Just a few minutes more, he thought, numbly. The damage was mounting up, but ... but they still had a chance. Just keep going a few minutes more ...
“Baker’s Dozen has been destroyed,” Biscoe said. “Innocently Insensitive has taken significant damage. Her captain fears she will be unable to jump into FTL.”
Elton cursed under his breath. There was no hope of stopping long enough to teleport the freighter’s crew, not when there were so many waves of electromagnetic distortion washing through space. He briefly considered dispatching a shuttle, but even that ran an immense risk ... there was nothing he could do. In a normal engagement, lifepods would be left alone for later recovery; now, he had no doubt that the lifepods would be vaporised along with the rest of the convoy.
“She’s altering course,” Biscoe added. “Captain ... she’s on a direct course for an enemy ship!”
She’s going to ram, Elton thought. There was nothing he could do, not to save the freighter or her crew. All he could do was hope that her death would count for something. Shit.
The enemy ship realised the danger, a moment too late. Innocently Insensitive was already too close to the enemy ship by the time it opened fire. The freighter staggered under the impact, but kept coming. A moment later, the freighter rammed the battleship and both starships vanished in a colossal explosion.
“They’re gone,” Biscoe said.
“Keep us on course,” Elton ordered.
“We’ll be leaving the gravity shadow in thirty seconds,” Marie reported.
“Take us into FTL as soon as the freighters are gone,” Elton said. “Mr. XO, order the freighters to head to the RV point as planned.”
“Aye, sir,” Biscoe said.
The enemy kept firing, closing the range as Odyssey shot past their remaining ships and dived for open space. Elton allowed himself a moment of pride in his ship and her crew, then braced himself as a final salvo of missiles snapped at their heels. Two slammed home, one striking the shields hard enough to convince one of the remaining shield generators to give up the ghost. But it was already too late.
“The four remaining freighters are jumping into FTL,” Biscoe reported.
“Deploy jamming drones,” Elton snapped. It wasn't too likely they could disrupt the enemy’s gravimetric sensors, at least long enough to matter, but it was worth trying. The researchers had been talking about creating a disruptor that would foul up any gravimetric sensor within range, yet so far the concept hadn't become reality. “Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Biscoe said. “All four freighters are gone.”
On the display, the enemy ships were turning in a desperate bid to run Odyssey down. Elton smirked, despite himself. Anything fast enough to catch his ship was going to wish it hadn't, even though Odyssey had taken one hell of a beating. The Harmonies had given it their best shot and failed. They’d need to rethink their tactics before they came after Odyssey again.
“Then take us out of here,” he ordered, shortly. It wouldn't be long before the Harmonies decided to try to track Odyssey down. They didn't have a choice. “Now!”
“Aye, sir,” Marie said. “Drive engaging ... now!”
Elton braced himself. Odyssey had taken damage, a lot of damage. The drives were still intact, according to the engineers, but ... if they were wrong, they might have fought a running battle for nothing. If they were wrong ...
The display blanked. “FTL engaged,” Marie said. The relief in her voice was unmistakable. “We’re on a direct course to the first waypoint, best possible speed.”
“Very good,” Elton said. Even if the enemy did have gravity well technology, they’d have to be precognitive to put it in his path. “Mr. XO, stand the ship down from red alert.”
“Aye, sir,” Biscoe said.
Elton sighed. “And now the hard work begins,” he added. “We’re still a very long way from home.”
Chapter Twenty-One
And yet, we don’t really think ill of a man who jumps up and down, shouting and cursing because he’s stubbed his toe.
Yes, it can be funny to watch. We might even think he was overacting in the hope of some sympathy from any watching eyes. But we wouldn't think there was anything odd about it, would we? The Tokomak would have the same advantage. Yes, they’ve been embarrassed; yes, they’ve stubbed their (metaphorical) toe ... yes, they are justified in sending a large fleet to squash us.
We cannot avoid this war. All we can do is fight it on favourable terms.
-Solar Datanet, Political Forum (Grand Alliance Thoughts).
It wasn't common, even in the Solar Union, for starships to drop out of FTL in the interstellar wastelands between stars. There was nothing there, save for the occasional rogue planet and deep-space colony ship that had long-since been forgotten by the race that had launched it. Indeed, most races did their best to pretend that the interstellar void didn't exist, as if not thinking about it would make it go away. They knew, even if they didn't want to admit it, that losing stardrive between stars meant almost certain death. Very few starships would last long enough to limp to the nearest star at sublight speeds.
Elton floated in the inky darkness of space, studying his ship. Odyssey’s white hull was scorched and pitted, the scars showing where enemy weapons had found their mark. Dozens of engineers - and hundreds of other crewmen with engineering training - were swarming over the ship, patching up cracks in the hull, replacing destroyed or damaged components and doing everything in their power to rig the ship for a further engagement. Beyond them, invisible in the darkness, the four remaining freighters were steadily being unloaded. Three of them, thankfully, had been crammed with supplies for his ships.
A shame we managed to unload most of the trade goods, he thought, tersely. We might have had a use for them if we'd kept them.
He cursed under his breath as the next set of reports flashed up in front of his eyes. Three men - all from the ambassador’s staff - dead on Harmony. Nineteen more killed on Odyssey; fifty-seven killed on the destroyed freighters. And over ninety crewmen wounded, some so badly that they’d been placed in stasis until they could be taken home. The battle had been won, but victory had come with a very high price.
And we may not even get home, he reminded himself. We’re a very long way from home.
Elton looked up, his eyes seeking Harmony’s star. It was nothing more than a pinpoint of light, burning constantly against the inky darkness of space. There was certainly nothing to distinguish it from the other stars he could see. And yet ... civilians didn't understand, not really, just how vast the distances between stars truly were. Odyssey could move at speeds beyond human comprehension, but even she would need years to get home without using the gravity points.
He sighed, tiredly, as he triggered the suit’s gas jets and steered his way back to the nearest airlock. He'd always enjoyed going EVA, when he’d been at the academy, but there was no time to enjoy it now. Instead ... the airlock opened, allowing him to glide inside and land neatly on the deck. The gravity field asserted itself as he stepped through the forcefield, removing his helmet as soon as he could breathe freely. His ship seemed to be quieter than usual, even though the faint humming was still omnipresent. But then, they had stepped down the drives to allow the engineering crew to work on them.
Elton keyed his wristcom. “Mr. XO,” he said, as he removed the rest of the suit and hung it on the rack. “Status report?”
“Gravimetric sensors are reporting a number of contacts moving through FTL,” Biscoe said, grimly. “So far, none of them seem to have a precise lock on our location.”
They’d be on top of us if they knew where we were, Elton thought. Our course change must have thrown them off badly.
He smiled, rather coldly. One advantage to hiding in interstellar space was that it was vanishingly unlikely that anyone would just stumble across their location. It was possible - he’d certainly feared the possibility - that the Harmonies would have a more extensive deep space tracking network t
han they’d suspected, but so far no one had tracked them down. As far as he knew, the enemy didn't have even a hint of where they were. Even a best-case scenario would force the Harmonies to search over twelve square light-years for Odyssey.
“And the repairs?”
“Mr. Wolf believes we will be back to eighty percent readiness by the end of the day,” Biscoe said. “By then, exhaustion will probably be snapping at our heels.”
“If they haven’t found us by then, they probably won’t until we light up the drive again,” Elton said. He strode out of the compartment and walked up towards the bridge. “I suspect they have a number of ships lurking in interplanetary space, just waiting for us to show ourselves.”
“They’re not going to find it an easy task,” Biscoe pointed out. “Even if they do get a lock on us, they’re going to have to drop back into FTL just to give chase.”
Elton shrugged. The Harmonies might have insurmountable problems finding Odyssey, as long as she remained in interstellar space, but they wouldn't have to worry about their secret getting out. Odyssey had to break through to another galactic power - or sneak back to Hudson Base - if the crew wanted to tell the known universe just what had really happened over Harmony. And they knew it, too. He’d bet half his salary that the Harmonies were already taking precautions to bar Odyssey’s escape.
And we made it out of space they controlled completely, he thought, as he stepped through the hatch and onto the bridge. They’re going to be nervous about facing us again.
He took his command chair and studied the updates. Most of the shield generators had already been repaired or replaced, although some of the former had been listed as unreliable by the engineers. Elton would have preferred to replace them all, but the four remaining freighters simply hadn't carried enough spares. One of their resupply ships had been vaporised back on Harmony. Given two or three days, Odyssey would be as ready as she would ever be, without a shipyard. And then ...
And then we have to find our way home, Elton said. He pulled up a starchart and studied it, grimly. That isn't going to be easy.
***
Diplomats, Rebecca had been told years ago, weren't meant to die. They were asked to leave the host country, they were declared persona non grata and forbidden to return ... but they weren't mean to die. The Solar Union had made it clear, more than once, that any attack on its diplomatic missions and personnel would be severely punished. She’d read about societies that had done nothing, save from meaningless protests, when their diplomats were lynched by angry mobs, but the Solar Union had never been that weak. It said something about the success of the policy that no Solar diplomat had been killed on Earth, ever.
She knelt in front of the burning candles, positioned neatly in the memorial chamber, feeling a sharp pang of pain mingled with bitter guilt. Daniel Newcomb had been a friend, someone she’d asked to accompany her on the mission. They’d even been lovers, once upon a time; she remembered, as the candle flickered in front of her, long evenings spent making love when they’d been attached to the embassy on Varner. That affair had long since ended, but she’d still felt a certain level of affection for him. And now he was dead ... there wasn’t even a body to take home.
I’m sorry, she thought, grimly.
David Arthur had been a stranger when she’d boarded Odyssey. An experienced middle-aged man in the diplomatic service, their paths had never crossed ... but she’d gotten to know him as Odyssey made her stately way from Earth to Harmony. He’d been in a group marriage, back home; he’d talked about the nine kids he and his fellows had brought into the world, nine kids who had five mummies and five daddies. And yet ... now he was dead. She didn't know what she was going to say to his remaining partners. They’d known they’d be separated for months, perhaps years ...
She shook her head. David Arthur had deserved better. They’d all deserved better.
Her gaze moved to the third and final candle. At twenty-five, Melanie Fusco had been the baby of the mission. It was unusual for anyone under forty to be assigned to a deep-space diplomatic mission, but Melanie had clearly impressed her superiors. She’d actually spent seven of her formative years on an alien world, growing up surrounded by more aliens than anyone else on Odyssey. Her insights into how the Galactics thought had been considered invaluable. And, realistically, she was hardly a child ...
She wasn't a child, Rebecca told herself. Melanie had been four years over the age of majority. To call her a child ... Rebecca knew she shouldn't think of Melanie as a child. And yet, she died on the mission.
Rebecca closed her eyes for a long moment, silently mourning the dead. It was hard to remain focused ... she wanted to lash out, she wanted to scream and shout at the nearest target. But there was no one who could be blamed. The teleport crews had done the best they could, she knew; the captain had made the right call, yanking them out of the embassy before the mob killed them all. The people who had triggered off the riot - and then forced Odyssey to run a deadly gauntlet - were back on Harmony. It was unlikely they would ever be brought to justice.
“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “It was my failure.”
She silently reviewed everything she’d seen and heard - everything she’d done - since the mission had begun, nearly a year ago. There had been no clues that the coup had been faked, no clues that the Harmonies had set out to lure a starship into a trap ... no doubt they would have cooperated for a while, if they’d thought humanity would obligingly provide them with their technology. She hadn't seen anything wrong - nor had anyone else - and yet, that didn’t absolve her of her failures. She’d failed in her mission.
They never intended to take the talks seriously, she thought, numbly. They just wanted to trap a starship.
The thought hurt. She knew she wasn't to blame, not really. No one had realised that the original message was nothing more than bait in a trap. And yet, she didn't believe it. She had been brought up to believe that great powers might compete, but they didn't wage war. They certainly didn't do things that would inevitably provoke war, when the truth managed to break free. And yet ...
Daniel Newcomb had been a friend and a former lover. He hadn't deserved to die. David Arthur would probably have earned an ambassadorship of his own within the next decade, unless he blotted his copybook spectacularly. He hadn’t deserved to die. And Melanie Fusco ... she’d been young and enthusiastic, her joy in her career undaunted by the real world. She had even had a string of lovers amongst the crew ... she’d enjoyed life, enjoyed a freedom Rebecca wished she’d had in her youth. Melanie hadn't deserved to die either. None of them had deserved to die.
She shuddered. Death in a teleport stream ...
Maybe it wasn’t the worst way to go. She'd seen worse. But still ... there were stories, horror stories, of teleport accidents where the victim forever haunted the matter stream. She’d seen a dozen movies where someone entered a teleporter, only to be possessed or forced to share a body or ... most of the movies were clearly fiction, yet they lingered in her mind. Perhaps they, rather than her age, accounted for her teleportation phobia.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said, addressing the candles. They flickered as she spoke. “I wish I’d seen something sooner. I wish I’d urged the captain to turn back the moment we realised they were fortifying the gravity points. I wish ... I wish I hadn’t dragged you along on this madcap adventure. I wish ...”
She rose, feeling her knees ache. She wanted to believe in life after death, in a place where the good went to eternal happiness after they died, but she was too much a realist to place her faith in God. The Christianity of her parents and the odd melange of faiths that existed within the Solar Union offered no answers, not to her. If there was a God, how could He allow suffering? How could he allow people to suffer when there was no hope of escape? It almost made her want to believe that e-personalities were real personalities, that some shred of her friends would remain alive ...
... And yet, she didn't believe it.
You a
ccept AIs as intelligent beings in their own right, her thoughts mocked her, as she turned and walked out of the chamber. The candles would be left to burn until the formal ceremony, whereupon they would be snuffed out for good. Why is it so hard to accept an e-personality?
Because it doesn't feel right, she answered herself, numbly. She’d read all the reports, even spoken to a couple, but had never been able to convince herself that an e-personality was actually real. The e-personality is, at best, the shell of a mind.
She headed back to her quarters, moving aside as crewmen hurried pallets of supplies through the giant ship. They’d spent the last day working on repairs, even drafting half of Rebecca’s staff into helping them. She didn't begrudge Captain Yasser calling on her staffers - she just wished there was something she could do herself. But there was nothing. She could barely program her portable terminal, let alone fix the food processors, adjust a VR sim or repair a drive module while under enemy fire. It looked so easy in the simulations, but ...
The Long Road Home (A Learning Experience Book 4) Page 22