by Grant, Peter
“You got it,” the lead shuttle radioed the assault team leader. “I’ll – ”
Whatever the pilot was going to say was lost in the bellow of an explosion as a shoulder-fired missile slammed into the shuttle. It wiped out half the reaction thrusters on the port side. The shuttle shuddered in mid-air, then flipped over on its back before the pilot could reduce power to the starboard thrusters. Once inverted, with the thick lower atmosphere making it impossible to use its powerful gravitic drive, there could be no recovery. It plummeted to earth and smashed onto the perimeter fence before exploding in flames.
The leader crossed herself. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, receive their souls,” she prayed. “While you’re at it, watch out for mine, please, just in case.” She keyed her microphone. “Tech teams, the roof is open. I say again, the roof is open. Start the attack.”
The technicians heard, and reached for their consoles. The assault bugs that Dave and his team had captured in the Matopo Hills had been reprogrammed in time for this assault. A swarm of over a hundred flitterbugs rose from the ground and flew towards the hole in the mound of earth over the bunker, while a similar number of crawling nanobugs advanced across the uneven ground towards the perimeter. Defenders who saw them coming tried to shoot at them, but had to expose themselves to incoming fire to do so. Many were hit, and the others were forced to hunker down in their foxholes and scrapes. Some reached for identification modules and switched them on, only to learn the hard way that these bugs didn’t respond to their signals. All around the perimeter defenders began to scream, struggle and die as the nanobugs crept up on them and fired toxin-laden needles from point-blank range.
The flitterbugs ignored the outer defenses. They flew down into the hole blasted into the upper level of the Command Bunker, spreading out along corridors and down stairwells, operating in autonomous mode, penetrating to every floor in their search for targets. Any movement invited a poison needle fired into exposed skin – face, neck, hands, wrists, whatever was available.
Some of the bunker’s defenders, warned by the death throes of their colleagues, shut themselves in offices, toilets or other rooms, hoping that the doors would keep out the intruders. The flitterbugs dealt with all the targets that were immediately available, then those with needles still in their firing tubes settled along the ceiling of each corridor, folded their mechanical wings, and waited. Their battery packs held enough power to keep them in standby mode for a week to ten days. If anything moved during that time, they would swoop down and fire on it. Any rescuers trying to penetrate the Command Bunker to extricate their colleagues would also be targeted.
As the nanobugs eliminated the last defenders outside and the firing died away along the entire perimeter, the assault force leader called in her troops and counted heads. Fewer than half her soldiers were still alive. She divided them into three groups of approximately equal size.
“Let’s put our most severely wounded aboard a shuttle, then get the hell out of here,” she told them. “The enemy’s bound to be bringing in reinforcements from the outer perimeter. We’ve got an hour at most before they get here. Find any usable vehicles nearby and load them with any portable heavy weapons that are left in the bunker defenses, then take to the side roads. Avoid major transport arteries at all costs, because they’ll be using them. If you run into them, sell your lives dearly. After all we’ve done today, particularly – we hope – killing the Satrap, you know prisoners won’t be given a quick or easy death.”
The others nodded, shook hands, embraced and said their farewells to friends in the other groups, then scattered to search for vehicles in the surrounding streets and buildings.
~ ~ ~
ARENA
Gloria looked up as two soldiers helped a third into the aid station she’d established in one of the dressing-rooms. She peered through the smoky haze, then jumped to her feet as she recognized her husband.
“He’s not too badly hurt, Ma’am,” one of the soldiers hastily assured her. “It’s his arm.” They helped him sit down on a bench next to the table where she’d laid out her instruments, medications and bandages.
“All right, thanks, boys. You can run along now.”
“Thanks, Ma’am.”
As they hurried out she was already cutting away her husband’s sleeve. She sucked in her breath at the ruin of flesh, muscle, blood and bone that was his forearm. “What the hell hit you?”
“That was courtesy of Major-General Huvishka,” he said, wincing as she used forceps to gently pull a piece of grit out of the mangled flesh. “Ow! Easy there!”
“I’ll inject a nerve-blocker before I fix you up. You mean you were fighting your opposite number in person?”
“Yes. He was leading the Satrap and some others along a corridor. The reflective glass in the windows had been blown out in places, and our people in the parking lot saw them. They fired at them, but missed, and they ran down the passage into a set of offices at the end. I was with a nearby patrol, and we hurried over there and bottled them up. We tried to mount an assault before they had a chance to set up defenses, but they were too quick for us. Huvishka’s a damn good shot, I’ll give him that. He had only a split-second to see me crossing a doorway, but he still hit me with a snap shot. The rest of my boys put down covering fire to make him pull back while a couple of them dragged me out and brought me here.” He sighed as the nerve blocker began to take effect. “Oh, that feels better!”
“It won’t last,” she warned. “I can’t do a proper job on this with first aid alone. It needs a hospital.”
“Well, we don’t have one handy, do we?”
They looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment before she shook her head. “No.”
“Then fix it up so I can fight. I’ll use a pulser in my other hand.”
“Was the Crown Prince with the Satrap?” she asked as she took up forceps and swab.
“There were four people. We identified the General and the Satrap, but didn’t get a clear look at the other two. I think he’s probably there – after all, they escaped from the arena together. We’ve killed several of their guards, which accounts for their reduced numbers.”
“So what are you going to do next?”
“I’ve called in fire support from a shuttle. There’s no point in risking our lives in a frontal assault – we didn’t have enough troops to begin with, and they’ve whittled us down just as we have them.” The stadium trembled to a monstrous impact. “That’ll be the shuttle now. I told the pilot to give my people time to get clear, then take out that entire section of offices.” Another mighty blow shook the building, then another, accompanied by the blast of a plasma cannon from high outside.
As she was winding a bandage around the dressing covering his entire forearm, a soldier came running in. “We got them, General, Sir! The shuttle blew the whole suite to rubble and ruin. We went in and picked our way through the wreckage. The Satrap’s head is rolling around the floor – we don’t know where his body is, probably underneath the wreckage. There are a couple of body parts sticking out from beneath the rubble. One’s wearing Bactrian Major-General’s insignia on the only shoulder we can see. The head’s been crushed by rubble. It’s unrecognizable.”
Allred sighed. “I’d have liked to have seen them all dead in person, but I’ll take what I can get.” He waited while Gloria fitted a sling around his neck and tucked his arm into it, then rose to his feet. Bending, he kissed her gently. “It’s time for us to get the hell out of here. We’ve got two shuttles still in the air. I’ll have them land outside, then I’ll bring a few able-bodied soldiers to carry our wounded aboard. Go with them. I’ll follow with the surface convoy. We’ve found three utility vehicles, a truck and an armored car that are still usable. They’ll be enough for our survivors.”
“All right, darling. The nerve block will last a couple of hours. After that, use your injector.”
“I’ll do that. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
He kissed her again, turned, and was gone.
March 31st 2850 GSC, 12:30
LMV BENBECULA, IN SPACE
The Spacer escorting Dave, Manuel and Tony knocked on the frame of the doorway. “Permission for three visitors to enter the Bridge, please, Sir?”
Captain Grassby looked up from his command console. “Yes, send them in. Thank you, Spacer.” He glanced approvingly at the visitors’ fresh clothing and still-damp hair. “I see you all took the opportunity to clean up.”
“Yes, thank you, Sir,” Dave acknowledged. “After hours in a spacesuit I was a bit whiffy, to put it mildly.”
“I’m afraid that’s an occupational hazard. I’m glad you’re here. We may have a problem.” He stood up. “Come to the Communications console with me. I want you to hear something.”
As they walked across the spacious bridge, he told them, “Bear in mind that the speed of light is something we have to take into account when it comes to communication and what we see in the Plot display.” He indicated a three-dimensional holographic projection at the next console. “That’s currently showing the space for two light-hours around Laredo. Note the patrolling Bactrian merchant cruiser – that red icon – and the Satrap’s yacht that fled the space station – that’s the blue icon.”
“They’re almost touching,” Manuel observed.
“Yes. What you’re about to hear is a string of voice messages between the two ships, with delays due to light speed removed to make them sound like a continuous conversation.” He turned to the woman at the Communications console. “Play that sequence of messages, please, Judy.”
“Sure, Skipper.” She pressed a button, and they listened as the console speakers played back what she’d recorded.
“Satrap Dadarsi calling Oxyartes. Emergency! Emergency! Missiles have been fired from the space station at our two escorts and at your sister ship! They’ve all been hit – I don’t know how badly. My Captain and half our crew are planetside, so in the absence of orders I’m heading in your direction to come under the protection of your missiles. Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi, I’m altering course to close the planet. There’s no sign of any hostile forces in the system, so I can’t fathom why the station fired on the other ships. Have you any idea what’s going on? Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes. We’ve just begun to pick up messages from ground stations indicating that something’s wrong in Tapuria. There seems to be some sort of widespread attack going on down there. Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi. That means the rebels are involved in this somehow. I don’t know what we can do about it yet – we’re going to have to wait for more information and orders from planetside. Join me and proceed in formation until we know more. Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes, understood and will comply. Dadarsi out.”
There was a brief pause, punctuated by a burst of static. “That’s when the space station blew up,” the Communications operator explained.
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes. The space station’s just blown up! It’s a damn great fireball over the planet! Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi. We see it. That makes this rebel action for sure. What’s that foreign freighter doing? From here it looks like she’s just sitting in orbit. That’s suspicious in itself. If she had any sense she’d be getting the hell away from the missiles, like you did – not to mention that bloody great explosion! Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes. Could she be waiting for something or someone? Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi. I think you’ve put your finger on it. I’m going to head straight for her. We’ll send over a boarding party to see if they’re up to anything. Start to turn now, so you can pull up alongside me in formation as I pass you. Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes, understood, out.”
Another brief pause, then, “Oxyartes to Dadarsi, that freighter’s leaving orbit. She’s turned towards the system boundary and is accelerating at what looks like her maximum drive power. Did you pick up any indication of any other vessel joining her? Over.
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes, negative, but of course a cutter or gig wouldn’t have a drive signature big enough for us to detect at anything but close range. Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi, you’re right. I’m going to pursue, and order her to await my boarding party. Stand by.”
There was a brief pause, then, “Patrol vessel Oxyartes to Lancastrian merchant vessel Benbecula. You have not been authorized to leave orbit. Return to orbit at once and await my boarding party. Over.”
A few seconds of silence.
“Patrol vessel Oxyartes to Lancastrian merchant vessel Benbecula. I say again, you have not requested or received clearance to depart Laredo orbit. Return to orbit at once and await my boarding party. Over.”
Another pause.
“Patrol vessel Oxyartes to Lancastrian merchant vessel Benbecula. I am placing your vessel under arrest for non-compliance with system traffic regulations. Brake to a standstill relative to the planet and await my boarding party, or I will fire on you! Over.”
“That’s where it ends so far,” Captain Grassby informed them, frowning. “I don’t think their threat to fire was serious – they only have short-range patrol-craft-type missiles, not a warship’s fully-fledged main battery missiles. At a range of over one light-hour from us they can’t possibly control or guide them, let alone reach us. Even so, they’ve arrested us. That could be difficult to deal with if they make a formal complaint to the Interplanetary Transportation Union that we ignored system traffic regulations and evaded arrest. The fines can be pretty steep, even if they don’t accuse us of somehow being involved in the destruction of their space station.”
“We’ll publicly take responsibility for destroying the space station,” Dave assured him. “That’ll happen as soon as we get to Neue Helvetica and report to the President Pro Tem of our Government-in-Exile. We’ll make sure to add that no other ships were involved.”
“Thank you. That’ll probably be sufficient to avoid us being arrested on that charge, but we may still have to pay a hefty fine.”
“How much is it likely to be?”
“It can run as high as a million credits – that’s Lancastrian Commonwealth credits.”
“We’ll pay it if it comes to that. My word on it.”
The Captain’s eyebrows rose. “You’re very free with your money. I suppose this means that Manuel’s mission was successful?”
Manuel nodded. “Yes, they’ve got the bank keys with them. The Vice-President will be able to pay me, and that means I’ll be able to pay you.”
The Captain grinned, and everyone on the bridge broke into broad smiles. “That’s excellent news! It’s going to make this a very profitable year indeed for the ship and my entire crew. They’re all on profit share, with a special bonus for this trip, so they’ll all benefit.”
The crackle of the speaker on the Communications console interrupted him. “Oxyartes to Dadarsi, it’s no good. That freighter’s maximum speed is at least as fast as mine – she may even be a little faster. What’s your maximum speed? Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes, we can do the same as the corvettes – after all, we have the same drive unit. That would be one-quarter of light speed at max power. Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi. Do you have a corvette’s full sensor suite as well? Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes, yes, we do, over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi. Excellent! That means you can follow another ship by her emissions, even if she switches off her transponder beacon. Stand by to receive my cutter. I’m coming aboard, then we’ll use your greater speed to intercept Benbecula. Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes, I don’t understand. We have no missiles. Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi, you have three laser cannon, right? Over.”
“Dadarsi to Oxyartes, yes, but those are defensive weapons to intercept incoming missiles. Over.”
“Oxyartes to Dadarsi, they’ve g
ot a range of half a million kilometers. If you know what you’re doing with them and you get close enough, you can take out specific compartments of another ship with pinpoint accuracy – her drive unit, for example – or slice her up like a trussed turkey. Your ship has the speed, the sensors and the cannon, and I have the training and experience to make use of all of them. I’ll bring an armed boarding party with me. Between us we’ll make these interfering bastards wish they’d never come to our system! Now stand by for my cutter. Oxyartes out.”
“Oh, shit!” Captain Grassby’s face and voice were suddenly deeply apprehensive. “We’re in trouble. If she can do point two five Cee, that’s two and a half times faster than this ship at maximum power.”
“How long before we can hyper-jump out of the system?” Manuel asked.
“The system boundary here’s nine hundred eighty-eight million kilometers from the star. That means…” and he glanced at the Plot, “we’re about seven and a quarter hours from it right now. Trouble is, that yacht can move much faster. Plot, assume a velocity of one-quarter Cee for that yacht. How long until she catches us? Assume we stay on course at our present speed.”
“Just a moment, Sir.” The Plot operator tapped instructions into his console. In the display a yellow line appeared, extending from the present location of the Bactrian ships to an interception point on Benbecula’s course line. It was some distance short of the system boundary. “She still has to accelerate from her present velocity, Sir, and she’s got a long way to catch up, but it looks like she can reach us in about six and a half hours.”