Mthellan looked back at his holo. The freighter was turning out of the line, ignoring the impertinent Human’s demands.
The javelin watched in fascination, silently encouraging the freighter captain’s defiance until the icons representing the Humans’ Iron Hand fighters began converging on the ship.
He knew they carried 30mm guns, mounted beneath the crew compartment and protruding out the front of the small craft.
They weren’t converging on the freighter at all. Mthellan realised they were arraying themselves in two groups, one aimed at his starboard flank, and the other at his ventral surface. They were meant to keep him in place.
He realized that the combat shuttles were being diverted to deal with the lightly shielded freighter. They fired only enhanced-conventional rounds, easily penetrating the shields and crippling the engines.
Of course it made sense, when Mthellan reminded himself that the Humans suspected the vessel might be carrying some of their people. Using their Iron Hands to stop the freighter may well have worked, but there would have been little left for them to search.
Two shuttles made their way into the freighter’s forward bay. The infantry must have found what they were looking for because a swarm of shuttles suddenly issued from the carrier.
Mthellan realized the freighter captain may have been trying to destroy his vessel by running. His civilian ship had no self-destruct and so he may have been counting on the Humans to do the job for him and erase the evidence.
He decided to recommend the captain for a note of commendation, though it was uncertain what weight his words would carry. Sitting meekly while a far younger species gave insult to the honor of the Quorum was hardly the way to burnish one’s reputation.
It had taken thousands of years and more clone bodies than Mthellan cared to count for him to reach his rank and now he’d probably get his first negative note-to-file. He couldn’t even remember his original body anymore but he could recall the revulsion he’d initially felt upon seeing his first clone host.
He silently cursed the shapers for putting his kind in a prison that he couldn’t bear to escape. It was a mystery why they worked among the Humans.
“The soldiers are re-boarding their shuttles,” the vizier, tertiary grade announced.
Mthellan watched as the small craft left the ship. Of course, there was nothing illicit for the Humans to find on his vessel but it wasn’t the point. Even if they’d known, he was certain they’d have boarded and searched the ship anyway.
The Humans were sending a message – a very provocative message.
Coming so close to the sudden attacks by the colonial privateers, he had to wonder if they were connected. He was certain any attacks against the colonies would be noticed by the Imperium. It was almost as if they were trying to build a justification for war.
Curious. He’d watched the Imperial Humans for centuries and he’d been sure they had lost their appetite for expansion. They seemed content to slide into chaos as their expansion-based economy turned inward, feeding upon itself.
Yet now they were here, acting as though they owned this sector, and the implications were troubling.
“Gray cruiser, this is fleet traffic control.” A bold voice announced. “You are now clear to depart. Remain on your assigned heading until you clear the jump threshold or you will be fired upon. Control out.”
Dismissed by a member of an inferior species. Mthellan’s head tilted back a degree. He knew he was embarrassing himself and his entire staff with this fresh outburst but he didn’t care.
An Inspired Defeat
Grand Ballista NGark stood with his feet three centimeters farther apart than was normal. His shoulders were drawn back slightly and his chin a degree or so higher than one would expect.
His blatant preening might have been out of place for a civilian post but he was responsible for the defenses of the Quorum’s largest shipyard and he’d just completed a full inspection tour, visiting each and every one of the warships guarding Nurazhal. He’d shown the same attitude during his tour, hoping to buoy the confidence of his forces. A military governor had to show confidence.
The yards at Nurazhal were one massive structure, ringing the planet above the equator and capable of producing more than thirty warships simultaneously. With the recent colonial raids and the more troubling activity of Imperial warships, production at Nurazhal had been ramped up to full capacity.
The Quorum had sensibly decided to prepare for war. They had taken far too long, in NGark’s not-so-humble opinion, but at least they’d come to their senses.
A flurry of logistics craft shuttled back and forth between the storage wings and the material conveyors, ensuring a steady flow of goods for the automated fabrication systems inside the ring. Even more logistics craft unloaded freighters at dozens of locations around the planet-girdling ring.
Thirty vessels, a mix of frigates and heavy cruisers, moved along the assembly-line rails of each individual construction dock. Three frigates were almost ready, approaching the small bulge of administrative habitats that marked the line between each dock in the ring. Each of the three had taken their crews aboard and the final loadout teams had come aboard with cargo shuttles, each carrying the food, supplies and ammunition needed to turn the massive constructions into living, breathing killers.
Unlike most of his kind, NGark had been career military before the transition that had granted his kind immortality. Most of his fellow officers had eventually grown bored of the life and moved on to science or politics but NGark had stayed on, advancing over the millennia to reach flag rank.
He knew his current, overblown stance harkened back to the reproductive displays of a past long forgotten by most of his kind but he was relatively unique in his refusal to show disgust at such ideas. He’d be considered a degenerate if he chose to voice his opinions, but he dimly remembered the act of sexual reproduction as something rather enjoyable.
If he recalled correctly, from deep in the mists of time, he’d been something of an enthusiast.
He was also one of the few original officers left from his species’ final generation and his people feared his displeasure at least as much as they did the enemy.
That didn’t mean he was immune from political meddling. He’d been certain the mining outpost on N’Zhil was a write-off, but he knew he had to send a strong response to the colonial raid. To simply ignore it would have energized competing factions at the high chamber and his dismissal would have used as a convenient stepping stone for an ambitious apparatchik.
He’d sent half his forces and he begrudged even that much. He was well aware that the raid might have been a feint to draw his forces away from Nurazhal, leaving the yards open to destruction at a time when the Quorum needed every ship it could get its hands on, but he also knew he’d be accused of timidity if he sent too few ships, especially after the miners had sent a message claiming the Human raiders were moving to enter orbit.
It would still be a half-day before the first scout jumpers could return with word from N’Zhil and NGark was silently cursing his lack of information. He doubted very much that any Humans would still be there. They’d know how long it would take for a reaction force to arrive.
He looked at his large-scale tactical holo. If the Humans had any sense, they’d be coming here to take advantage of his decisions.
As if in confirmation, a vizier, first grade, interrupted his thoughts. “Multiple distortion alerts on the N’Zhil approach vector, thirty five thousand cubits out.”
NGark assessed the variables. Either his force had been tumbled from distortion before reaching the mining outpost and then had to flee back to Nurazhal or the new inbound contacts were the enemy. Either way…
“Recall all forces from the far side of the planet,” he ordered. “We concentrate here to block their orbital insertion window.” Even if the incoming ships were his, it probably meant a pursuing enemy arriving behind them, soon enough…
“Vessels are of o
ur design,” the technician advised. “No response to hails as of yet, and…”
“A second wave of distortion alerts,” the technician, second class, who sat next to him declared abruptly. “Human ships and we’re seeing mass separation. It appears the second group is firing at the first.”
Well, that, at least, gave NGark a clear target to fight. Why the Gray ships had failed to respond to hails was a concern, given the near-instantaneous performance of radio or light-based signals at such close distance. Still, his captains were mostly untried in combat, having held their posts for little more than a century or two, and they may have been overwhelmed by the urgencies of the fight.
He leaned forward, his head inclined slightly to the left, and the entire bridge crew was suddenly acutely aware of his wrath. “Signal our inbound ships,” he ordered. “Get them out of the way so we can fire on the Humans.”
He straightened slightly, inner eyelids becoming straight lines across the middle of his dark eyes.
Misdirection.
The cursed apes had told him a story and he’d believed it. The perfectly plausible arrival of Gray-built warships followed by a clearly hostile force of Humans. The supposed firefight might well be a show to lull him. The Humans would have to be firing their main weapons if the sensors were resolving mass separations at this distance.
And if they were…
“Vizier, what damage to either of the two groups of inbound vessels?”
“Difficult to resolve at this range, sir, but it appears to be minimal at this stage. Our own ships have managed to evade the heavier rounds from the Humans, so far.”
NGark felt the chill of lightening skin. “What of those enemy rounds,” he demanded. “Plot their trajectories.”
The holo began to populate with green lines showing the path of the enemy ordnance. The lines all intersected the shipyards. NGark’s flesh chilled. To be gulled so easily by those apes. They’d only recently come down from their trees and yet they’d played him like a zithra.
“Full combat footing. Fire at both incoming groups. Launch all shuttles and attack craft,” he said with the slightest emphasis on the first syllable, a warning to any who might be slow in passing his orders. “Position one on each inbound track or the dockyards are lost.”
“But, sir…” the senior dagger at the tactical station turned to face him as the first howl rumbled the decking… “such an order means certain death for the pilots and I am compelled to refuse the order and log a complaint…”
He fell in a heap, reddish brown blood turning green as it pooled around his form.
NGark kept his sidearm in his hand. He hadn’t fired it often because it had been designed for his original form and clone bodies lacked the physical strength needed to effectively handle the recoil.
He looked pointedly at his secondary tactical officer. “Do you also wish to refuse a lawful command in a time of war?” he asked calmly.
The officer turned to his station and passed on the orders.
That would block some of the enemy rounds, but it was no long term solution. He looked at holo, the fragile station still going about its business. The shuttles scurried back and forth.
The shuttles.
“Tactical, have the computer commandeer all the cargo shuttles. I want them to each collect one container and move out to intercept the enemy fire. Three quarters of the shuttles will continue to ferry containers while the rest will remain out here with us to position them as obstructions.
“And get those freighters out here immediately.”
“Sir, I must protest…”
“No, you short-telomere degenerate,” NGark rounded on the tactical officer. “I want the containers they have in their holds. We have a tenth of a standard day before those enemy rounds get here but the enemy will carry on firing during that entire time. The only questions are: do they know about the mines we’ve sowed and will we run out of containers before they find them?”
Never Reinforce Failure
“We have inbound traces” Tactical warned. “They appear to be targeting both of our forces. Just over a deciday till the rounds get here.”
“Very well,” Ava acknowledged. “Fire everything we have at the station. Let’s get the secondary batteries going. Ignore the defensive fleet for now. Set all call-signs to independent evasive action.”
She could hardly complain. They’d gotten off several volleys before the enemy commander came to his senses, even if he’d figured out their ruse more quickly than expected.
Given the size of the Grays’ military, it was inevitable they’d run into a decent commander sooner or later. She just wished it hadn’t happened today. Still, it shouldn’t matter. The rounds were on the way and it wasn’t as if the Grays could move their station.
“Ma’am,” the sensor officer turned and walked briskly over to her station. “I’ve been watching the target zone and I’m starting to see a pattern forming in the light reflections.” He gestured to her holo with a questioning expression and she waved her assent.
He opened his own overlay. “We think these are the heavy cargo shuttles,” he said, pointing at the cloud of dots, each too small to have an icon of its own. “It looks like they’re hauling the raw material containers into positions where they can intercept our rounds. Kind of like ablative armor.”
He pointed at the larger dots, this time with icons. “Still too far out to be certain, but these look like container ships.”
“Jian gui!” Ava sighed, looking up to catch the tactical officer’s eye. “Run a simulation,” she ordered. “Work with Sensor’s data and find out what percentage of shots they might block, and get it done quickly. Time always runs out faster when you’re shooting.”
“Tamade!” the XO groused. “Who’s been fiddling with our forward shielding? It’s been pulled in to within half a meter of the hull!” He opened a view from the forward shuttle bay and grunted in surprise. “I suppose we did declare weapons free but this is taking things to useless extremes.”
Julia looked over at his holo and a startled laugh escaped her.
A small group of crewmen stood at the forward edge of the hangar deck, just inside the shield and they had armed themselves, pushing the muzzles of their linearly accelerated assault rifles out through the blue haze. They were firing in the general direction of the station but, with nearly twenty thousand kilometers still separating them from their target, the chances of hitting it were slim.
The XO looked over when she laughed and he shrugged. “Their action station is to repel boarders in the forward bay, so no real harm done. If I went after everybody who ever acted like an idiot, we’d run out of officers inside of a week.”
“Speaking of idiots,” the tactical officer cut in, “I might just qualify. The computer gave a ninety-eight percent intercept prediction and then went on to suggest we fire around the poles of the planet instead of just at the narrow band of station we see from this side.”
Ava nodded. “We all should’ve thought of that. Either the enemy fails to realize what we’re doing and we get some hits in or he catches it and has to block those shots as well.”
“Which dramatically increases the area he has to block,” the XO added.
“Already on it,” Tactical assured them. “It drops their intercept ratio to ninety-six percent.”
“Ninety-six?”
“Aye, ma’am, but it’s better than ninety-eight.”
They raced down toward Nurazhal, putting as much ordnance into the equation as possible, until they reached their predetermined disengage line.
“Standby to jump,” Ava said as calmly as she could. They’d seen a lot of explosions but they’d all been too far out from the station.
Whoever commanded the defenses knew what he was doing. His scheme of using the cargo containers to block incoming shots was a clever improvisation that she’d never have expected from a Gray. All of their rounds were used up in vaporizing the containers and the materials within. With so much kin
etic energy converted to heat, the rounds had no chance of reaching their intended target.
The slower secondary rounds might have a chance, but it seemed the tactical computer’s simulation had erred on the side of optimism.
Regardless, the time to leave was upon them. She’d come here to damage the shipyards, not to get into a pitched battle with a strong force, especially not a unit as well led as the one guarding Nurazhal.
Her upper body jerked back in alarm as one of her ships was suddenly wiped out. No incoming trace had been detected. “Mines!” she shouted, activating the fleet-wide channel. “Minefield – all call-signs brace for emergency jump!” She reached up to the blinking red icon and touched it, sending every one of her ships a signal that activated their distortion drives.
It was a standard operating procedure since Julia had implemented it, months ago, and Ava was glad to have it. Julia had wanted to be sure her more hot-headed captains would withdraw when ordered and so the sub-routines had been added to slave all the fleet’s distortion drives to the flagship. One icon would launch them all to a pre-specified rendezvous point, regardless of what the individual captains might feel about running from the Grays.
As the stars shimmered out of focus, she saw one more icon disappear and she fought the urge to vent her frustration. She’d known losses were possible, even likely, but she’d been certain they could do enough damage to put a major enemy asset out of commission. Now, it seemed she’d lost good people for no gain at all.
From the Jaws of Victory…
“The Humans are gone,” a vizier, first grade, announced.
“Keep those containers coming,” NGark ordered. “The Humans may be gone, but some of their ordnance is still inbound.” He returned to his earlier stance. No graduate of the academy would have thought outside the manual and used cargo to save the station.
They would have charged into battle, destroyed many of the inbound ships and then died without saving the station. NGark had seen it before. The newer officers relied too heavily on the battle drills learned at officer school. Battle drills wouldn’t save the Quorum’s ability to build warships.
The Gray Matter (Rebels and Patriots Book 3) Page 23