by Peter Telep
"You'll understand if I don't do that just now."
Paladin did not respond.
And Gerald simply ended the link. "Mr. Obutu? Do you have a visual of the Olympus}"
"I believe so, sir. Waiting to positively identify and triangulate position. And… got her, sir. Looks like seven troopships breaking through the upper atmosphere, headed toward her. Squadron of Broadswords a quarter klick behind. Two squadrons of Rapiers running defense. Her ion engines coming on line. They know we've tagged her, sir."
Gerald stood and squinted through the viewport. In the distance, Lethe's medium star burned brilliantly, and to starboard, the planet hung like an ornament whose radiance wavered as the supercruiser shifted position. He whirled to his newly assigned helmsman, a hard-faced blonde named Veronica Schultz, a loner more interested in a promotion than in socializing. Gerald had approved of her the moment they had met. "Ms. Schultz? Maneuvering burst. Adjust course to intercept."
Schultz repeated the order and added a cool, "Aye-aye, sir." She tapped her touchpad, and the Claw suddenly leapt forward, maneuvering jets adding their thrust to the main engines. Though unconventional, the trick pried a little more velocity out of the old carrier, and Gerald felt a pang as he remembered the day the Claw's former captain, the late Jay Sansky, had taught him the technique. Sansky had been part brother, part father, and an excellent mentor—until he had decided to expose his Pilgrim ancestry and help Bill Wilson. The two had conspired with the Kilrathi to launch a devastating assault on Earth. While Sansky's participation had been ancillary, the Confederation did not recognize degrees of treachery. Any help to a traitor condemned one's career, reputation, and life. Sansky knew that, and he had chosen suicide to spare himself further disgrace. Less than a week had passed since the man's death, and Gerald still felt the brutal stab of his mentor's betrayal.
"Mr. Obutu? Shields up. Sound general quarters. Launch fighters."
"Aye-aye, sir. Shields up. Sound the general alarm. Launch fighters."
As klaxons reverberated, Gerald regarded Communications Officer James Zabrowsky, a slightly built redhead who sat at his starboard station before a bank of monitors. "Mr. Z? Open a channel to our destroyers."
Zabrowsky touched a key and squinted as he listened to the series of encryption beeps sounding in his headset. "Channel open."
"Fitzmorris? Shanney? Break from cover and attack!"
The two destroyer captains responded tersely.
"The Olympus is pulling out of orbit, sir," Obutu reported. "But she's crawling. Troopships have safely docked. Broadswords returning to base. Rapiers turning to engage."
"Sir?" Falk cried. "The Olympus's tube doors are opening. First salvo will be out in twenty seconds."
"Mr. Z? Get me Commander Deveraux."
"Aye, sir."
Gerald hustled to the starboard side observation station, and, taking the cue, Comm Officer Zabrowsky transferred Angel's signal there. The screen erupted in static, then she nodded. "Captain?"
"The Olympus has opened her tubes. I want you to get in tight and intercept that ordnance."
Blair tensed in his cockpit and focused on the glistening dot breaking away from Lethe, then his gaze lifted to the squadron. Angel and Hunter flew point a hundred meters ahead, with Gangsta and Cheddarboy positioned a hundred meters back at three o'clock and Bishop and Zarya holding steady at nine. Maniac and Blair formed the bottom of the iron-cross formation, and, once again, Maniac had complained over being held back. At least he was flying. Sinatra had come down with a case of post-jump vomiting that had left him too weak to fly, but rumor had it that he had spent too much time with his lips wrapped around a bottle of vodka.
"Standby, ladies. Let's light 'em and fight 'em!" Angel hollered.
Three pairs of afterburners lit in synch, and Blair watched the forward fighters rocket toward the supercruiser. He punched his burners, as did Maniac, and they thundered to join the others. His radar scope beeped as twenty or thirty crimson blips suddenly freckled the display. It seemed odd that the unit would identify Rapiers as hostiles, but the system had now been programmed to alert him of all vehicles not registered to the Claw .
"Tallyho," Maniac said. "Multiple bandits inbound."
"Ignore them," Angel snapped. "Second and Third Squadrons will engage enemy fighters."
"Enemy fighters?" Maniac asked. "They're Rapiers. You'd better tell me they're being flown by Kilrathi, Commander."
The briefing Angel had given them had been, in a word, clandestine. She would neither confirm nor deny the pilots' speculation that the Kilrathi or the Pilgrims had seized control of the supercruiser. And when Blair had pulled her aside to ask for her own opinion, she had cut him off.
"They're enemy fighters," she told Maniac. "Period. Got visual confirmation of starboard side tubes. Hunter? You got the first one. I'll take the second. Zarya and Bishop? You got third and fourth. The rest of you will remain defensive and keep those fighters off our backs."
Like any decent and correct furball, it all happened in a gasp and surge of adrenaline:
Ten enemy Rapiers flew head on, their neutron cannons spewing a fusillade that tore through Black Lion Squadron.
Two planetary torpedoes burst from the Olympus's forward tubes and dragged their vaporous tails toward Lethe.
Angel and Hunter dropped into eighty-five degree dives, barreled through the onslaught, then swept up on the supercruiser's stern. Even as- they came abreast of the ship, they fired guided missiles toward the pair of torpedoes.
Gangsta and Cheddarboy flew high above the supercruiser, then pulled maximum yaws to starboard and targeted a second pair of torpedoes that streaked away. As they fired their guided missiles, one of the Olympus's antimatter guns pivoted toward them, cannon lifting. White-hot rods began punching holes in their vapor trails.
Bishop and Zarya chose an attack vector that placed them one hundred meters out, at the cruiser's six o'clock low. They climbed toward the ship, slaloming through antimatter fire to dump off their contribution to the counterassault.
"My missile's locked on," Angel announced.
"Ditto here," Hunter said.
Twin flashes turned a region of Lethe's blue aura into a sheet of blinding light as the first two torpedoes detonated harmlessly in the planet's exosphere.
Before the light cleared, two more bursts lifted their shoulders, and Gangsta and Cheddarboy shouted their victory cries.
Alternating his gaze between the radar scope and the planet,
Blair noted that "The Mongrels" of Second Squadron, led by a highly decorated pilot named Achilles, had engaged a squadron of enemy Rapiers. Third Squadron's "Screamin' Shepherds" had launched to take on the other group. In the meantime, he and Maniac would continue wheeling over the cap ship, dodging antimatter fire, keeping eyes bugged for Rapiers that escaped the net.
Another magnesium-bright burst from the planet stole Blair's attention.
"Bishop takes bomb," Bishop quipped.
"Aw, shit!" Zarya moaned. "Mine missed. Guidance system malfunction."
"I got the torpedo on my scope," Maniac said. "Locked on. I'm going down to take the shot!"
"Negative. Stay on my wing," ordered Blair.
"And let like a million people die?"
"Stay on his wing," Angel repeated.
"Second and Third got this ball sewed up," Maniac argued. "I ain't got time for this. Court martial my ass, but I won't let those people die. See ya, Blair."
With that, Maniac broke from the circle and arrowed toward the planet.
"Got that torpedo on my scope, too," Blair said. "It's already too far. You can't get in close enough for a lock."
"Maniac, get back here," Angel shouted. "Know what? 7 don't have time for this."
"That's right, Commander," Hunter said. "Got two more torpedoes in the air!"
He's going to get too low , Blair thought. The Rapier's not capable of sustained atmospheric operations. He'll lose control and burn up. Even if he manages to
eject, there'll be no one there to tractor in his pod. I'm not going to do it. I'm not going to do it .
Swearing aloud, Blair cut the stick hard right and traced Maniac's path toward Lethe. The expected shouting from Angel never came; she and Hunter were too busy tracking the torpe-does. As he plummeted toward the fluctuating blue expanse broken only by the fiery dot of the torpedo's engine and the glowing eyes of Maniac's thrusters, Blair frowned as he considered his wingman's motivation for violating orders. Was Maniac really the noble pilot who wanted to save millions? Or did he only intend to bail out and impress Zarya? The latter seemed more shallow, much more like Maniac. The fact that he would save lives in the interim only further enticed him.
"I'm on your six," Blair said, his signal broadcast on Maniac's private channel. "About a K out and closing."
"Get out of here, Blair."
"Too late. We're both committed. Just get the lock and take the shot. Got mild chop already. Clock's ticking."
"Just need a few more meters," Maniac said distractedly. "Come on, you son of a bitch. Come on. Come on. Yeah! Got the lock! And firing!"
Close enough now so that he could see the sharp-angled outline of Maniac's fighter, Blair watched the guided missile drop a meter from the Rapier's short wing then burst off toward the distant torpedo. "Rocket's away. Now pull out."
"Thanks for the tip, Ace." Maniac pitched up ninety degrees.
Meanwhile, Blair rolled to port, electing to retreat more slowly and give himself more time to adjust to possible fluctuations in the exosphere. His radar scope showed Maniac's fighter about fifty meters to port and gaining fast. The guided missile stood at the scope's edge, hauling ass toward the torpedo.
"Impact in three, two, one. Bang!" Maniac cried.
The missile and torpedo scattered themselves in a fleeting conflagration that might very well have marked the end or the rise of Lieutenant Todd Marshall's naval career. Fitting possibility for a man of extremes.
As though cued, Angel broke into their private channel. "Maniac? Blair?"
Blair could see why she had called. Two torpedoes charged toward them, with guided missiles in pursuit. ETA: twenty seconds. "I see 'em, Angel. Setting evasion course."
"And I'm in his wash," Maniac added.
"Oh, shit," Blair said through a shiver as he stared at the quartet of incoming ordnance backdropped by the supercruiser and the spectacular firefight raging around it.
"I'm locked on to one of 'em," Maniac said.
"But we're still too close."
"Get ready. Firing!"
Maniac's missile lanced out at the starboard torpedo, the one closer to Blair. Even as he jerked the stick toward him, pulling into a high-G climb, the missile struck the torpedo and sent up an explosion that rose over their Rapiers. Hundreds of torpedo and missile fragments slashed against Blair's shields as he fought for control. The Rapier shimmied and suddenly propelled free of the blast. He craned his neck and saw Maniac's fighter emerge from billowing black clouds, climbing in a high-speed flat spin with attitude thrusters firing ineffectually.
"Maniac!"
"Give me a sec," the jock said, cockpit alarms nearly overpowering his voice. He swung out of the flat spin, banked hard, and lined up quickly on Blair's vector. "Damn. You want to talk recoveries? Check the recorder on that one."
"You two are still in the cone," Angel observed. "Move out to cover."
"Roger that," Blair said. He increased thrust, aiming for his original position directly over the supercruiser as the ship seemed to lose momentum.
"Fighters bugging out," Hunter said. "I don't get it. They're leaving the ship undefended. They can't be that low on fuel. And now look. She's slowing down even more and taking missile fire from the destroyers and the Claw . She surrendering or what?"
Blair saw it, too. Enemy Rapiers abruptly ducked out of their dogfights and bounded for the supercruiser, whose meson shields flickered with the azure talons of a missile barrage. First, Second, and Third squadrons would now add their fire to the cap ship bombardment. Clearly, the cruiser had surrendered. Her velocity measured just a few meters per second.
"Guess they are Pilgrims," Maniac said. "They're on their knees, but prayer ain't' gonna help 'em now."
As Blair neared the ship, a strange feeling seized him, a feeling that began as a cold wind blasting through his helmet and flight suit. The wind suddenly grew warm and concentrated on his face. He squinted against its force and trembled as he wondered if he was suffering from G-induced spacesickness or something worse. He gasped as the hot wind felt like fingers stroking his cheek and a woman's voice—not his mother's—repeatedly called him by his first name. He gazed out past the supercruiser, to the disk of wavering darkness that devoured the surrounding light. Then, as quickly as they had come, the voice and the caress were gone.
Dazed, Blair blinked hard and found Merlin pacing over a bridge of air, tugging nervously on his ponytail. The holograph occasionally self-activated during times of crisis, and his expression indicated no less. "Christopher, my sensors are reading a massive, localized disturbance being generated by the supercruiser. Analysis confirms that a gravitic warp has formed approximately eight hundred meters ahead of the ship. I'm reading a matter-antimatter reaction, but it's remarkably controlled. I can't explain this, but the warp contains a peripheral field of indeterminate particles that are apparently neutralizing the gravitic interference created by nearby objects, most notably the planet."
He heard Merlin, but the words hardly registered. "What?"
"Forget what I said. Just hit the brakes!"
Even as Blair frantically throttled down, the comm channel erupted with the stricken voices of his squadron:
"What the hell is that?" Maniac asked.
"Don't know, but it's got me!" Gangsta said. "I'm fully lit and can't break free."
"Commander? Commander?" Cheddarboy cried. "I'm being pulled in with her."
"Oh my god," Bishop muttered. "Look at The Mongrels. They're breaking up! Oh, man. Now it has me."
Blair riveted his gaze on the disk, his mouth opening as the
Rapiers from Second Squadron spun, barrel rolled, or tumbled bow over stern, shedding pieces until they finally disintegrated. Radü of debris zippered back toward the disk's center, wiping the universe clean of the destruction, save for vines of lingering haze.
"Jinxman? Get your people back to the Claw ," Angel told Third Squadron's commander.
"We were already falling back. That well has an antigraviton cloak that extends for about five hundred meters. Lost two in the fight, but the rest are accounted for. And we IDed those enemy pilots as Confederation officers. What the hell is going on here?"
"Never mind that, just—" She broke off.
Blair stiffened. "Angel?" He spotted her Rapier caught on the well's rim.
"You're still in the clear, Blair. Hook up with Third Squadron. Don't… come… any…" Exertion robbed her words.
"Wish you would've told us that sooner," Maniac interjected. "Thing's reeling me in."
Now hovering high and behind the Olympus , Blair counted all seven of his comrades battling against the well's unfailing pull. Had it not been for Merlin's warning, he would be with them, though he would still experience the distinct horror of watching them die.
"I'm gonna run out of fuel in a minute," Gangsta said.
"I'm right behind you," Cheddarboy added, his voice cracking.
"Tell you what? If this is it, then I'm going out like an officer," Maniac announced. "We all should. Set self-destruct for ten seconds."
"Maybe he's right," Zarya said. "My afterburners are in the red, turbines starting to overheat."
"Yeah, and if this well doesn't finish us first, the cruiser will mow us down anyway," Bishop said. "It's coming right at us."
Blair closed his eyes and rocked in his seat, groping for a solution. He couldn't let them die. He couldn't let her die.
It's coming right at us . Bishop had said that. The Olympus would not cr
eate and fly toward a gravity well unless it intended—
"What are you doing?" Merlin asked as Blair advanced the throttle, ignited afterburners, and swooped down at the murky lake of darkness.
"The Olympus is going to jump that well," Blair answered. "And so are we."
"Even if we jump the well, they'll capture us on the other side."
"No, they won't. You'll see. But first we have to pick up the others."
"The others? It's too late for them."
"Wrong again."
"I can't watch," Merlin said, then blinked out.
Two-handing the stick, Blair wrestled against the well and brought his fighter within ten meters of Angel's.
His VDU crackled to life. "You're a fool," she said.
Ignoring her, he engaged the retrieval tractor system and fired a beam at her Rapier. "You're locked on. Now listen up, people!" Blair regarded his radar scope, taking mental note of each Rapier's position relative to each other and to the well. "Gangsta? Fire a tractor at Cheddarboy, and Cheddarboy you latch on to Bishop."
"Interesting plan, mate," Hunter said. "We'll embrace in death."
"Do what he says," Angel shot back. "All of you. Link up. And Blair, can you do it?"
He swallowed. "I think so."
"What's he going to do?" Bishop asked. "And how the hell will linking help? We'll buy it anyway."
Angel huffed. "Everyone except Bishop link up."
"Uh, that's okay," Bishop said shakily. "I'm with you."
Blair stared out across the string of jets, all facing away from the gravity well, every thruster burning brightly. Though he couldn't see the beams that joined their crafts, his tactical display revealed the emission lines. The chain looked good. "Okay. On my mark you will engage emergency flameout systems, bringing thrust down to zero."
"At which time we get sucked in," Maniac said.
"That's the plan," Blair retorted. "And if anyone wants to bail, do it now." He waited a moment, listening to the grinding of his thrusters as they began to superheat. "Okay. Ready now? Here it comes. Mark!"
Like a string of holiday lights winking out, the squadron's thruster cones darkened—
And Blair cut into a hard, starboard roll at ten degrees per second, dragging the other Rapiers behind his. The afterburner gauge rolled even higher into the red as he now faced a whirlpool of swirling haze traversed by hunks of rubble. The radar scope showed the supercruiser just one hundred and fifty meters behind them, but with an abrupt flash that fell over Blair's canopy, the Olympus's jump-drive engaged, and it blurred overhead to dematerialize into the well.