by B. V. Larson
“Very well. I want them both. I want their flesh to merge with mine and adorn my body. There are spots on my person that are in need of replacement, they’re beginning to leak and grow fetid. These new infamous shreds of meat will be grafted into those locations. I’ll return to the High Court with a pair of trophies worthy of displaying to anyone!”
No one knew quite what to say—that is, no one other than myself.
“Zye,” I said, “please escort Ambassador Grantholm to her cabin. Her work here is done.”
Grantholm was grabbed rudely. She squawked and clutched at my chair as she was marched away.
I turned to watch her removal.
“This is a diplomatic crisis!” she insisted. “I’m still in command of this mission!”
“I would agree that we’re in a crisis,” I said, “but the matter has been removed from your hands. This pirate has physically threatened both myself and the Connatic. You should recall that you entered into a mutual defense treaty with her only yesterday.”
“You’ll not get away with standing on that thin thread!” she complained.
Zye applied fractionally more pressure to the elderly woman, and she was driven from the deck.
Spinning myself back around, I found the pirate had manufactured a sad face.
“A pity,” he said, “you’re likely to be destroyed before I can overcome your ship. I really wanted to merge with you, Sparhawk. There’s no greater prize in the galaxy.”
“My apologies, Lorn,” I said, “but this discussion is at an end. You’ve chosen the path of war. The record will clearly show that for all time.”
The hunched creature grinned. “We shall see if you’re as good as they say you are, Sparhawk!”
The screen went dark, and the star field returned.
“They’re accelerating Captain,” Yamada said almost immediately. “The raider squadron has shifted into a wedge formation.”
“Sound battle stations. Are the engines ready for battle-speed?”
“Yes sir.”
“Then let’s move out. Put some distance between us and the station. We’ll try to get the Stroj to move between us so we can put them into a crossfire.”
The ship began to lurch and heave under us. The power of Defiant was awe-inspiring at times like these. She was greater than she had been when she’d been commissioned by the Betas long ago. The best Earth technology had been applied to improve her. The resulting amalgam of tech from several worlds had created a ship that was unique in its capabilities.
The enemy quickly responded to my maneuvers. They changed course, shifting into an arc that would place my ship in range while staying outside the range of the station. My estimation of Captain Lorn’s capacities rose.
“Captain,” Durris said, “I think we should move around behind the station. Let it serve as a buffer between us and the enemy ships.”
I looked at him, then slid my eyes back to the tactical screens. The Connatic had deployed her fighters in three groups, as she had before. They were wisely hugging up close to the station, no doubt watching the drama that was unfolding outside her walls.
“How quickly we consider throwing our new allies into peril when a serious enemy arrives on the scene,” I commented.
Durris moved closer to my command chair and lowered his voice. “Sir, I urge you not to let your personal feelings interfere with the decisions you must make regarding the survival of this ship.”
Becoming annoyed, I stood up and walked to the tactical planning tables in the back of the command deck. He followed me.
“First Officer Durris,” I said, “have I done anything to suggest my judgment is compromised?”
“No, sir.”
“Good. Now, please save such fears for a moment when I’ve earned them.”
“Yes sir,” he said, hanging his head. “I was in the wrong. Sorry, sir. The situation is intense.”
“Exactly. That’s when I need you on the top of your game. Now, let’s figure out how best to destroy this force.”
Over the next few minutes, I contacted the Connatic and requested support from her fighters, but she refused. She explained regretfully they were her only defense and she needed every one of them to protect her station. I couldn’t argue in good conscience.
I wasn’t surprised by her reaction in any case. The station was at a disadvantage in this scenario. That was generally the case with any fortification. The ships on both sides could move freely, while she was stuck in place. She couldn’t take the initiative, she could only react.
We worked together on the tactical boards for twenty minutes, gaming out various strategies with the help of the planning computers. The situation was grim.
“We outrange them and outgun them ship-for-ship,” I said. “But there’s no denying the fact they outnumber us.”
No matter how we set up the battle, the computer predicted defeat. Each time the pirates pulled us down like a bear encircled by a pack of wolves. We could take out several, but we could never take them all.
“There’s only one solution, sir,” Durris said. “We must flee.”
I considered it, then rejected the idea. “There are factors at work here aside from the calculations. One of them is morale. These Stroj are humans—at least partly. If we can break their will, they’ll run.”
Striding back to the command chair, a deflated Commander Durris followed me.
“Helm, swing about,” I ordered. “Take us closer to the Stroj forces until we reach maximum range. I want to snipe at them while retreating with our superior speed.”
The ship made a gut-wrenching turn that lasted ten minutes or so. We’d built up enough velocity to transform a course-change into a long, drawn-out affair. The maneuver ended with us making a sunward pass, crossing the path of the pirate ships at an angle.
“Maximum effective range attained,” Zye reported from the weapons board.
“Commence firing. Go easy, give the chambers plenty of time to cool between salvos. We might not hit much anyway.”
She doubled up the timing on the cooling cycle, and the big guns began to release gouts of energy in the direction of the enemy. We were about two million kilometers out. At that range, the beams wouldn’t hit with the same focused power they could muster when close. Still, it would make a good test case. I had no idea how armored the enemy was, or what kind of countermeasures they might possess.
The pirates sensed our fire when it struck one of the outside ships of the formation. They began weaving in a random pattern after that.
“Damage?” I asked Yamada, who was studying her sensor data closely.
“Not much. We have some dust and debris, mostly metallic. But the ship seems to be operating with no degradation of efficiency. It’s difficult to measure damage precisely from this distance, sir.”
I nodded and began to pace the deck, looking over people’s shoulders. The whoosh and singing sound of our main guns kept going, every minute or so, as our batteries fired in a slow, rhythmic fashion. The sounds made by the big guns were impressive.
Defiant’s primary armament consisted of three banks of heavy particle cannons. They’d been upgraded over the preceding year. We’d improved both the fire-control system and the punch the weapons could deliver. As a result, they created more heat, noise and even some recoil when fired.
In addition to firepower, we’d upgraded their operating options. I could now override safety systems and direct them to fire individually, or in unison. The original Beta-designed fire-control module had been simple and, like the Beta’s themselves, more rigid in performance.
Durris waved me to his side, and I joined him at his planning tables.
“Captain, the enemy is releasing obscuring aerogels.”
“A predictable countermeasure. What about incoming fire?”
“Nothing yet. I’d predict we’re at twice their effective range, still.”
“Doesn’t do any good if we can’t take them out. We’ve got them ducking, but the
y’re still closing and not taking any—”
“Sir, we’ve got another hit,” chimed in Yamada. “Same ship, but now she’s leaking gas.”
I rushed to her side. Durris was right behind me.
“That’s gas all right,” he said. “She’s got a hull breach.”
“That’s excellent shooting, Zye,” I said.
She flashed me a tiny smile.
Then, the enemy ship blew up. We sucked in our breaths.
“That changes everything,” Durris said, moving back to his tactical planning boards. “Either we got lucky, or the enemy ships are more lightly armored than I’d assumed.”
“Update your battle predictions.”
“Uh… we’ll take most of them now, before we’re destroyed. Six at least, maybe as many as eight.”
I frowned. I’d hoped for victory. “What’s the turning point?”
He shrugged. “The moment they get within effective range. We can keep firing, getting closer every minute, blowing them down. If we can take them at this rate and a little faster, we’ll get maybe three more—but then they’ll be able to hit us in return. They’ll outgun us and destroy us.”
I knew math didn’t lie, but I also knew that tactics could drastically change the math.
“Everyone get to their seats and harness-up,” I ordered.
After a fraction of a second, they were all rushing to obey me. “Sound emergency maneuvers. Get everyone into a seat in thirty seconds.”
All over the ship, klaxons sounded and lights spun. The crew buzzed in my ear as decks reported in. Some wanted to know what was going on, others were confirming that they’d complied.
I gave them their thirty seconds, then another ten. Finally, I figured they’d had all time I could spare.
“Zye,” I said, turning to her. “If we black out, take over.”
“Will do, Captain.”
To the helmsman, I said: “Helm, hard about. Take us away from these pirates. Dive away from the plane of the ecliptic and don’t look back. We’re bugging out of this fight.”
After that, the engines began to thrum, then roar, then scream. The ship shook, and the lights dimmed—or was that my vision going?
We plunged through space, using what was perhaps the greatest asset Defiant possessed—sheer speed.
-16-
We’d left the pirates with a difficult decision. They could continue to chase us, or they could turn away and bore in on the station. They chose as I’d hoped they would.
“They’re going directly for the station, sir,” Yamada said.
“All engines stop,” I ordered. “Begin braking, gently, we’re turning around again.”
A few of the command staffers exchanged glances and shrugs. Maybe they thought their captain was crazy, but I didn’t care.
Durris stood next to me, nodding. “Hit and run, sir?”
“What else can we do? We can’t plow into them and die. If we keep harassing them, picking them off—”
“Sir,” Yamada said, “the Connatic is calling.”
I glanced at her in surprise. “I’ll take it privately.”
Stepping into my private conference room, I activated a much smaller screen. A distraught young woman faced me.
“I can’t say that I blame you, but your retreat from battle has left us worse off than before, Captain Sparhawk.”
“How so?”
“Normally, these pirates would only demand tribute. Now, after the wanton destruction of one of their vessels, they’ll demand blood—literally. Rather than allow my entire people to suffer, I’ve opted to allow Captain Lorn to meld with my flesh and take what he will. I don’t—”
“Hold on, Connatic,” I said. “I’m not running, I’m maneuvering.”
She cocked her head and stared at me. “We’re watching closely. You are slowing down… why would you behave in this fashion?”
“It’s called tactics. The enemy will shortly be between us. Please use your weapons. Make the best of this difficult situation.”
She thought about it, then shook her head. “I cannot do that, as much as I’d like to. The Stroj are angry. They’ll have to be appeased.”
I stood up, becoming angry myself. “If you won’t stand up for your own defense, you can hardly blame us for our tactics.”
Her eyes stayed downcast. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Think of me in your final moments. I promise to do the same.”
The channel closed before I could come up with a suitable response. I slammed my fist on the desk, then stood and straightened my uniform. I walked out of the room with a forced smile.
“Any news, sir?” Durris asked.
“Yes. I suspect they’ll help when they see we’re winning. I’m sure no one expected anything else, did they?”
Their faces fell. My crew had been hoping the Connatic would cast her lot in with us immediately. That wasn’t to be, but I tried to put the best possible spin on it.
“Are we closing again?” I asked.
“Yes sir, but at a slow rate. We’re behind them now.”
“Open fire, concentrating on the hindmost target as soon as we’re within effective range.”
The wait that followed was interminable. Space was a grim place in which to do battle. You could often detect your enemy, but you couldn’t always do anything to him. Instead, one was forced to watch them maneuver and destroy things at great distances with nearly perfect visual and instrumental acuity.
It was maddening. The pirate ships were within range of the station’s guns, but they didn’t fire. Their fighters hid behind the station as well, like children gripping their mother’s skirts.
Finally, we reached effective range. Our biggest guns spoke, and after several minutes, the hindmost ship of their formation was blown to atoms.
“There’s a message incoming from the pirate leader, sir,” Yamada said.
Smiling, I waved to her. “Put it on screen.”
A mask of feral rage appeared. It was Lorn, and he’d clearly had better days.
“You’re a jackal, Sparhawk,” he said. “They didn’t tell me that. You nip at my buttocks and run crying when I wheel upon you.”
“Perhaps they didn’t school you on basic tactics, Lorn,” I said comfortably.
“You move me to take drastic action,” he growled. “I’m giving you one more chance to comply with my wishes before I do something we’ll both regret.”
Frowning, I spoke as if barely interested. “Drastic action? Like what?”
“I’ll have to destroy the station. Millions will die.”
This did concern me, and I’d been worried he might try it. Fortunately, I had already decided how I was going to deal with this threat.
“It’s about time,” I said, shrugging. “Get on with it, by all means. We’ll gladly destroy your ships one at a time while you waste your firepower on civilians.”
“My threat doesn’t end there,” he said. “I must end you as well.” He said this last with remorse. “I’d hoped you would see reason. I’d hoped you would allow me to feast upon you—but no, I can see now you’re too stubborn and short-sighted for that.”
The channel closed. My brow furrowed in irritation. Two people in a row had seen fit to end my conversations with them rudely.
That was my last thought, unfortunately, before disaster struck. I had an inkling of what was to come, but not enough of one.
“Captain!” shouted Yamada suddenly, “there’s something wrong in the engine room. The heat levels—I’m getting a radiation spike.”
“Get my engineer on the line.”
O’Donnell had been replaced by a junior officer. I’d liked the new man the moment I met him, but it was possible that he was incompetent. There was no particular strain on the engines at this moment. No obvious reason why they should fail us now.
“I’m trying, sir,” Yamada said. “No one in engineering is responding.”
As I digested that statement, Zye wheeled around and reached toward me with
a long, thick arm. She caught my spinning seat and forcibly spun me to face her. “Sir, they’re dead.”
“Who’s dead?”
“The engineering crew. All of them. The core has been breached. Radiation and heat are flooding the ship. Captain… we’re on fire.”
Automated systems began going off, sounding the alarm. Damage control reported in, their teams were on the way, but they couldn’t even get to the engine room.
Rumbold was acting chief of the damage crew when he wasn’t running the helm. As he wasn’t on the command deck now, I contacted him personally to see what was going on.
“It’s awful, Captain!” he cried. “We’ve got burned bodies, and the air is sparkling. We can’t even get close to engineering. Worse, it’s spreading every minute. Sir, we might have to abandon ship!”
Stunned, I looked around me. Every crewman on the deck was in full panic-mode. Could this truly be the end?
And how had that pirate managed to reach out across a million kilometers and cripple my ship, anyway?
The moment I posed the question, I already knew the answer. O’Donnell and her crew of Stroj engineers had done more than blow apart a compartment and abandon ship, they’d left something else behind.
We’d searched. We’d done everything we could to find it, but we’d missed it. Now, the entire ship was in danger.
“Sir,” Yamada said, “we’re losing power. We’re cruising but we’re no longer capable of acceleration or making significant course changes. The main engines are dead, we’re down to our steering jets.”
She looked at me. I could tell she was frightened, but she maintained a professional attitude.
“What are the enemy doing, Durris?” I called.
My first officer looked worse for the wear. He was bent over the charting table, battling the planning computer.
“They’ve reversed course,” he said. “They’re not going after the station any longer.”
I nodded, unsurprised. “How long until Lorn reaches us?”
“Six hours, sir, maybe less. I can only go by the speed they’ve mustered so far with their engines. They may have been holding back in previous engagements, but I doubt it.”