by Dain White
“Captain, revised waypoint in 15 seconds.” Janis said, as calm as if she was asking if anyone wanted more coffee. Which I did, desperately, but I had a hand on the throttle, one on the yoke, one counting my pulse rate, and one wiping the sweat off my official forehead of command.
No hands left for coffee.
The view forward through the blacked out port was absolutely unforgettable. In my entire career, I've never seen a sight like this, from the wrong end of a major engagement with a ship-of-the-line. The glowing tracery of our repeaters lit up the skies with a swirling torrent of plasma, streaking outward, upward, to the side, vaporizing targets all around us. I can't imagine the ballistics math that Janis is doing - - but I didn't have time to think about it.
“Janis, cancel next transit please – I need a new course shaped for a high angle of attack on the target's twelve-o-clock high.”
Ask, and ye shall receive. Janis spun up the numbers and dropped the count to 4 seconds, barely enough time to twist and burn –
Another searing blast, this time along the port side as we slewed around.
“Gene, those bastards are shooting at us.” I barked, looking for someone to chew on.
“Aye skipper. Are you just about done crying about it, sir? Do you need me to come up there and push any of those buttons?”
I gritted my teeth against the solid shove as we burned towards apogee over the target. Almost time to drop out of the sun, guns blazing.
*****
The last blast was close enough to cook my cheeks, and the port turret started flashing ambers. “Captain, Weapons. I am showing a significant warning on our port turret.” Above me, the high-pitched scream of failing metal played a duet with my nerves.
“Can you do anything Shorty?”
“Not from my station, sir. It's a mechanical condition of some sort. Port turret is at 73% efficiency, and I don't know how long that will last. It sounds like it's coming apart, sir.”
“Jane, we have 40 seconds until next maneuver. Can you get up there?” I almost didn't notice him call me by my name. Almost. Damn him and his brown eyes. Damn him to hell.
“Captain, I'll try my best,” I say, unclasping the crash bars. Burning as good as we were, I was being mashed against the aft bulkhead, trying desperately to haul myself up. Above me, the terrible whining and grinding sound from the turret armature compartment was getting worse.
*****
As we screamed upward, the reac drives thundering the Archaea through a cloud of disintegrating plasma – I heard the the best possible words at the worst possible moment.
“Captain, please be advised of course revision, t-minus 10 seconds.”
“Janis, I have crew out of battle stations at the moment. Is there any flexibility in this transit?” As I said the words, I hauled over on the yoke to rotate and pull more to port.
“I understand sir. I am afraid there isn't sir. T-minus 3. 2. 1. Mark.”
I punched in a new burn.
*****
I was almost there, the last rung was in my hand, when all the sudden the world seemed to fall sideways, and my feet slipped off the rungs and flew out behind me. Summoning every last bit of strength, I wrapped an arm around the rung in front of my eyes and grabbed my wrist with my other hand and waited for my arm to pull out of my shoulder.
I heard my joints pop and a terrible white-hot burn started streaking through my elbow as the Archaea snap-rolled over onto her back and started to fall, flinging me up and over, and damn near into the whirling, glowing-hot armatures of the turrets.
I took a few moments to make sure all my parts and pieces were still attached, and thanked every deity I could think of for making me the size I am.
“Captain, I am in the turret compartment now, though I almost didn't make it...your last transit pretty much hurled me up here. Was that 40 seconds?”
“Outstanding Shorty, well done. Unfortunately, I couldn't give you the full 40; Janis recommended an earlier burn time.”
“Well, please thank her for me Captain. Thanks to her, the next time I beat you sparring, I won't have to do it one-handed.”
“Will do, Shorty,” he laughed, “but back to reality for a moment if you please - what are we looking at up there?”
“It looks bad, sir. Port-side armature is hot, too hot. It looks a little slagged up here, but it's still operable.”
“Is there anything you can do to fix it?”
“Without powering it down? No... not really. I'd need a few hours of peace and quiet to hammer it back into shape. I think I can keep it from falling apart, but I can't promise too much.”
Really, all I could do up here was check the fluid levels in the trans, and work through the zerks making sure there is enough lubrication. That might help keep it from welding to itself for a little while.
“Shorty, I need you back on station soonest. Do what you can and get clipped in. Next transit in 79, possibly less if that keeps us from getting roasted in our own juices. Please make all possible haste.”
“Will do, Captain.”
*****
I couldn't keep track of the targets on my screen, I was completely overwhelmed. Incoming torps were dropping like flies off my screens, just about as fast as they were launched.
Some of the targets looked like they were hitting rocks, but most were getting knocked out from our turret fire, at extreme, impossible ranges. The destroyer was slowly rolling back, trying to bring its main guns to bear, but we were above their elevation and Janis was working hard on keeping us there.
“Captain, incoming kinetics, impact imminent!” I yelled out, watching streams of white-hot plasma reaching out to us from the point defense turrets across the top of the destroyer, solid lines of fire converging on our position.
“Very well Yak” he said calmly, then keyed the 1MC.
“All hands, secure for impact.”
Just in case any of us weren't clear on what that meant, he activated the collision alarm and a braying whoop siren blared out across the Archaea.
Meanwhile, the captain kept watching his screens, lips moving, sipping his damn coffee like he didn't have a care in the world, looking like someone sitting down to read the news on a Sunday morning, like he couldn't be bothered to worry about something as germane as imminent destruction.
“Captain...” Pauli asked, hesitatingly.
“Yes Pauli?”
“Sir, are we going to take evasive action?”
“Good question Pauli. Let me answer this with another question...” his lips continued to count down as he watched the screen, “...do you want me to miss Janis' next course correction?”
*****
It was a lot easier to come down the ladder from the turret compartment than it was to go up, a little too easy, in fact. The last few meters I ended up taking on my face, but luckily for me, my crash couch broke some of the fall. Unfortunately for me, it also felt like it broke some of my back. Hopefully it was the part I wasn't going to need.
I clawed my way back up into the seat and slapped down the crash bars right as the captain called for maneuvers and rolled us again, still accelerating full-out.
The shock had knocked me back against the crash couch headrest so hard my eyes filled with stars. Little dancing points of light like fireflies, always where I wasn't looking, impossible to catch. I was caught completely off guard, and thrown as hard as anyone would ever want.
“All hands, report. Gene, I need full power now, please”
I blinked away the stars and tried to focus on the screens, but they were a blurry mess of red and green, with more than enough flashing bits.
“Engineering, all systems online and we're holding at 100%. I have caution-and-warning on cooling subsystems, probably a valve talk-back knocked out of alignment.”
“Weapons” I hear myself say from a million miles away. “We're...” I couldn't seem to get the words out. My tongue felt thick and uncontrollable in my mouth. I swallowed and forced it to behave, blin
king away the stars.
“Captain, Weapons. I am on station again, sir. Our port turret will probably hold, but it's working pretty hard and it's pretty slagged. I'm not sure how long it will last, but it sounds less like screaming kittens, at any rate.”
“Thanks Shorty, that's good to hear. I am going to need everything you have in about 30 seconds – are we good to go?”
“Sir, we are. I am standing by to drop the hammer, say the word and I will pour out the bottle.”
“Atta-girl, Shorty. Gene, we're going to be really stressing the system in a few moments, I will need discharge and re-ramp as fast as you can get it to us. ”
“Shouldn't be a problem Captain, we're looking really good back here. I'm babysitting a few pumps, but they're holding well. The tokamak is humming my song.”
“Outstanding Gene. Okay folks, all hands stand by for battle stations. Let's find out what this baby can do.”
*****
The Archaea was coming out of a long parabolic arc, swinging up and over faster than the destroyer could react - it was like watching a thousand-kilometer long looping overhand right, coming down right on top of the destroyer – 'dropping out of the sun' as the captain called it .
Our network and systems forgotten for the moment, I was mesmerized by the mathematical ballet of our ballistic arc, and riveted to the view from the forward port.
As we closed range, her repeater turrets were reaching out towards us, lines of fire crossing and looping back and forth trying to lock on, but it looked like their range was too short.
“Sir, I am afraid I am not sure if I am seeing this correctly,” Yak said, looking back at the captain “It looks like their kinetics are flashing out way too short... but that can't be correct...”
“We're definitely in range, Yak... What are you seeing, exactly?”
“Sir, it looks to me like their railers are just... burning out... I am not sure if I can describe it any better than that. It's as if they didn't have the range to reach us.”
A destroyer should have been able to easily engage us at this range, I'd think. We were well within what I would consider close range.
Captain Smith gave me a glance. “Janis dear, are you terribly busy at the moment?”
“Sir, I am currently processing 2.3425e12 tiered threads with approximately 1.285e8 looped conditions resulting in a 13 second variance forward of subjective now.”
“Is that a lot, dear?”
“It is not, Captain. I am currently at 5.2343% of my available processing capability, and do not anticipate a significant increase in either storage or processing requirement to complete our current objective. I am well within safe loading parameters at this time.”
“Janis, are you currently tracking the incoming hyper-velocity kinetic targets?”
“I am sir. Current holoscreen resolution is not sufficient to display an accurate color-coding and priority elevation interface for the size and mass of each individual target, however, if the screen is adjusted to a tighter resolution, targets will render for review of my firing solutions. As I have not received instructions contrary to previous directives, I have been pre-firing intercept solutions for each individual target. Please let me know if this is still suitable, it seemed like the right decision to make.”
“Janis, I love you. I truly, do. You are doing a tremendous job, and please keep up the good work.”
“Thank you sir. I love you too, sir. Please be advised course revision in t-minus 15 seconds, sir.”
The captain gave me a look, of utter, rapturous joy. I shook my head, unable to believe what I was hearing and seeing. My creation – my dream – evolving beyond my wildest expectations.
“All hands, firing solution in 35 seconds. Stand by for new transit t-minus 5 seconds”
The Archaea flipped over backwards, nearly end-for-end, pointed down towards the destroyer, shedding velocity in full burn as the destroyer, locked in by inertial, mass, and velocity, slid across our bow like the broad side of a barn.
The captain waited, watching the countdown clock, and cut the burn right on the mark. Floating free now with all power shunted to her nova cannon, the Archaea hung like a spider in a web, waiting for dinner.
*****
I leaned forward against my crash bars, and waited. The savage glow from the gun deck below me bathed me in its warmth, my hands dry, hovered over the controls like birds looking for a place to land.
I swallowed and heard a click.
We were only going to get one chance at this. If we fail, our current course will drop us right across the destroyers nova turrets, which are almost certainly charged and waiting for that moment.
“Shorty, fire-for-effect”
“Firing for effect, aye”, she said in a voice colder than deepest space, and twice as dark.
Shorty fired right on the mark, and a massive beam, whiter than white, burned across space and smashed directly into the bridge deck of the destroyer. Massive clouds of debris exploded outward from the deck, back-lit by a deep glowing crater in the hull.
I precessed the Archaea and held station on target as Shorty charged and fired again, her second shot punching impossibly hard, leaving a deep, glowing hole filled with rivulets of molten metal where men once commanded a mighty ship-of-the-line, now a ruined hulk.
“Fire Control, stand down”, I said, and remembered to breathe.
Chapter 11
Right after Dak set condition x-ray aboard the Archaea, he called back and asked Shorty and I to draw everything back to nominal levels. Overall, we were doing pretty good considering we'd been blasting at flank speed for quite a while.
I was especially happy with how the ramp-over to the main gun happened without a flare-out, something I have been dreading for a long time. I've seen that happen before as flux gates, either corroded from lack of maintenance, or just the patina of old age causes them to arc-weld a section of the gun deck. Of course, Shorty has her gun polished to a wicked gleam.
The sludge was getting a little high, but nothing I can't handle yet – usually these lighter frigates can make a couple of in-system hops before they need to be sludged, and we'll be reasonably close to Vega 6 soon. Not that we have enough in credits to sludge her at this point. Hopefully we'll be able to pick up some work between Vega 4 and 6, maybe someone will need a lift.
I give the engineering space a last glance, making sure everything is ready for instant action, at a moment’s notice. The last thing I ever want to do is tell Dak to wait. He simply can't. Too much caffeine in his system, I don't think he's biologically capable of it. I'm the kind of guy that just isn't wired to operate any other way. If something's worth doing, it's worth doing right.
The gun deck was nearly silent, just a low hum that you feel in your diaphragm when you breathe, as Shorty is keeping the fire lit, but tamped way down. She's not at her station, but I am able to follow the string of curses upwards to the turret compartment.
As I hauled myself up the ladder, the first thing I noticed was her back, soaked in blood.
“Shorty, you're hurt!” I dropped back down to her station and hooked the med-pack, then kicked back up the ladder.
“I am?” she said, feeling the back of her head. “Where is it -- OW – that's a pretty nasty lump. I took a pretty bad tumble coming back out of here earlier, but in the heat of the moment I guess I didn't think about it!”
“It's not that bad, Shorty – head wounds always bleed a lot.” I cracked open the kit and started working on her with some medifoam. “Hold still ya baby, it's not that bad.”
It really wasn't that bad, and the medifoam is antiseptic with a topical analgesic, so she'll be fine. That stuff hardens up really well and lasts long enough to heal just about any size cut, scrape or burn. I wanted to get her into sick bay though for a deeper look, just in case. A knock on the head can be serious, even for someone as bone-headed as our Shorty.
“Is it fixable?” I ask, looking over the armatures on the port turret. They were ser
iously warped, with big patches of the main frame ground flat and shiny; the entire area was coated with shavings and dust from the ground-away frames. Occasionally the starboard turret slewed around and racked off rounds, making me jump.
“Now who's the baby, Gene? It's just a machine”, she laughed. “You get used to it after a while. You should have seen it in here earlier when it was glowing hot and screaming!”
“No thanks, I'll stick with my gauges, Shorty. Now I know why you keep your hair so short, though – you sure wouldn't want any floating around in here.”
“Well, it's just a mess in here, I am not sure if we have the tooling on board to fix this, to be honest.” She was right, the entire section had warped, even through fully energized Duron the heat wave that flooded through this compartment must have been massive.
“Well, maybe we can recover some parts from the destroyer; I'd like to get my hands on some new plasma pumps, to be honest. That destroyer is full of hardware, Shorty – we could salvage enough to pay for this trip ten times over.”
She considered this for a moment, a faraway look on her face. “We could do that, Gene. Yak and I could go over there and clear it. Let's see what the captain thinks”.
*****
Yak looked over at me, and we shared a look of amazement at what we had just seen. There was a moment of silence across the bridge as we all took in what had just happened.
The destroyer, now nothing more than a blasted hulk, lay drifting, dark and motionless, lit by our forward arcs. Glittering clouds of debris floated around the massive hole where the bridge used to be, blackened and scorched now, impossibly deep.
“Anything on comms, anything active over there at all?” the captain asked.
“Nothing sir” I said back across the bridge. “No RF emissions at all. There's is a lot of heat on IR, but no movement.” I was understating it a bit, on IR, the entire front section of the destroyer was white.