Sinner followed, taking out the remaining opposition. Saint clamped his boots magnetically to the floor and marched to an intact computer interface along one wall, muttering curses under his breath with each step. He reached behind his back and triggered the release of a large object from his backpack. He placed the largest version of the Pandora disc down on the terminal and watched it come alive as it attacked the enemy system. With his job done, he collapsed to the ground.
Saint managed to speak despite the sand that coated his tongue. “Trap the doors and lock us in. We can only hope we got here soon enough. And be ready to shoot any idiots that try to get in from outside.” His muscles failed him as he tried to rise to guard the hole, and he fell into blissful unconsciousness.
Chapter Thirty-Six
The atmosphere in the Planetary Defense Center was charged with tension. Emperor Kraada Tak stood regarding the holodisplay in the same location he’d inhabited since the first report of the humans’ incursion into their space. On his right and a step behind was the dark form of Variin. Subtle menace radiated from her, so palpable even he could feel it, despite it not being directed at him. On his other side, his seneschal Chanii busied himself taking reports and passing the essential details on to him.
He focused beyond the projection and scanned each of the faces of his senior officers in turn. Each looked appropriately concerned. Several, though, carried a touch of hopefulness, maybe even reverence, in their expressions. Kraada himself was filled with the calm assurance that the battle would resolve as the gods wished it to, with their decisive victory over the humans.
As the asteroid trap deployed, the room broke into cheers at the wide swath of destruction caused by first the shrapnel, and then the boulders that latched on to the human ships. He frowned at the antics of one of the Domeki vessels, and gestured at Chanii, who immediately moved to confer with the officer acting as liaison with the Ruby Rain. That ship needed to be removed from the board as soon as possible.
Kraada growled in anger as the humans’ desperate repositioning put them out of reach of his forces. Indraat did her job, and orders flowed to redeploy in pursuit. He embraced this moment of lull in the battle as an opportunity to sit and refresh himself with whiskey-laced tisane and a plate of sweets. As he nibbled, he watched the pieces reposition and rocket toward one another to resume the fight. He launched out of his chair at the sight of a Xroeshyn carrier sending its fighters against his ships. “Why hasn’t that captured carrier been destroyed yet,” he demanded. Several of his officers paled under the stinging bite of his tone.
“We have judged it as a priority second to that of destroying the Domeki vessel, Emperor,” replied High Commander Maalis Fadl. Kraada granted but didn’t press the issue. His attention was caught by additional icons appearing on the screen, beyond the aliens’ initial ingress point, which then flooded through the gap.
“What are those?” he asked.
After several moments of conferral, Maalis answered, “They’re identified as missile boats, Emperor.” The ships confirmed that designation with the coordinated launch of hundreds of torpedoes aimed at one of the fortresses. He frowned and considered this development.
Deep within him, a feeling kindled. It bore the warm touch of Lelana, and the frigid ice of Vasoi. He sent his thoughts spiraling inward to embrace the gift of wisdom the gods were sending. His eyes closed, and his wings shifted slightly to maintain his balance as his mind descended.
He saw Vasoi the Destroyer and his patron goddess, seated on a pair of thrones that bore a striking resemblance to the one at the palace. Vasoi, in the larger of the two seats, nodded at him. “The time has come, Kraada Tak. We’ve sown the seeds of this enemy’s destruction, and the time is nigh to reap what has grown.” From the smaller chair at her right hand, Lelana gifted him with a smile. “You have done all that can be done, Emperor, save this single thing. It is time. Time to wipe the humans from the board in a single stroke, time to conclude this war and deliver victory to the Xroeshyn people.”
He opened his mouth to speak, to protest that conventional approaches would win the day, but felt an icy stab in his chest. Vasoi was frowning, and Lelana hastened to intercede with a frown marring her beautiful features as well. “You are our chosen, Kraada. Do our will and do it now.” The vision left him, and he stumbled into Variin’s waiting arms. His protector studied him, supporting his weight until he was prepared to stand on his own again.
He straightened, unfurled his wings, and spread his hands. “It’s time,” he crowed, the surety of the gods running through his veins. His outburst startled his commanders, and Maalis gestured at the display as if to say, “We have this under control.”
Kraada nodded at her with sympathy and understanding in his gaze. Nonetheless, he insisted, “It is time, High Commander. Prepare the field.”
The woman turned to her subordinates and began to issue orders. The activity level among the technicians ratcheted up, then increased again as the word spread. Soon every person in the room save Kraada and his pair of lieutenants was speaking quickly into headsets and punching commands into displays.
On the holographic representation of the system, ships began to move. The fortresses developed a glow along various surfaces, resembling an unending line that traveled the sphere in a series of right angles and short straightaways. The giant installations overcame inertia and shifted, one moving away from the planet and toward the rear of their fighting lines, the other repositioning toward the humans’ entry point. Countdown clocks appeared and hovered over each to indicate time remaining until it reached position. The larger number was below two minutes. Kraada gave an approving nod to Maalis, who met his eyes briefly before finding an excuse to look elsewhere.
No matter, he thought. Once victory is ours, the uncomfortable measures we were forced to take to ensure it, will be lost to history.
Several more stealth ships, outfitted as sacrifices and operated by remote emerged from their blackout shrouds. They shot toward preset spots throughout the system to create a symmetrical grid inside it.
Finally, a number of rammers also destined for sacrifice moved into locations chosen by the technicians to accommodate unexpected deployments by the enemy. The entire exercise was a mammoth calculation of force, gravity, and destructive potential in three dimensions, exacerbated by the constantly changing positions of the pieces.
The countdown clocks all ticked to zero, and finally his ships were in place. “For those who haven’t been fully briefed,” Kraada said, “allow me to explain. The gods have gifted me with a final strategy for this battle, a way to ensure our victory. The costs are high but must be born in the name of service to those deities, and service to the future of the Xroeshyn people. This day will mark a new beginning as we destroy the human fleet and remove the greatest impediment blocking our ancestors from their transition into paradise.”
He was ready to give the order, but the expert performer within him that had been so pivotal to his rise to hierarch and then emperor knew the impact would be much greater if he added one more element.
“High Commander Maalis, please show us on that screen what will happen.” He waved at an enormous display set into the wall.
Her surprise at the request showed for an instant, then she forced her expression to neutral. “Yes, Emperor,” she said and snapped her fingers at a nearby technician. The screen lit up with a mountaintop view of the battlefield. The fortresses began to glow, then detonated and hurled shrapnel in all directions. The display illustrated the shockwave that traveled before the debris as a light orange line. As it reached each of the ships in the grid, it triggered their sacrifice, which increased and reinforced the destructive potential flying through the system.
By the time the wave intersected with non-sacrifice ships, the energy was so overwhelming they couldn’t hope to defend themselves against it. They fell in sequence as the wave reached them. When the line met the asteroid field, the inner layer of rocks was reduced to shrap
nel that rebounded into the system. After several minutes, the waves diminished to reveal a minimal number of vessels in the sector, those who were protected by perfect positioning or random fortune. Blasts stabbed out from the planet to eliminate the enemies that remained.
There was a collective gasp from those who hadn’t been informed of this final option. Kraada nodded. Now, it was indeed time.
“Execute,” he said, and despite the clear misgivings on her face, Maalis did her duty, personally entering the command to trigger the cascade. They all turned to the holodisplay, some in anticipation, he knew, and others, no doubt like his softhearted seneschal, in dread of what was to come. The joy of the moment filled him, sending little jolts of pleasure along his nerves as he awaited his ultimate victory.
Seconds passed, and nothing happened. Deep uncertainty seeped into his belly to replace the confidence the gods had bestowed, and he speared Maalis with a glare. She was already in motion to a nearby terminal, and her voice was filled with pain as she reported the results.
“The fortresses are not responding, Emperor.”
“What,” he screamed, advancing toward her. There was the rasp of metal as Variin drew her blades and moved in step with him, ready to protect him or execute his will.
“Emperor,” she stammered, “we’re attempting to connect now.” Moments later, the conversation between a technician and the commander of one of the fortresses was routed to the speakers set in the high ceiling of the room.
“Repeat, we are under attack by a human force. They’ve taken over auxiliary control and have locked us from our systems. Our technicians are doing their best, but at this time we don’t have access to the controls of the Jade Sky.”
Kraada barked “Why did we not know this? What of the other one?”
The High Commander refused to meet his gaze but kept her head down while her hands flew across the control panel. “Jamming, Emperor, at a power level and complexity we’ve never seen. It is clearly Domeki technology.”
Sapphire washed over his eyes as his blood pressure rose, and he growled deep in his throat. “Can we accomplish the cascade without the fortresses?” he forced out through his locked jaw. His hands itched for violence. He noted in a tiny part of his mind that his seneschal stood blocking the most direct line between Maalis and Variin.
It made him want Chanii dead as well.
“No, Emperor. At best we’ll take out a small portion of the human forces. Without the energy of the fortresses, the plan is ineffective.” He screamed, turning his head to the ceiling and spreading his arms wide. It lasted until his throat was on fire, then left him drained and, for an instant, defeated.
That was when the icon caught his eye. The designation above it read Washington, DC. It shimmered in yellow, marked by one of the technicians for his attention.
“The trespassers,” he roared. “Use the planetary cannon. Destroy that ship.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
“Walsh, kill it,” Cross yelled as the enemy cruiser cut in front of them. The Washington was down to her starboard broadside, most of which was still functional, and her forward tubes. The loss of an engine had reduced both speed and defensive power for the shields, and so they skirted the edges of the main melee and headed for the cluster of ships that were closing on the Pandora. The tunnel jump had positioned them near the end of the semicircle across the zone from Kate, and the Washington and what remained of her squadron, the Tianjin, Saskatoon and Kilkenny were pushing their engines beyond the redline to reach her in time to make a difference. The distance was short relative to the size of the system, but there were a lot of enemies to avoid along the way.
Her lost engine left her trailing, which gave her opportunities to finish off ships that her squadron had already damaged.
Beams and missiles erupted from the starboard side of the ship, and more torpedoes launched from the forward tubes to curve around toward the aliens. Cross watched with satisfaction as they knocked the enemy vessel into a spin and sent it flipping into a nearby asteroid to explode.
“All right, it looks like there’s a set of triangle ships turning to block us,” he said over the squadron channel. Tianjin, your job is to throw missiles and energy at all of them. Saskatoon, you follow that up with a strike at the one in the upper left as we go by. Kilkenny, you’ve got the one that’s closest. I’ll take the one in the upper right.”
Cross leaned forward in anticipation of giving the next command to kill an enemy ship, watching his chosen target grow on the main screen, when the Washington bucked like the fist of a god had delivered an uppercut to her bow. The bridge plunged into darkness, and then climbed to minimal illumination provided by the already diminished battery backup. He focused his eyes past a vibration in his vision that he blamed on the ringing in his head until he realized that the ship was really shaking. Walsh and Lee hung unconscious against their restraints, and Cross’s body took that as inspiration to inform him that his own safety webbing had dug into his skin violently enough to cause instant bruising. The internal gravity fluctuated, making him nauseous as he hit the automatic release for his belts. When the button failed to respond, he growled and grabbed the all-purpose tool set into the underside of every chair on the ship and used it to saw through the straps.
A look at the main screen told him his ship was dying, and he wouldn’t be able to save her. He closed his eyes against the sudden pain in his stomach but ended the moment of indulgence almost immediately.
“Jacobs, oversee the evacuation. Flores and Fitzpatrick, stabilize the wounded and take them to escape pods,” he barked. His officers moved as Cross finished cutting his way out of his safety web.
He met Fitzpatrick at the helm and helped her secure an immobilizing collar around Lee’s neck. Together, they undid his belts and lowered him gently to the deck. Across the bridge, Flores had broken a capsule of smelling salts open to awaken Walsh and assisted the older man from his chair. The acrid odor carried to Cross and added to his sensory misery as he slid into Lee’s seat and let muscle memory guide his hands. His ambulatory officers retrieved a portable litter, essentially a reinforced canvas blanket with handholds, from the ready room and loaded Lee onto it.
They vanished from his attention as he finished entering his override commands. He triggered the evacuation alarm. The computerized voice was a shriek on his battered nerves as it dispassionately announced, “Evacuate ship. All personnel to escape pods. This is not a drill. Evacuate ship.” The instructions would play in a continuous loop until their rescuers turned it off, or the Washington came apart.
“Status, Matthews,” he shouted over the din as he glanced at the main display, which was increasing in intensity to the point that soon it might even be useful. He shook his head in frustration. His hands completed the process of setting up the helm station into his preferred arrangement. A side panel on the chair unfolded, and a reinforced arm rose with a fighter control stick mounted on the top. This configuration was rarely used on non-atmospheric ships, but he figured he needed every option available and every edge he could get to give his crew time to abandon the Washington before an alien noticed them drifting and blasted them from the universe.
“The planet shot us,” Matthews said in disgust. “The shields had no chance of stopping it.”
Cross shook his head, then immediately regretted it as another wave of nausea swept through him. The main screen had reached a level where looking at it left him disoriented by the tumbling of the ship. He locked his feet into place on the emergency restraints under the control board, and his muscles started to burn as his body tried to react to what his eyes were seeing.
The scratchy intercom sounded with Jannik’s voice, “I can’t get the engine restarted, Cross. It’s too far gone. We’ve lost the tunnel drive too.”
“How long left on the batteries?” he asked.
“Coasting, say ten or fifteen minutes. Fighting,” Jannik paused, then finished in a frustrated tone, “a couple, tops.”
“Maybe I can—”
“Get the hell off my ship, Jannik,” he growled. “I’d like to think that you get a happily ever after. Don’t screw that up for me.”
The chief engineer made a sound somewhere between a chuckle and a sob. “It’s always about you, isn’t it, my boy?”
“You know it, my friend. Go on, get out of here. Bridge out.”
Once the departing escape pods gave him an opportunity, he hit the release for the reactor feeding the engine that had until recently been functional. The cylinder shot out through the top of the ship and jetted away. Cross sent a small wish out into the universe that the reactor would smack into an enemy and destroy it. The last attack of the Washington DC, he thought with a grim chuckle.
He saw from the damage schematic that not much was functioning. A pale-yellow haze around the ship represented functional but mostly depleted shields. He paused between tasks and realized that what had felt to him like a half hour since he took the seat at the helm had actually been a little over a minute. The enemy ships that had been heading for Kate now curved back toward him, and the Pandora was racing up behind them at a pace he wouldn’t have imagined impossible.
He grabbed the stick and twisted it to fire the thrusters, slowing then stopping the ship’s tumble and rolling her so that up was up. His stomach settled into its appropriate spot, and he blew out a deep, thankful breath. On-screen, torpedoes and energy exploded from all the Pandora’s surfaces as she blasted through an edge of the enemy formation. When the alien ships turned to engage her, the other members of Cross’s squadron cut them off, allowing the Pandora to continue undelayed.
There was a buzz in the intercom as Kate yelled “Cross, get out of there.” The noise was overpowering, her words barely audible as the Pandora forced its way into the Washington’s ancient hardwired communication system. He wished he had time to respond, to speak to her one last time.
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