by Shane Black
“Aye, sir. Helm answering. New course on the board and locked in. Escorts acknowledging.”
“Signals, put me on the intership. Let’s hope this works.”
Sixty-Five
Lieutenants Curtiss and Tixia re-materialized at an altitude of six feet. Yili saw someone go for their weapon. She managed a crude shoulder-roll and came up shooting. Blinding white flashes crossed in the small room. The guard cried out and landed hard. His weapon clattered across the floor next to the overturned chair.
Footsteps thumped outside.
Curtiss scrambled to her feet and motioned for Zony to move back. Another guard appeared in the door. The impact of Yili’s twin blasts threw him back against the hatch edge. He landed face first and didn’t move again. The scent of burnt composite cloth and polyester drifted through the room.
Zony examined the bio-electric unit. Now all the lights were out. She spoke quietly into what she thought was the audio pickup. Nothing happened.
“It’s dead. Hope we can find a way off this rock, because we used our last free pass.”
“Or, maybe we can find another one of those things,” Yili said as she turned the two men over and relieved the second guard of his power packs. “These two jokers are fleet. Looks like we’ve kicked off a civil war.”
“Oh wow,” Zony said. “Would you take a look at that.” Outside the viewport the sweeping shape of the Sentinel planetary defense weapon rose like an ancient monument above the rocky formations surrounding it.
“Brand new,” Yili said. “Someone went to a whole lotta trouble to build one of those. That barrel is seven hundred feet. They must have been planning whatever is going on here for a year or more.”
“Good thing it isn’t powered,” Zony replied.
Yili went back to checking her weapons. “The more we talk about this, the less and less sense it makes to me, lieutenant.” She handed Zony a second blaster pistol and the holster to go with it. “Why build a big gun and make it the centerpiece of your whole strategy then fail to build a power system for it?”
“That’s been bugging me too.”
“There’s got to be power down here somewhere. I’m just not buying that ‘we sent enough for one shot’ stuff. Either they took their shot and blew out their relays or there’s more going on here than we know about.”
“Maybe some of their numbers got cold feet at the last minute.”
“Or they suddenly realized they had fired on a Skywatch strike battleship and didn’t want to be on the losing side when Argent shoots back.”
“Maybe there’s a weakness here we don’t know about?”
“Let’s go find it,” Yili said, peering out into the corridor.
“Affirmative, engineer. You’re in charge.” Zony drew her weapon and prepared to move out of the small guard post.
“Say again? We’re the same rank.”
“Order of precedence. Engineering outranks Signals.”
“Oh, well I never got that far in the regulations. If this thing has a power system, that portable sensor unit will tell us where it is. Let’s go find it and see if we can grant the skipper his wish.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re going to commandeer this gun and hit that enemy formation so hard they’ll be pulled over for speeding back at Core Two.”
Sixty-Six
Lieutenant Colonel Lucas Moody was confused and getting angrier by the moment. After Atwell had dismissed himself and left his ostensible “prisoner” standing at the edge of what appeared to be a vertigo-inducing cavern containing Admiral Hughes’ prison, the marine officer had done a little exploring of his own. There were walkways and side corridors, all made of the same chitinous material he and Captain Hunter had encountered when they first boarded the Dunkerque.
An immense tunnel extended into darkness. Around it, a dozen or more smaller side passages broke off and twisted away. The whole complex seemed to be made of the same material that huge insect’s armored back was made of. But there was something else too. It was a presence Moo couldn’t put into words, but he still knew it was there. It was almost as if he were experiencing a sixth sense: A sense of the unknown just at the edge of his experience but discernible enough he could reach a little further and put a shape and a color and a size to it.
Everywhere he went, and in every direction he looked, he could feel the sinister presence of living malice. There was an overwhelming dread just around the next corner. It was dark and wet. Then there was the seethe.
At regular intervals, as if it were the heartbeat of a sleeping titan, the entire complex seemed to experience some kind of spasm. Moo could feel it and hear it. If he concentrated, he could even register a change in temperature. The air would shrink and become hotter and closer. And then everything would relax at once, and the world would return to its dank, sopping former reality.
But there was something else. The colonel couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was a sensation all around him that he couldn’t quite shake. The visuals outside of the huge tunnel were awe-inspiring and more than a little unsettling, to be sure. It looked as if he were staring into a chamber that held a miniaturized planet, with all the size and depth such a concept would bring to the mind of a reasonable person. The problem was just that. It all seemed to be perception. Moo couldn’t deny what he saw, but what is a man to do when one sense is telling him something and the other four are shouting in opposition?
The sense of being in a much smaller place was all around him as he navigated the strangely colored tunnel. Even though he had to stoop and run a hand along the “ceiling” as he made his way, there was more to his sense than simply formerly being in a big place and now being in a small place. He was reminded of his subterranean exploration training, when his team was required to survey underground locations for potential combat threats. He had never been particularly claustrophobic, but he had men, including officers, in his command who were. The effects of being afraid to climb in to confined spaces were always surprising to him, as he had never experienced that kind of white-faced panic before.
This place he was in felt for all the world like being underground somehow. The colonel was well aware there was no engineering or science known to man that would allow a “planet-sized” chamber to be constructed underground. A heavy surface that large could not be suspended that far from its counterpart without earthworks beyond the imagination of the most fanciful architect or magic beyond the whims of a spinner of fantastical fairy tales. Even if there were some kind of artificial gravity in operation, the shape of the chamber was simply not physically capable of maintaining its shape at such magnified dimensions.
Colonel Moody didn’t have any immediate theories, and ultimately all of this would end up being well evaluated by men and women far better educated and well-equipped than a commanding officer of marine ground forces. One thing Moo did know was marines live by basics. You put on your boots and you walk into combat, and if that means you have to overcome the enemy by improvising a weapon and adapting to conditions that others can’t, so be it. It didn’t change the rules. Marines live by basics, from commandant to buck private, and in this situation, the basics were becoming clearer and clearer to one Lieutenant Colonel Moody.
Hughes was either insane or being held hostage. Either possibility demanded a response by Argent’s crew. Moody knew Jason Hunter’s mission was to take Hughes into custody on charges of dereliction of duty, and Moo was sworn to carry out his captain’s orders. However, if the Admiral were being held hostage, as Colonel Atwell had implied, then a rescue was called for. Either way, Moo had to find a way to get to the Admiral and ascertain once and for all where he stood in all this.
If what the captain had heard aboard the alternate-universe Dunkerque was true, Hughes would seem to have implicated himself in a plot to overthrow human governance and potentially attack his own kind. Moo was willing to believe that up to a point, but he also knew Charles Hughes was a decorated Skywatch officer with
nearly 30 years of service. He was a former frigate skipper who had won numerous engagements as part of the squadron that gave Argent’s planetside command group both its seal and its name. His record and achievements vaulted him to the Admiralty at a time when it was nearly impossible for a line officer to be spared. He was not a man likely to defect. He certainly wasn’t a man likely to commit an act of wanton treason under enemy fire.
No, there was something else going on here, and Moo was beginning to wonder if the strange sensations he was experiencing might have something to do with it. Atwell had made it all very clear. The human fleets were meant to kill each other and leave the nearby civilian worlds undefended. The Ithis were ready to empty Hughes’ mind to make that happen.
But Atwell said something else that stuck with the colonel. He made a direct threat against Moo’s captain. He said they were going to make mankind extinct and that they were going to start with Jason Hunter.
Why?
Sixty-Seven
“What’s so urgent?”
“That will be all, Sergeant.” Captain Hunter held the door while the marine strike sergeant excused himself, then closed it. He gestured for his sister to take a seat at the conference table, then seated himself in the same chair he occupied during the briefing. He was in his trademark high-energy mode, and his sister braced herself. These conversations went quick and covered a lot of ground.
“Status of Fury?”
“Operational with main power. I left Annora in command.”
“That quick, eh?”
“She’s the senior officer aboard. My XO is a good man. They’ll be fine if there’s trouble. What is going on around here?”
“This has to be kept between you and me, Commander.” Jason never addressed his sister as ‘commander’ seriously unless there was something dreadfully sober going on. “I just got a love letter from my engineer. Apparently she and my signals officer are playing hooky on Barker’s Asteroid.”
Jayce sat in stunned silence for a moment.
“My sister is speechless? Wow, I’m going to have to write to mom. Are you sure you’re well? Wait, what have you done with Jayce Hunter!?”
“How–”
“Apparently Zony snagged one of the alien communication devices off a downed intruder. Their working theory is those devices are Ithis technology adapted for their human collaborators. They are bio-engineered to draw their energy from their user. The one Yili and Zony are using was running out of energy, but they thought they could use the last of it to zap themselves into the control station out there.”
“Now I know why it was so easy to convince you to take a trip around the edge of that asteroid field. You’re betting they’ll get that gun operational by the time we have to turn back.”
Jason stood and referenced the display of Gitairn space. “There are two possibilities. Either King Two is going to match us waypoint for waypoint and try to wear us down with fighter engagements if we take the long way around–”
“Or,” Jayce continued. “They’ll cut across the asteroid field and make it a botched stolen base maneuver.”
Jason pointed and performed a little victory gesture. “Exactly. Now I’ve been working on the assumption that one way or another I was going to get Lieutenant Tixia up close and personal with that minefield eventually. If we give her enough time, she’s going to have that whole array reprogrammed to fight for our side.”
“And if we can somehow encourage King Two to try and cut us off–”
“They’ll fly right through the asteroid field thinking those mines are still programmed to stand down when they get their transponder signals.”
“The biggest traffic pile-up in fleet history,” Jayce mused.
“If we do this right, Zony will have reconfigured them to open fire on all transponders that don’t match the Perseus Strike Group, and if we do it on time, we could cut their strength by half.”
“And with the Sentinel there to pick off the big boys, we could mission kill the entire formation in one pass. A fine strategy, Captain. I’m surprised I didn’t think of it first.”
“You did.”
“Say again?”
“Archers and cavalry, commander. We’re just changing their hats.”
“What about Dunkerque?” Jayce pointed at the single contact following a hyperbolic course towards the “east” edge of the minefield.
“She’s due to hit the edge of the asteroids in about fifteen minutes. That’s going to be our safety in this formation. If Yili and Zony fail, Commander DeMay can fly through those mines even if they aren’t reconfigured.”
“And if they are? Won’t Dunkerque set them off?”
“She will, if Zony forgets she’s out there.”
“Let’s hope everybody gets everything right and in the right order then,” Jayce said as she got to her feet. “I don’t need to remind you about the first rule of combat, sir.”
“Which is?”
“The first bullet fired blows every battle plan all to hell.”
Sixty-Eight
“Bridge! Report!”
“Enemy contacts closing range, sir! If they get a clear shot at our engines, we’re done for!” Lieutenant Austin replied. A bone-jarring impact wave pounded against the Dunkerque’s aft section.
“Maintain evasive action! Stand by to attenuate our drive field!” Commander DeMay shouted. “Weapons bay out!”
With the ship screaming in protest against the drive-field-absent acceleration and every piece of metal in the relatively cramped weapons bay rattling as if under a freight trestle, Toby DeMay worked quickly. The internals of the particular model of shipkiller missile he and the two other technicians were reprogramming were complicated, but thankfully easy to reach without specialized tools. They would have been considerably easier to modify if the work didn’t have to be done during the spaceflight equivalent of a typhoon, but Skywatch combat officers rarely got to pick the starting conditions for a fight.
Another explosion lifted the deck a good fifteen feet. Then it fell away. Everything crashed to the floor again. Tools flew in all directions. Pieces of molded composite broke into pieces and scattered all over the room.
Commander DeMay tried to regain his feet, but the dizziness and the painful impact of his shoulder and elbow against the rigid metal floor almost cost him his consciousness. It was a good thing the missiles they were working on were impact shielded. Otherwise the Dunkerque would be nothing more than a fast-moving debris field by now.
Finally the skipper managed to climb back to a position from which he could see inside the missile he was modifying. The display had switched over to indicate proximity arming. These were the kinds of modifications that would normally be made automatically from the bridge or manually from tactical control. But without sufficient crew, the Dunkerque’s skeleton crew had to do things the hard way.
“Missile two configured!” he shouted over the din. The other technician gave the thumbs-up sign and began to seal the access panel on his missile with his handheld power-bolting unit. DeMay finished his final preparations and signaled the bridge once more.
“Bridge, Austin!”
“Alright, lieutenant, we’ve got three weapons standing by! Prepare to activate ventral airlock three and shut down all ECM channels on my order!”
“Affirmative! Signals console is standing by!”
“Range to enemy spacecraft!”
“Tactical reports range now 140,000 miles and closing on an oblique pursuit!”
“Range to asteroid field?”
“We will hit the leading edge in forty-six seconds, sir!”
“Very well, bridge! Stand by to launch proximity weapons!”
DeMay gave the signal, and all three men trundled the first of the relatively light shipkillers into the lift mechanism. They locked the wheels of the transport into the lift’s floor mounts and cleared the platform. One of the technicians manned the airlock controls and waited for the deploy order. Commander DeMay watched
carefully as the lead ship in the pursuit formation moved into position to target the Dunkerque’s engines.
“Activate airlock!”
The lift mechanism rotated on its long axis, turning the missile and its transport over and downward facing. It lowered itself into the outer access bay. Fast moving mechanical doors sealed the airlock chamber. Red lights blinked in sequence along the two doors’ edges, indicating both a mechanical and a magnetic lock.
“Hull systems report a total integrity seal, sir. Standing by!”
“Range to target, bridge!”
“One two zero kiloclicks! Optimum range!”
“Jettison one!”
The technician punched the release controls for ventral airlock three. The transport clamps blasted free and pieces of their mechanism tumbled into space just before the missile followed. The white cylindrical weapon casing began to tumble away from the fast-moving strike cruiser. Its internal systems went active, measuring range and relative speed with all other contacts. It locked on the lead pursuer and began broadcasting old-style RADAR signals in all directions.
“Weapon at half-range in five.. four.. three..”
DeMay waited patiently until Lieutenant Austin reported the missile had reached the halfway point between the two ships before turning the two keys on his console. “Sequences one and two active!”
“Affirmative, sir, arming the weapon! Sequence three active! We have a magnetic lock on the lead ship!”
The fast destroyer’s proximity alarms sounded, but the closure speed between it and the practically impossible to detect missile the Dunkerque had dropped in the road for it to run over was way too fast for any kind of evasive maneuvers. Its forward screens flared to life angrily an instant before a white-hot burst of gravitic, magnetic and thermal energy thumped into existence and then trailed behind. The ship staggered on its course as nearly all of its defensive systems overloaded themselves trying to absorb the fifteen megaton explosion their ship had just punctured.