by Webb, Nick
An alert blared for the fighter pilots to get to their stations. Delaney appeared from a side hallway.
“All fighters prepped. Gunnery is all hands on, ready to prime nukes at your order.”
The crew they had left anyway. Although by the end of today—assuming they weren’t all dead—they might have something far, far better than the nukes that lay in their caches now.
Her pulse sped slightly at the thought.
“Thank you.” Walker preceded him onto the bridge and saluted to the crew. “Is everyone ready to make Tel’rabim very, very sorry he tried to attack Vesta?”
A nervous laugh rippled through the group, a release of tension—she hoped. A few people saluted her again.
“Larsen, give me a status report on our formation.”
“All ships decelerating according to schedule,” Larsen reported. He looked glad to be back here in a supporting role. His brief experience with command had been bizarre, after all. “No, wait. We’re missing the Anchor? Morgan reported in ready to launch before departure, but I’m not seeing it here.”
Walker grimaced. She couldn’t believe Morgan would choose this moment to play political revenge. Well, yes she could. The man truly was an idiot, incapable of seeing the big picture.
“Never mind,” she replied. “We will sort out the Admiral’s, ahem, issues when this is over. We need to stay focused. Continue.”
“We are at ninety-seven percent deceleration for all ships except the Pele, the Intrepid, the Stockholm, the Washington, and their destroyer escorts. Pincer formations, all batteries ready to fire.”
“Any ships on their side facing our way?”
“At present, yes, ma’am—but some are still turning. It’s hard to know if any of their formation will stay put.”
“Message to all helmsman, stay sharp, gunnery is to keep firing at their target while the ships maneuver.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Larsen frowned and pressed his headset to his ear. His voice was very low, and came only to her headset. “Another message from Tel’rabim, ma’am. Shall I bring it up on the table again?”
“No.” Walker met his eyes across the room. “I’m not giving him the chance to get into our heads again.”
“Yes, ma’am. Start the countdown?”
Walker gave one more look over the Telestine formation, and dragged lines from the human ships to their Telestine targets. “Send that, and then yes.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He switched back to the loudspeaker. “Batteries to commence firing in thirty seconds. All ships acknowledge targets.”
Hands rose along the communications desks, heads nodding at Larsen, who kept count.
He turned back to Walker. “Targets acknowledged, all ships checked in. Countdown stands at eighteen seconds. Seventeen. Sixteen.”
Walker looked over at Delaney. “Here we go again.”
“Here we go again.” He nodded. “D’you think he’s on one of those ships?”
“We should be so lucky.” She managed a real smile at that.
“Five.” Larsen’s voice came on the loudspeaker. “Four, three….”
The comm channel blinked. Tel’rabim was trying to contact them again. Walker shut down the channel wordlessly, feeling the low pulse of anger at her temples. Channel it. Lord knows, you’ve used anger before.
Dimly, she heard Larsen’s voice. “Ninety-nine-point-five percent deceleration, all batteries fire.”
The screen burst to life. Communications officers yelled back and forth as the Telestine fleet swam into focus at last.
All facing Vesta.
Had Tel’rabim truly expected them to listen to his warnings?
One of the Telestine destroyers was gone within seconds, a second disappeared in a flicker even as it disgorged a swarm of fighters, and explosions lit along the stem of the capital ship.
“My God,” Delaney murmured. “This is going to be a slaughter.”
“We’re owed one,” Walker said grimly.
“Four points clear, spear advance.” Larsen tried to keep his voice smooth, but it was shaking with excitement.
The four carriers shot through the holes in the Telestine formation, screaming into hard deceleration. The pilots of all four ships had been drilling this move in the simulators since the plan was finalized. Get in front of the Telestine fleet, and don’t smash yourself into Vesta. Walker had seen any number of gruesome simulations before Delaney chased her away, saying she was making the helmsmen nervous by watching.
What if battles make the helmsmen nervous, too?
Too late to worry about that.
“Ships turning,” Larsen called. “Two carriers to port, one to starboard.”
“He likes his capital ships,” Walker murmured. “All ships hold evasive maneuvers until the last moment, we know it takes their cannons a long time to charge. Don’t get sloppy. Larsen—where are their fighters?”
“Everywhere. No pattern we can see yet.”
“Launch ours, then.”
“All fighters launch. Primary target is the destroyers. Ma’am, gunneries are requesting guidance. Should they start prepping nukes?”
Walker considered. “Yes. Arm them in the air, tell the fighters to stay clear.”
“Nukes already?” Delaney’s eyebrows rose.
“Fights don’t have a rhythm.” It was something she’d never said to him out loud before. It sounded too childish. “The way you win is by kicking them in the balls before they can aim.” She raised her voice again. “Larsen, fleet-wide message, turn on viewscreens.”
Delaney frowned at her, but she paid no attention. Her gaze was locked on the glitter of the Telestine carriers. The cannons were just coming into view, and the glow on the holograph told her that they were already arming.
So the Telestines were beginning to learn tactics, were they? That was a shame.
“Eight seconds to impact on nukes,” Larsen reported.
The dots on the screen tracked their way toward their targets. Two flares lit, sudden and unexpected.
“Two intercepted by fighters. Five seconds. All little boys armed. Three, two, one.”
Blue-white circles burst across the hulls of the Telestine carriers. Filaments curled into space as they spread, and in the blank space left behind, debris caught the light and tumbled in a shimmering cloud. The fleet held its breath, waiting, waiting—
The tail of the largest carrier wrenched sideways and tore free of the ship, sending the top into a spin as the air vented out of it. The cannons went dark. Two more showed as severed, and one stem was no longer even visible; it had been blown to rubble.
There was a moment of pure silence, and then the bridge erupted into cheers. Walker shook her fist in silent exultation. Her eyes passed over the crowd slapping one another on the back, and met Delaney’s again.
“Another thing about fights? Momentum is key.” She picked up the comm unit again. “All right, Exile Fleet. Let’s do some clean up. Stay sharp, they’re going to be out for blood now.”
Delaney didn’t answer, and a few seconds later, she noticed his unusual silence. She looked up with a question in her eyes, and saw worry there.
“Don’t you think,” he asked quietly, “that that was a bit too easy?”
A chill hit her, and she shook her head. “No.”
“Well, I do.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “He really didn’t expect us to do it. He was focusing fire on Vesta. Who focuses that many carriers’ worth of fire on Vesta and doesn’t even cover their tail?”
“Someone who’s not good at tactics,” Walker said impatiently. “Jack, now is not the—”
He interrupted her. “What did you tell me right before Denver went up? That something was coming. That it didn’t add up. Well, what we just saw wasn’t right. It doesn’t add up. Something else is going on.”
She was very aware of the crew watching covertly.
“Fine,” she said quietly. Goddammit, he was right. “But I’m not going to tell them to stop c
leaning up what’s left. The more Telestine ships as we can take out now, the better. And while the rest of the captains take care of that, we’ll try to figure out what’s going on.”
Chapter Fifty-Two
Near Mars
Koh Rong
Twelve ships raced toward the dusty red curve of Mars, the light from the planet gleaming over smooth metal hulls. Behind them, a bare shimmer amongst the black and the stars, darted the Koh Rong, drawing closer, shielded as best it could be from the ships it pursued. Whether or not they were aware of their pursuer, the twelve ships never wavered. They were locked onto their trajectories, beginning to spread. That one would go for the UN compound was a certainty. Where the others would go, no one could be sure.
On the bridge of the Koh Rong, Nhean looked over at the girl. She had dropped out of her seat near the pale, smooth bulk of a Telestine computer terminal, and knelt on the floor with her head down and her palms pressed to the slick surface.
“Is it working?” Pike asked softly.
“As far as I can tell, yes. They’re not making evasive maneuvers. That means they’re either fighting to get her out of their thoughts, or she’s taken automated systems offline.” Nhean shrugged. “Hopefully both.”
“Wait. You think she can give orders to Telestines?”
“Why do you think they gave the drones parts of their DNA?” Nhean could not help but laugh at the expression on Pike’s face. “That’s one of the reasons it’s difficult to find their transmissions: they’re telepathic.”
“You’re … kidding. So why are there any transmissions at all?”
“If I had to guess, I would say it’s partially etiquette and partially distance.” Nhean raised his voice slightly. “Do what you can to bring us closer. It can only help.”
There was no way to see inside the girl’s mind, and so they watched the ships. They watched as the formation drifted a little more and then stopped and held steady.
And then one of the ships wobbled.
Pike’s head turned sharply to watch the girl. Her fingers were going white where they dug into the plastic and her lips twisted around clenched teeth. He looked back just in time to see another wobble—a different ship this time. Their helmsmen seemed to be tempted to draw them off course, but still there was no visible change in trajectory.
There was an anguished cry from behind the two men, but even as they turned to look, the helmsman gave a shout, pointing.
Two ships bashed into one another, closing the kilometers between them with eerie speed and disappearing in a shower of twisted metal. Another pair followed suit a moment later, sending a hunk of wreckage tumbling toward the Koh Rong.
The helmsman jerked the controls to guide them under, swearing under her breath, but Pike and Nhean were not even watching. Their eyes were still fixed on the ships ahead.
A third pair went down. Their noses wavered as they plunged toward one another, but the girl’s commands were too strong for them to ignore. The ships died, going dark on the scanners and shattering out of their way.
Eight left, and the drone helmsmen were desperate to escape the girl. They scattered, each trying to evade her in their own way. The first warm tints of light were showing around them as they descended into the atmosphere.
But landing was dangerous. Atmosphere was dangerous. Even thin Martian atmosphere. Pike watched as one of the ships vented itself and spun out of control, airlocks open, bodies and equipment flying. Another turned nose down to the surface and burned up as its pilot struggled to right it. A third shot down a fourth, and then—in its desperate attempts to regain control—spun out into the airless wreck that was plunging past it to the surface.
Four left. Pike’s fingers were digging into the back of Nhean’s chair, his mouth stretched in a terrible smile. He should not revel in death, he knew that, but the images of Io had never left him, and there were so many more settlements on Mars. How many lives would have been taken by these ships?
Four left. So close.
What jerked the girl out of her reverie, Pike did not know, but he looked back to see her black eyes open and fixed on the screen. She grimaced as she pressed her palms onto the machinery, but nothing was happening.
The remaining ships had formed up and were arrowing down toward the distant shape of the UN compound. At this distance, it was a delicate tracery of metal, a good reminder of just how fragile the settlements were. A tiny city, adhered to the outer crust of a near-dead planet.
Tiny, but holding thousands—millions—of lives.
“Get it back,” Pike whispered, before he could stop himself.
She shook her head in fear. It wasn’t working, whatever she was doing, and she didn’t know why.
Closer, the four ships went, and closer.
Pike was at her side, hands cupping her face. “You have to do this,” he told her. “I can’t. Nhean can’t. You have to do it, Lapushka.”
Tears welled up in her eyes and one broke from between her lashes at the sound of Rychenkov’s nickname. She bent her head against Pike’s chest for a second, and the slump of her shoulders proclaimed her exhaustion.
For the first time, he wondered what it must be like to be connected to another’s mind as they committed suicide at your instruction. What was he asking her to do? The only thing there was to do, his mind insisted. Now he knew how Walker felt most of the time.
It was not a comforting thought.
A quick glance showed the crafts beginning to slow. Landing gear was coming down.
Her fingers were moving, even as she leaned against him, sliding over the smooth surface of the computer fragment. She was searching for some other way to talk to the ships, that much was clear, and it was draining her energy slowly but surely.
“You can do it,” Pike murmured into her hair. He tried to keep his voice light. He did not dare look at the screen to see how close to the settlement the ships were. He shut his eyes. “You are the stubbornest, most resourceful person I know. You can do this.”
Her shoulders shook with something that might have been a laugh and might have been a sob.
Nhean gave a tiny sound. His fist was up at his mouth, his face twisted. The ships were coming in for a landing.
And then her fists clenched and the crafts, as one, turned nose down. The engines flared and all four dashed themselves against the rocks.
The helmsman gave a whoop and clapped her hand over her mouth a moment later, but Nhean was laughing, head tipped back against his head rest. The girl peeked out from behind Pike’s shoulder, staring at the wreckage of the ships on the ground. Her eyes closed and she swayed, and then she started laughing, too.
“Told you,” Pike murmured. For some reason, he was laughing, too. He rubbed her arm and pointed at the screen. “You’re stubborn as hell, little one.”
Nhean gave her a smile and began tapping buttons on the screens. “Well, let’s get these bombs extracted and we’ll get on our way.” He brought up a map and tapped a rock outcropping near the wreckage, then nodded to the helmsman. “Set us down there.”
She was just obeying, and Pike was helping the girl to her feet, when Nhean frowned.
“Can you scan wreckage on that thing?” He nodded to the piece of Telestine technology that the girl clutched against her side.
She nodded worriedly.
Nhean hesitated. “Tell me how many bombs you see,” he said finally.
She sat promptly, legs crossed, and bent her head over the white shard. She looked for all the world like a musician tuning a stringed instrument, listening to the notes. Her frown deepened and she breathed slowly. Her eyes were focused on a different point. Her hand moved in a smooth arc, then lifted and repeated the motion. She bit her lip as she repeated it one more time, and then looked up at Nhean. She held up one finger.
“Are you certain?” Nhean insisted with an intense look. “My scan reported the same, but I assumed it must be wrong.”
The girl shook her head, and raised one finger into th
e air emphatically.
“That can’t be—this, this doesn’t—where?!” Nhean’s increasing frustration worried Pike, but the girl was sure. “There was material for twelve,” Nhean murmured. “But only one bomb was on those ships? Where are the other bombs?!”
The world seemed to drop out from under Pike.
“Call Walker,” he said urgently. “Now.”
Chapter Fifty-Three
Vesta
Exile Fleet Fighters
“Eat it, ya bastards!” McAllister thumped the side of his windshield with one hand. “You regret coming to this system now? Huh?”
He was going half-deaf with the cheers echoing through the pilots’ channel. Tocks had unleashed one of the single most profane speeches he had ever heard, Twister was yelling something incoherent, her voice gone hoarse, and the sound was clipping so much that he had to lift his headphones off. Even floating next to his head, he could hear the full-throated yells clearly.
“All right, Exile Fleet.” He could hear the smile in Walker’s voice as he pulled the headset back on hastily. “Let’s do some clean up. Stay sharp, they’re going to be out for blood now.”
“Oh, hell yes.” McAllister was still smiling as he looked up at the rapidly-approaching debris field that was the center of the Telestine fleet. “Let’s….”
His voice trailed off. The view was familiar—far too much so. With sudden, jarring clarity he saw King’s ship diving for the Telestine carrier. His own screams were echoing in his memory. Not her, it shouldn’t have been Ari. It should have been anyone else.
“Chief?” Princess brought his fighter alongside McAllister’s. “You okay?”
He wasn’t. He was suddenly furious. This wasn’t an isolated moment, a victory they should celebrate in the absence of any other factors. This was the absolute smallest sliver of payback they were owed, and everyone was cheering over it like it was damn Mardi Gras.
“You sound happy, fighters.”