “The secondary is breaking positive azimuth to avoid the chaff, increasing acceleration to catch up and dropping his evasion program to save speed. He’s gaining fast.”
“Conn, Tac. We’re ready to send a few punches back at him on your mark.”
“Negative, tactical, he’ll wipe anything with a heat sig we try to shove down his throat. Start a solution for the rails.”
“Vick, he’ll see the rails coming a mile away, and if we spin like that he’ll fry us.”
“Not those rails, Tac.”
There was a brief pause on the circuit, punctuated only by the steady beeping of her command console, alerting her each time the cutter gained ten kilometers on them.
“Copy, Vick. Working on a solution, stand by.”
If they didn’t all pass out first. She looked towards the First Prince. He didn’t seem to be doing well, the Malagath had evolved past the need for g-force tolerances. For all she knew this could be lethal levels for some of his crew. She swore. This was all for nothing if she killed the damn prince herself. She had no choice.
“Huian, cut the acceleration down to nominal levels.”
Victoria’s primary helmsman turned to look at her, but caught sight of Tavram in the XO’s chair, realizing what was happening. The thundering inferno behind them lessened to a dull roar and the beeping became even more frequent.
“Conn, sensors, he’s charged again.”
“Chaff away,” said Victoria.
Too late, her rear view screen was washed out by the white-hot lightning stretching across the hundreds of kilometers separating the ships. It was silent for a moment, then the plasmic arcs struck the Condor from behind. The hull of the ship screamed as the Grayling weapon stripped layers of metal and reactive armor from the fantail of the privateer ship. A hollow snap ripped through the length of the Condor as the acceleration cut and the ship began to spin wildly, spewing brilliant xenon into the cloud in an ever-increasing spiral.
“Conn, engineering, he took out the primary engine,” Yuri called over the circuit. The rough, patchy call was cut off by a burst of static.
She’d picked up on that. The view-screen stabilized as the computer compensated for the spin, and focused on the Grayling cutter. It followed a straight trajectory towards her ship. Graylings liked the up-close kill.
“Conn, Tac. We have the solution.”
“Fucking fire, then!”
The other two missiles she’d launched with the initial electric chaff came on line. The last Doberman rail mines that she’d labored to eclipse with her own ship fired their deadly payload.
The Grayling cutter stopped his evasive maneuvering during the mad acceleration, and hadn’t resumed it upon disabling the Condor. Now two lengths of ballistic tungsten, holy spears from the gods of war, tore past the Condor. They narrowly avoided the forward edge of the ship in its wild spin.
Bargult never saw it coming. How could he? In this world of defense sensors built to detect laser batteries and particle cannons, gravitic distortions and propulsion spectr
um analysis, what dirty, primitive fools would hurl unguided lengths of metal at something so tiny as a moving ship hundreds of kilometers away?
The two projectiles took his ship just forward of the weapons systems, at relative speeds far beyond the hypersonic threshold. Barbs extended from the projectiles as they struck, turning each one into bevy of giant’s knives striking with almost incomprehensible kinetic force. Everything aft of the cutter’s nosecone shattered, disintegrated in an instant. The ruined engines of the cutter vented hot plasma, which engulfed the cutter as it ignited. What little remained was swallowed by the roiling inferno that followed.
Vick swallowed, watching the last pieces of shrapnel scatter to the depths of space. Even a temporary reprieve was welcome, but there was no time to dally.
“Skipper,” Huian called from the pilot’s station, “I’ve got almost no control.”
“Do what you can to get us straightened out. Engineering, conn, what’s your status? I’m showing more red shit on my screen than a low-budget slasher.”
Static
“Engineering, conn. Respond.”
“Conn, engineering, this is Cohen. Lieutenant Denisov is dead. He tried to disconnect the Alcubierre, but it blew when the Grayling fried us.”
So it had been his last tour after all. God rest the bastard, he’d kept the Vultures flying better than any chief engineer she’d ever had.
“So we’re dead in the water. No main engine, no FTL.”
“We’ve still got the Horizon, Skipper.”
Victoria pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “This far from the star it might as well be scrap too. The rate we’re moving it would take us over a day to get to jump distance. We don’t have a day. We don’t even have an hour.”
There was chatter on the other end of the engineering circuit, and the feedback of a hand rubbing against the microphone. A moment later Cohen came back on the circuit, “Captain, Aurea says she might have a solution.”
“The Malagath?” asked Victoria. She cast a glance at Tavram, sitting nearby, and looking worse for wear after the high G-forces. Hell, that was an understatement, the xeno looked half dead. He was only semi-conscious, but he was recovering.
Another shriek of feedback grit her teeth before a high lilting voice took over on the circuit. “Human Captain Victoria. You may recall I mentioned a piece of your equipment was functionally similar to that of the Dreadstar’s.”
Was she rigging up a Malagath weapon back there? Yuri had said he barely recognized the GSD after her tinkering. “At this point, I’m willing to try anything.”
“Conn, sensors. Whatever you’re trying, try it quick or not at all. I’ve got the damaged cutter back on the scope, headed straight for us.
Best Wishes swam in the ether as the Springdawn plunged through the ionic cloud, drinking in the richness of the colors with his top eye. The rest of his command crew had blinded themselves to the wonder, squinting shut their connection to the void. They had willfully blinded themselves to the hunt. Best Wishes could not even remember why.
Somewhere beyond that thin shroud of translucent alloy was the Condor and his prey. Here on the doorstep of Malagath space she had led him. Human. Victoria. These were the only words that held meaning for him anymore. She had tried to cheat him, tried to escape him, tried to kill him. Her, a filthy, primitive, lesser empire captain.
“Take us deeper,” he whispered to no one in particular.
“You’ve already gone too deep,” said a voice beside him. In his periphery, his first officer stood with a blood soaked mane. Best Wishes whipped his head around, but only the new head of his security team stood at his flank.
“Yes, Commander?”
His eye was closed. Blind fool. Where had Modest Bearing gone? Best Wishes turned back to the ion cloud, brilliant infrareds twirling as they parted around the hull of the Springdawn.
“Commander, we have a radiological trace, a weapons discharge closer to the star some minutes ago.”
A nuclear missile. Such primitive, inelegant wastefulness. All that energy, and only a fraction of it set to purpose on its target.
“Then you have your heading, helmsman.”
The cloud blurred as the Springdawn’s faster-than-light drive closed the astral distance in the blink of an eye.
“Commander, the Condor is drifting without power, the last Grah’lhin ship is approaching it.”
“Destroy the traitorous vermin.”
The forward batteries hummed as a lance of energy carved a fiery hole through the cloud, enveloping the cutter even as it sliced the small craft from bow to stern.
“Fore batteries charging. Shall I destroy the Condor as well? Or have you come to your senses?”
Best Wishes turned to the weapons console. Modest Bearing stood before it, bathed in the infrared glow of the ion cloud. His eyes stared lifelessly at Best Wishes.
The commander shut his eyes to clear the vision. “Open a line of communication to the human vessel.”
Chapter 13: The Dreadstar’s Legacy
Victoria stared in disbelief at the figures Cohen was sending to her command station.
“That Malagath girl tinkered our stealth device into an emergency engine. Holy shit.”
First Prince Tavram scanned the display over her shoulder, green light flashing on his face each time the last Grayling cutter closed another ten-thousand kilometers. The bugger was staying well-clear of their spin trajectory, taking no chances with her rail guns.
“The principle is sound, Captain Victoria,” said Tavram. He extended a long, slender finger towards the display. “It would appear as though the original technology, though primitive in nature, has origins in Malagath science. Adapted to an unknown number of purposes by various lesser empires. The original purpose beyond their capabilities. Not, however, beyond mine.”
Victoria was getting desperate, but the amount of power required to replicate the effects of the emergency engine was nearly incalculable by human standards. Gravity manipulation was still a rudimentary science, and a decent chunk of reactor power funneled straight into the artificial gravity and inertial dampeners. Creating a body massive enough to brush horizon space, even for a fraction of a second, would take everything the Condor had left to give. The math required to execute such a horizon jump was not just incalculable, but practically incomprehensible.
“Cohen, get Aurea what she needs to make it happen. We’ll get one shot at this. It’ll melt the cabling.”
“That’s if we’re lucky, Captain. It might even rupture the reactor containment.”
And then Bargult would be eating fried Vulture for dinner. “Set it up,” said Victoria. She looked up at the pilot’s station. “Huian, plot it. Cohen should have already sent you the specifics.”
“I’ve been trying, Ma’am, but the computer can’t handle all the variables, it’s slowing down to a crawl trying to compute the horizon jump solution.”
The First Prince rolled his shoulders, a Malagath display of amusement. “This is precisely why such calculations should not be left to computers,” he said. He gestured to the pilot’s station. “Captain?”
“Huian, move it.”
First Prince Tavram slid behind the helm as Victoria’s pilot retreated, legs splayed awkwardly. His slender blue fingers flew across the console, practically blurring in their frantic speed. The skin folds on his neck opened, venting heat to cool the excess blood flowing into his brain as he began to perform the necessary calculations required for transdimensional travel. “I shall require a few minutes, Victoria.”
They didn’t have them, the Grayling cutter was already shifting to match their momentum, the green flashes on her tactical repeater registering more slowly with each passing cycle.
Stall.
“Avery, get him on the horn.”
“Who?”
“Who the fuck do you think? Get that ugly bug on my screen before I put your head through a fucking sensor stack!”
The Condor’
s optics enlarged the cutter as the obscuring veil of the ion cloud thinned. Wicked arcs of electricity crawled across the jagged red resin skin of the cutter, igniting small pockets of volatile gas as the Grayling ship passed them.
“Signal coming through, Vick. Audio only.”
“Put it through,” said Victoria. The First Prince continued to work furiously, balancing the space-time pull of stars in his complex mind.
There was silence for a moment in the conn, but for the furious taps of slender blue fingers, before a deep chittering filtered through the newly opened circuit. Bargult had no true face, and so felt no need to show one at all. His ship could interface directly with his consciousness, and so give voice to the formless xeno as well as any of his manifold bodies.
Victoria shuddered, her skin felt like insects crawled up and down every inch of raised gooseflesh.
“Human … Victoria …”
The name was drawn out, being tasted, savored. This was a Grayling that knew it held fresh prey pinned in its claws, and no amount of missiles could dissuade those creepers of lightning from reaching across the blank kilometers of space to scour the Condor’s hull. The same creepers would penetrate the ship and quickly fry the brains and hearts of every last Vulture onboard, if they were lucky. Otherwise reactive armor would boil away into space and the molecular bonds of the steel and composite hull would dissolve into slag, venting atmosphere and crew to vacuum.
“Bargult. You’ve lost three ships to run me down. Was it worth it?”
“A heavy price. I am diminished, hanging by mere strands. But I am victorious. Ships can be rebuilt, new bodies incubated and integrated, but a human prize once lost is not easily won a second time, as you have so shown.”
“And the Dirregaunt? You’ve made enemies of them.”
The buzzing on the circuit intensified, she resisted the urge to claw at her ears.
“The Dirregaunt betrayed us. We were to share you, but the commander would withdraw from our bargain. His will for the hunt was weak.”