Kedron’s ship blasted out of the landing bay. Micah spun to hurry to the bridge when his legs suddenly went out from under him, and he crashed into one of his marine orderlies. The man bounced off Micah's bulk and drifted away.
The gravs were out! They were in free fall! Micah blanched. What about the rest of life support? Could that damned Kedron have sabotaged everything?
For a moment, Micah debated whether to head for the bridge or for his barge to escape. His mind was made up when he realized that it would take him at least ten minutes to get suited to enter the unpressurized hangar bay. If Kedron had sabotaged life support, he’d never make it. No, he had to gamble that Cord wouldn’t permit the massacre of Nemesis’ crew of over five thousand people, even if Kedron suggested it. No, he had to get to the bridge. He had to regain control!
Nemesis had been in orbit around Thaeron for over fifteen years. Dreadnoughts are horribly expensive to operate, and smaller vessels are more appropriate for nearly everything. Essentially, Nemesis had been treated as an orbital fort, albeit one that was mobile, and had jump capability.
Because of her long sojourn in orbit, her crew was no longer practiced in null-grav activity. In addition, human nature had reared its head. As a warship, Nemesis was, of course, adapted to weightlessness. Tools and equipment, even bunks and desks, were designed with clamps and straps to secure them.
Unfortunately, her crew had grown lax about these precautions. Nemesis hadn’t seen null-grav in over a decade. Of her crew, only a few technicians had more than a few hours’ zero-gee experience. No weightlessness drills had been held in the last five years.
Predictably, the result of Kaleen's action was chaos. Both Nemesis’ Captain and her Admiral were off the bridge when the gravs shut down. Moreover, of course, with Fleet Admiral Chu-Lo’s address blaring over every comm circuit, there was no way to even call the bridge.
All over the ship, chaos reigned. Cooks frantically dodged boiling food that surged from pots and kettles and began drifting around the galley. In the holds, handlers equally frantically dodged crates that, though weightless now, were not without inertia.
One enterprising gunnery tech had used Rimrunner’s approach to run drills. When Rimrunner blasted free, the young tech debated opening fire, then remembered Admiral Jonas’ temper, and restrained himself. His finger was still poised over the fire button when he found himself floating free. Suddenly the fleeing ship had a much lower priority as a power cell case full of manuals drifted unerringly toward his head.
All over the ship, crewmembers caught or dodged pictures, caf cups, bookdisc readers, and all sorts of other impedimenta that had accumulated and had now become physical threats.
Hundreds of the crew flailed about in the center of compartments, unable to reach a bulkhead, deck or overhead to brace against. Others clung to anything stationary, unwilling to chance letting go. Many, perhaps most, were space-sick. Globules of vomit drifted about all over the ship, occasionally themselves triggering more attacks when they encountered crewmembers.
Moreover, over it all, Fleet Admiral Chu-Lo called for the arrest of Rear Admiral Micah Jonas and Captain Jamin Van-Lyn.
Ironically, Micah was bothered less by the zero-gee conditions than most of the crew. Though he hadn’t been in null-grav for some time, it took only a minute or two for him to reacclimate himself.
He began pushing against the other drifting bodies in the corridor, using the reaction to guide himself toward the bulkhead. Once there, he hooked an ankle over a projection and began shouting into his communicator. “Shoot! Destroy that ship! All ships pursue and destroy that ship!” However, the voice of Fleet Admiral Chu-Lo droned on. Cursing, Micah sighted on the next hatch, and kicked off. A quick glance back showed him Captain Van-Lyn following.
Despite his anger, Micah found himself enjoying the zero-gee. He’d forgotten how pleasant it was to not be dragged down by his own bulk. When he pulled himself through the bridge hatch, he was pleasantly surprised to find himself quite composed, not even puffing. He should do this more often!
However, the momentary pleasure couldn't overcome his raging fury. There were more immediate concerns. “Destroy that ship!” He screamed. “And shut off that damned lying broadcast!” Unfortunately, he was the only one who could hear his voice. Chu-Lo’s broadcast blared from every speaker. He pulled himself to the Comm Officer’s console, reached past the man, and twisted a knob viciously as the Comm Officer drifted helplessly nearby.
The volume of the broadcast subsided. He couldn’t turn the damned thing off, but by all the odd gods of the galaxy, he could turn it down so it wasn’t heard! He grabbed the drifting Comm Officer and dragged him to where he could grab hold of the console.
“Commander, you are to personally make sure the volume is turned all the way down on all systems until we can figure out how to disable that recording. Is that clear?” The Commander, clinging desperately to the edge of his console, nodded.
“Y-Y-Yessir!” The man tried to salute, but his arm's movement threatened to send him drifting away, and he hurriedly grabbed at a knob on the console. “Then,” Micah continued, “You are to find out where that damned broadcast is coming from, and stop it! That is your only priority from this moment!”
The Commander clung to his console with both hands. “Yes, sir!” He replied, but his expression spoke volumes. The man had no idea how the message was being generated or broadcast.
Micah looked disgusted, and then whirled toward the weapons console. “All weapons are to fire on that ship! I want it destroyed!”
The Gunnery Officer had managed to strap himself into his chair, and so was not as helpless as the Comm Officer had been. He began rapidly flipping switches and murmuring commands into his throat mike.
His expression, smug when he saw Micah’s reaction to the unfortunate Comm Officer, faded to one of astonishment, then discomfort as he stared at his readouts and screens.
“Well?” Micah demanded.
“I, uh, I don’t understand, Sir,” the Gunnery Officer said plaintively. “All my readouts show us launching missiles and firing laser and particle beam blasts, but we should have felt the launches, and my screens don't show anything at all.”
Micah threw up his hands. “Pah! Isn’t anyone on this ship competent?”
“Admiral.” Micah turned to see Van-Lyn in the bridge hatch. “May I speak with you, sir? In private?”
Micah's fury was unabated. “But . . .” He stopped and threw up his hands again. “Of course, Captain,” he said in a more moderate tone. He stepped through the hatch, and Van-Lyn swung it shut.
“Admiral,” the old man began, “You’re accomplishing nothing except to demoralize the bridge crew. May I suggest that you retire to your cabin, and I’ll report as soon as there's something to report?”
“Besides, sir,” he continued, “It’s much more important that you devise some way to cope with that broadcast and the confusion it’s bound to cause. You do realize that our own people have just been ordered by the Commander of the Fleet to arrest us?”
Micah hesitated, and then sighed. “You’re right, of course, Jamin.” He straightened. “All right. Number one priority is to regain comms and shut off that damned broadcast! Number two is to secure all ships. As soon as we can get the landing bay repressurized, I want officers sent to each ship in the flotilla. Officers, not just messengers, and those officers are to be accompanied by marine guards. And escort them with a fighter. Sheol! They may have to shoot their way aboard some of those ships! In the meantime, I’ll work out the message they’re to deliver”
He sighed. “Any idea how he did it, Jamin? It appears that he effectively seized control of this ship from the landing bay!”
Van Lyn echoed his sigh. “No, sir. Perhaps he had a comm tech concealed aboard his ship. Even so, I can't imagine anyone skilled enough to override our systems and seize control in the short time available.”
He shrugged. “You realize, of course, that we’ve just
had our authority snatched from underneath us. Where do you suppose Cord got a Vice Admiral? If HQ had sent one out, we’d have known about it. I gather you know the man?”
Micah sighed and nodded. “He served under my command some years back. He was a marine light Colonel, then. Typical marine. No manners, no respect. An uncouth, uncultured outerworlder.” He frowned. “He did possess a certain native shrewdness, though. As for how Cord got him, he created him. Somehow, Kedron must have convinced Cord that he could resist us. Cord is a Sector Viceroy; he has the authority to appoint and promote Fleet officers.”
Van-Lyn's expression was grim. “He did pretty well this time.”
Micah nodded. “True. However, trickery won’t be enough to deal with the force we have available. Eventually Kedron will have to meet us in battle. I’m rather looking forward to that.”
Van-Lyn grunted. “I’m not sure that I am.” He straightened. “Well, that fool Comm Officer has had time to figure out what Kedron did. I hope he’s figured out how to stop it.” He turned and ducked through the bridge hatch.
Micah stared after him for a moment before turning and pushing off toward his cabin.
Micah was scouring his brain for justifications when there was a knock on the hatch. At his bellowed “Come in,” a young sensor tech appeared. “Admiral, Captain Van-Lyn asked me to tell you that we’ve detected a launch from Thaeron. By the size of the blip, it’s that tramp that came in two days ago.”
Micah frowned. “I assume that there is some reason that this is being reported to me?”
The young man fidgeted. “Yes, sir. The Captain thought it was an odd coincidence that she’d lift off at this moment.”
Micah shrugged. “Very well. Though I don’t see what I could do about it. I assume that comms are still down?”
“Yes, Sir. However, the landing bay is being repressurized. Pressure should be up to normal at any moment.”
He shrugged again. “Well, if I could, I’d send a destroyer to check her out. Now, the only thing I could send would be a fighter — and with comms out, they couldn’t even communicate. Very well,” he added, more briskly, “You’ve reported. Please ask the Captain to send someone to me with a progress report.”
“Aye, Aye, sir!” The tech wheeled and started to slip out the hatch.
“Just a moment,” Micah called. The man whipped around with amazing agility. “Please ask Captain Van-Lyn to begin detailing officers and marines for the duty he and I discussed. He’ll know what you mean.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” The young tech repeated. He whirled and was gone.
Micah admired the young man’s easy zero-gee technique for a moment before returning to his task.
When the increasingly anxious Micah finally got his status report several hours later, it did nothing to ease his worries.
The reporting was done by Nemesis’ Executive Officer, a junior Captain. Micah ignored the man’s narrowed, suspicious gaze. He wasn’t a part of Micah’s organization, and was obviously trying to decide whether to believe his own Captain and Admiral, or a tape purporting to be from CINCFLEET.
“All efforts to restore the gravity generators have so far failed,” he reported. “The engineering staff says that the power is available, and is even being drawn off. But the generators are not activating. The Chief suggests that he may have to shut down the main engineering computer and reboot it with backup programs. But he’s sure there’s nothing wrong with the generators themselves.”
“Is he requesting permission to shut down and restart? I’d think that Captain Van-Lyn would be the one to grant it.”
The XO shook his head. “No, sir, not yet. The Captain has already authorized it if the Chief thinks it necessary.”
“Yes, Yes, of course.” Micah responded hurriedly. “What about the comms? And that cursed tape?”
The man shrugged. “No joy, sir. Commander Falker and his men have been going over the comm system inch by inch. Like the Chief Engineer, the Commander tends to suspect that it’s a computer worm. He says he may have to shut down and reinitialize the whole system.”
Micah frowned. “How long will that take? To reinitialize both systems, I mean.”
The XO shrugged again. “At least twenty-four hours to restore both the mains and all ancillary systems, sir. One of the main problems is that the computer that controls the grav generators also controls a lot of life support functions.”
Micah’s frown deepened. “I thought it was a simple matter of bringing the distributed systems online, then rebooting and reconnecting the main.”
The man nodded. “That was how she was designed, sir. In theory, we should be able to shift from the main life support computer to distributed systems in a matter of seconds.”
“Unfortunately,” he continued grimly, “Nemesis is an old ship. A lot of jury-rigging has been carried on over the last two and a half centuries. The Chief Engineer has to trace a lot of non-standard wiring and programming. Then, he’ll have to restore a lot of the jury-rigging afterward. It could take up to thirty-six hours. The Captain has told him to eliminate all other possibilities first.”
“And the comm systems?”
“Not quite as bad. Commander Falker thinks he may be able to find and eliminate the message and the subroutine that's overriding our controls without reinitializing the entire system. If a total reboot is necessary, it will take some twelve hours.”
“Very well,” Micah replied. “Oh, I almost forgot. What happened to the weapons systems?”
The XO shrugged again. “Same story, sir. Evidently we were the target of a very sophisticated computer assault.”
Micah nodded. “Very well. Tell the Captain and the Weapons Officer that the status of the weapons system is classified Top Secret, as of now.”
The XO raised an eyebrow quizzically. “Sir?”
Micah waved a weary hand. “Just do it, XO. Because of this imposter and his faked-up message, we may actually be faced with mutiny. Any such mutineers must not find out that Nemesis is, for all practical purposes, unarmed.”
The XO nodded. “Yes, sir.”
After he left, Micah gnawed at his lower lip. He’d listened to Chu-Lo's message several times. It was obvious that Micah was headed for a blaster bolt to the back of the head unless he could do something. However, after several hours, the only hope he could see was his original plan. Seize the Sector, and then offer to return it to the Emperor — but this time with an amnesty as an added proviso.
A pounding awakened him. In response to his growled “Come in,” a marine sentry entered. “Admiral, sir!” the young marine gasped. “The Captain sends his respects and asks that the Admiral join him on the bridge, sir!”
“Very well,” Micah growled, and the marine retreated out the hatch. Micah looked at his bedside clock.
Almost twelve hours since Kedron’s attack, and still no gravs. No comms either, he guessed, or Van-Lyn wouldn’t have sent a marine for him.
Van-Lyn was waiting for him on the bridge. “Admiral, a few hours ago, Harpy broke orbit and swung close alongside Fearless. Then, a few minutes ago, both of them broke orbit and are now driving at maximum for number one jump point.”
“They’re deserting, then. Is there anything we can do to stop them?”
Van-Lyn nodded. “Yes, sir, I assume they’re deserting. However, something’s strange. The ships are so close together they’re almost touching. Any Captain would be a fool to maneuver so close to another vessel.” He shook his head. “And I doubt we can stop them. Nemesis has no weapons, of course, and we have no comms to send another vessel, even if we could be sure which ones we can trust. The only thing we can even possibly do is send a flight of strengls after them; and against a destroyer and a battle cruiser, they wouldn't have a chance.”
Micah’s shoulders sagged. Damn Kedron anyway! How could one jumped-up marine so thoroughly complicate his plans?
He sighed. He should have known when the officers dispatched to Harpy and Fearless had failed to ret
urn or report. Micah watched the tiny blips crawl across the screen toward the jump point. Vidsen and Jamro were obviously defecting to Cord. He sighed. He should have moved faster on the accidents scheduled for those two.
It took more than forty-eight hours to restore all of Nemesis’ systems, many hours after Kedron’s ship and that damned tramp had jumped. It was also just too late to stop Fearless and Harpy. By that time, Micah had regained control of his flotilla, but it had been a near thing.
Even among Nemesis’ handpicked crew, several dozen had to be confined to the brig. There’d been actual hand-to-hand fighting aboard all the other ships. He’d had to send over a hundred marines to secure Dauntless, and he was convinced that only the threat of Nemesis’ weapons had prevented Raptor from following Harpy’s lead and deserting.
Then there was the base on Thaeron. He’d been infuriated when communications had been restored and the base’s CO had reported. After thinking about it, though, Micah had to consider it a case of mixed emotions. Evidently, at the time Kedron had been sabotaging Nemesis’ systems, a force of armed men in marine uniforms had mounted an attack from that damned tramp.
They’d destroyed almost every shuttle and orbital lifter he had, which was a serious problem; but they’d also kept the base’s personnel too busy to react to Chu-Lo’s message. Now, using the attack as an excuse, Micah had two hundred armed marines occupying the base. He didn’t have to worry about being cut off from the base’s supplies and personnel.
In addition, his counter-propaganda seemed to be working; at least physical resistance had ceased. He’d visited all the ships of the flotilla, and on all of them, he’d harped and continued to harp on the theme that Kedron was an imposter sent by Cord to demoralize and cause dissension among the Fleet personnel, and the message a hoax and a fake. Calm was finally restored, but casualties had been heavy.
Micah sighed. It was going to take months to recover from this. Moreover, he wasn’t sure he could hold it together that long. He shrugged. He’d have to. If his plan failed, he was a dead man.
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