Ship's Log

by Lawrence P White

  No sooner had he finished that thought when a full score of Harbok fighters joined together and began pouring laser fire into one point on the baseship simultaneously. The baseship’s shield lit up, then it jumped. Just like that, as if it had hit the brakes, it was outside the zone of fire.

  So, it had a tactical mode, too.

  After the jump, green circles began streaming from both sides of the baseship. He estimated some thirty fighters launched in about fifteen seconds. Not bad! The green fighters turned to engage the Harbok, then the baseship jumped again. This time it moved toward the Harbok baseship and launched more green fighters. The Harbok baseship immediately winked out, but it reappeared moments later very close to Arlynn’s baseship and opened fire. Her people must have been expecting this, for they jumped immediately. The chase was on.

  It was a mess. He could not make any rhyme or reason of tactics. Ships jumped and fired from everywhere, screens glowed, and Harbok ships popped in and out of existence at will. The only way he could follow the battle at all was by knowing where Arlynn’s ships were. They were at a tremendous disadvantage without a cloaking device. The Harbok baseship tended to remain near the fringes of the battle, picking off any unlucky green fighters that strayed too close. It stayed uncloaked unless threatened by Arlynn’s baseship. Her fighters could not even get close enough to fire at it before being destroyed. The melee centered instead on Arlynn’s baseship. Harbok fighters in groups of ten or more would pop into existence, hold their fire for a few heartbeats, then open fire simultaneously. During the few moments of delay, the baseship would attempt a shot or two, as would any green fighters lucky enough to be nearby. Then the baseship would go to full shielding and jump. The process would repeat itself, occasionally minus a Harbok fighter, but more frequently short one or two of Arlynn’s fighters. All the while, myriads of smaller skirmishes took place all about.

  Arlynn’s ships were losing the battle, and at an alarming rate. They were simply no match for the Harbok, cloaked or uncloaked. How big were those baseships anyway, he wondered? Harbok fighters were everywhere, but he could not count them, what with all their flickering in and out of existence. Arlynn’s baseship had launched some eighty or ninety fighters at least. It must be a mile or two long just to store that many ships and still have room to support all the people on board. And it could move just as sprightly as a fighter. He could not comprehend the power necessary to move such a vessel.

  The Harbok strategy was clear to him: during the next hour or so, Arlynn’s fighter force would be reduced to a number where it would become, in effect, inconsequential. When it reached that number, it would no longer provide an effective distraction to the Harbok fighters. They could then freely concentrate on the baseship. The Harbok baseship would also be able to move in, and the massed energies of the large and small lasers would overwhelm it. Greg’s hope of delivering Arlynn and her cargo evaporated.

  The only remaining unknown in this equation was the success or failure of the three fighters racing to his rescue. After watching the battle of the baseships, he had serious doubts about their effectiveness.

  He focused on his own immediate section of space and was startled to see that one of the friendly fighters had broken off from the other two and was headed straight for him. The two remaining fighters appeared close enough to the lone Harbok to start shooting soon. He received another jolt of surprise moments later when a voice spoke to him in English from behind his right shoulder. Jerking around in surprise, he felt a brief pang of anger as he wondered what new thing fate was throwing at him—and at the worst possible time too. He discovered a three-dimensional hologram of a man’s head and shoulders hanging in the air near the communications console.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The image smiled at him. “Greetings,” it said. “You must be Mr. Greg Hamilton.”

  “Yes, I am. Who are you?” he responded with his eyes bugging out.

  “Do not be alarmed. I am the captain of another ship approaching you. We do not have much time. A Harbok fighter has nearly overtaken you. I will help you take the necessary steps to evade him while my other ships engage him. I believe we can do so by operating your ship from here by remote control. It will not be as effective as if I were aboard your ship, but we do not have time to affect a transfer now. Do you understand?”

  “No . . . I mean, yes, but wait a minute. You’re going to take over my ship? In the middle of a battle?”

  “To what battle are you referring, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “Come on, I’m not totally ignorant. I see what’s happened to your baseship.”

  “If you are aware of that, then you know we have little choice, Mr. Hamilton. The Harbok chasing you has been persistent. He might not be scared off easily. In fact, we might ultimately have to destroy him. This all takes time and a certain amount of luck. If he gets by us even momentarily, he is capable of destroying you.”

  “I realize that, Captain, but can you effectively control my ship through maximum shielding? That seems unlikely to me.”

  “You know about shields?”

  “I know enough to suspect that if a laser can’t get through them, radio signals you send would have an equally difficult time.”

  “You are correct, Mr. Hamilton. Your understanding surprises me. This is not our preferred course, but I see no alternative. Your ship must be maneuvered if it is attacked.”

  Greg stared hard at the man. “I appreciate your concern, Captain, but let me explain something. I’ve been working diligently with the simulator and have had fair success at evading up to three Harbok fighters at a time. I think your talents would be better utilized helping your friends.”

  The man’s eyebrows went up. “Arlynn’s message stated that she had virtually no time to train you.”

  “Her message was correct. I’m no ace, and I wouldn’t want to try docking this thing without help, but I’ve gotten us this far, haven’t I?”

  “Arlynn programmed your course. Operating your ship manually is quite a bit more involved.”

  “Arlynn’s course, which I programmed with her assistance, was essentially a direct course from Earth to your baseship. I believe we’re somewhat off that course now, are we not? And are you, or are you not, also in a position from which you can engage the Harbok following me, rather than just flashing by as you would have been without the course change?”

  “Do you mean to tell me that the course we are now on was not an alternative set up by Arlynn?”

  “Yes, sir, I do mean to tell you that. Arlynn was in no condition to program every possible alternative before we left. Instead, she programmed me. All these ships are where they are now because I chose to come here. I chose to come here so that you would have a chance to intercept the Harbok ships back there rather than just take a few pot shots as you went by. It seems to have worked.”

  “Indeed,” the man said, straining to see past Greg. Greg obligingly moved aside, and the man issued instructions in his own language to someone else. Then he peered intently at Greg’s screen. “Amazing,” he said under his breath. When he focused back on Greg, he had a different look in his eye. “I have misjudged you, Mr. Hamilton. You seem to have a fair grasp of our situation.”

  “Maybe better than you think. I don’t think there’s going to be anyone left to rescue me except the Harbok.”

  The man’s expression became grim. “You understand even more than I thought. The baseship and our friends are in serious trouble. You will be rescued, Mr. Hamilton. So long as your ship functions, you will be rescued. I promise you that. There is always someone who survives these engagements, and you will not be forgotten. Besides, as soon as we have dealt with the Harbok fighter here, one of us will come aboard. We are three to one against him, and he is uncloaked. I do not anticipate any problem with your rescue.”

  Greg blinked, then he blinked again. Had he heard right? His brow furrowed as he reviewed in his mind what the man had said. Then he heard Arlynn’s words in his mind: “We
are not good fighters, Greg. In fact, we do not have a military at all, just scientists and technicians forced into service.”

  Slowly, choosing each word with care, Greg focused again on the captain. “Sir, how exactly do you perceive the threat behind us?”

  A questioning look crossed the captain’s face. “We have a fully armed, very persistent Harbok fighter back there. Its crew appears willing to sacrifice themselves to prevent your escape. That much is clear to me, Mr. Hamilton. I would have thought it was clear to you as well.”

  “It was at first, I admit, but the more I thought about it, the more I questioned the fact that two Harbok ships set out from Earth. One disappeared.”

  “I am aware of that. Arlynn’s message clearly stated that she and Jarl disabled all the ships in the base. It is reasonable to assume the second Harbok ship to which you refer experienced a serious malfunction.”

  Greg pursed his lips, angry at this man who, despite holding a command position, so lightly accepted the obvious. “It is equally possible, Captain,” he said tersely, “that the second Harbok ship dropped back to make you think it was experiencing problems, then it cloaked itself and caught back up to its partner. It is just as possible, sir, that other cloaked Harbok ships are accompanying the first two.”

  Greg had to give the man credit. Without moving a muscle, still looking him in the eye, the man began issuing orders in his own language. He switched back to English as his image began to fade. “Full shield, Mr. Hamilton. Tactical mode immediately.”

  Greg stared at the vanishing image for a moment, then he turned back to his screen. His own battle was about to be joined. He selected automatic combat shielding, then tactical mode, but he found only the captain’s ship within the field of the globe, so he switched back to normal mode. The captain’s ship was nearby but still slightly out of laser range. The two other green fighters were almost in position to open fire on the lone Harbok.

  For no explainable reason, he suddenly felt the hairs on the back of his neck lift. Without hesitation, he slammed his fist on the maximum shield button. Just as he did so, a yellow circle popped into existence right on top of him.

  His screen filled with light—he’d been hit!

  He pulled the speed lever back to zero, rotated the stick under his left hand, then pushed the speed lever back to full. He quickly punched up the tactical mode, made two jumps, then lowered his shield part way to refresh his screen. He glanced briefly at what it held, selected full shield again, jumped, then let his mind evaluate what he had seen. One of the green ships was colored in solidly, indicating it was under attack. The other green ship and the captain’s ship were free of attack. That meant at least two Harbok fighters, the one on him cloaked and the other not.

  He jumped again while thinking, then he returned to normal mode and reduced his shield to half strength so his screen could refresh. He found that all the ships had moved closer to him, so he switched back to tactical mode, made two small jumps, then he let his shield down slightly. To his horror, he discovered one green ship gone and both others under attack by uncloaked Harbok. Then a third Harbok blinked into existence very close to him. He touched the jump command button instinctively, before it could even fire. Headache forgotten, he turned immediately to face his attacker. He quickly selected a jump point almost on top of it, then touched the ‘execute’ button. He blinked, selected again, and jumped even closer. Had there been any light out here, he would have been able to see the other ship by now, but he had accomplished his task. The Harbok winked out, hidden within its cloaking device and on the defensive for the moment.

  Not wanting to press his luck, Greg put up his shield again and made a random series of jumps, letting the computer select his jump points while he thought about a solution to this dilemma. With the shield at full strength, all external sensors were dead. He could see none of the activity around him. But that was okay. He knew enough to know he was in deep trouble.

  Nothing creative materialized in his mind, so he took a deep breath, let it out slowly, then selected automatic combat shielding, allowing the ship to choose whatever shielding it felt was best under the circumstances. His screens quickly refreshed themselves, but no other ships were in view. Just to be sure, he made two more quick jumps, then he stopped for the few moments it took to expand the combat sphere to maximum size. He found the two remaining green fighters engaging an uncloaked Harbok ship, pounding it unmercifully with shot after shot. He turned to face them and discovered he could actually see the laser flashes with his naked eye way off in the distance. Making frequent small jumps, he stared mesmerized by what his eyes beheld, seeing in real life what he had been watching on the screen during his hours in the simulator mode.

  Suddenly, two more Harbok appeared, both firing on one of the friendly fighters. It ended up as a bright flash in the distance. No! His rescue party was down to one, and it had little hope.

  All three Harbok disappeared. Only the one green fighter remained. Somewhere out here, three invisible Harbok lurked, calmly working out a plan that would deal with him and the last of his rescuers.

  He heard the captain’s voice and turned to see his image floating above the communications console. Their gazes locked, but the man had little time. “Run!” he ordered. His image disappeared.

  Run? Where? The Harbok had a speed advantage on him. There was no place to run to.

  Just then, his own screen glowed brightly. He instinctively slapped the jump command key. He had been hit again. His ship must have sensed the danger and selected maximum shield for him or he might be dead now. He slapped the max shielding key just to be sure and made a series of three quick jumps, popped the shield down for a look, then he made two more quick jumps while he thought.

  The Harbok must have read the captain’s mind, he decided. No way were they going to let him run. He and the gray bag were their target. Everyone else was just a distraction.

  He jumped again, selected the normal mode, and lowered his shield strength. The stars reappeared, as did the battle of the baseships. Jerking and twisting his ship in the normal mode, knowing he was a target, he studied the larger battle and concluded it was going as he had anticipated. Both baseships were still alive, but the green fighter fleet had been reduced by about a third. It would not be long before the Harbok overwhelmed them. Closer to him, the remaining friendly fighter was again engaged by two Harbok. It was putting up a valiant effort, but Greg knew in his heart that the Captain was doomed.

  Greg reverted to tactical mode and initiated another series of jumps. He lowered his shield again and left it down, jumping continuously, almost unconsciously, while observing the remaining fighter in its battle with the Harbok. As soon as the poor guy would get a hit on a Harbok, another would hit him from behind. He didn’t have a chance unless he ran.

  The third Harbok fighter popped up near Greg. He raised his shield and continued bouncing around like mad. Taking hits from time to time, he lowered his shield only enough for quick peeks and discovered that his attacker was remaining uncloaked and matching his jumps with some degree of precision. He concentrated more on randomly changing the jump pattern and had a little better success, but his pursuer still scored several more hits, none of them when he wasn’t shielded, so it was not a problem. So far, he had not been damaged by any of the hits, at least as far as he could tell. He felt confident the ship would let him know if it was hurt, even if he might not understand exactly what the problem was.

  With his jaw clenched tightly, his body swayed with the jumps even though there was no sensation of movement. His fingers danced almost of their own accord over the keys on his armrests. He no longer needed to look at the keys before touching them—he had long since allowed his fingers to do his bidding. His concentration was totally on the screen outside, on the ships and the red combat globe shrinking and expanding to the demands of his fingers.

  His only hope of rescue lay with the green fighter. He had to help it. He selected a jump point very close to it
and touched the ‘execute’ button. He immediately reoriented, then jumped right on top of a Harbok fighter. He selected maximum shield, jumped away, then lowered his shield for another brief look. Three uncloaked Harbok were now in the area, seemingly undecided on which target to select. He went to max shield and jumped right next to the nearest Harbok, watched his own screen light up with a hit, and he jumped again, trying to land right on top of his attacker. As he had suspected, there was no collision. As smart as this ship was, he had gambled that it would not let him kill himself, but it did let him get very, very close. He quickly made two more jumps in the same immediate area.

  Enough was enough. He made three quick jumps to get a little distance, then he peeked out through a slightly lowered shield and saw he was alone. To his dismay, he also discovered that his strategy had backfired. All three Harbok were pounding the friendly fighter, remaining uncloaked the whole time. They must have figured out that he was unarmed, not a threat to them. He punched in the coordinates for another jump back towards the friendly fighter, but it exploded before he completed the entries.

  His fingers stopped their dancing, not sure what to do next. Everything came to a relative halt, including the three Harbok. He rotated the stick in his left hand slightly and centered the Harbok ships on his screen. He sensed them doing the same. There they were, three Harbok and himself hurtling along at some horrendous speed on a trajectory toward who knew where, staring at each other and wondering what to do next. Well, he was what was next, for sure, and he was all out of options.