In Nadir's Shadow

by E. J. Heijnis

  "Enemy ship turning towards us," Yegor reported. "Projected speed differential will be eighty-nine point five six."

  Dozens of heavy shell impacts left a dull glow on the enemy ship diagram. Miron leaned forward. As the glow faded, he confirmed his suspicion: most of the new hits overlapped those form the last run. He glanced at the gunners, both absorbed in their work as the turret railguns joined their heavier brethren. Although the computer did most of the calculations in communication with the gunner's brain, skilled gunners could adjust for anticipated movements by the target in ways the computer couldn't. But to hit the same sites again, when speed, position and angle had all changed? He had to forcibly dismiss the notion of luck.

  The distance shrank to its lowest point. A muted shriek echoed through the ship as the Vipers burst from their tubes, and the enemy ship diagram lit up with bright patches of yellow. Chaff burst from Tenacious's stern. The ship lurched, then shook twice. Restrains dug into Miron's skin and his vision turned red at the edges. As if from a distance, he heard an alarm, quickly joined by two more. One indicated a pressure loss, the other two... His brain wouldn't work.

  "Report damage," Gervasi barked. "Guns, tighten that chaff timer, that was fucking glacial. Secure Viper launch trigger, and tell me why that ship is still intact."

  "Inner hull breached at Deck Nine, E-section, starboard side," Bogdan rattled off. "Interior bulkheads are sealed. Six armor impacts between twenty and forty percent, all around the stern. Power failure on Deck Three, sections N through P. Looks like some of those fixes didn't hold. Number four and five turrets are out again. Engineers are looking at it."

  "Sir, only two Vipers cleared the tubes," Ipati said. "The others misfired. No response to queries. Something must have burned out."

  "Two Viper impacts confirmed," Yegor picked up. "Total armor elimination in two separate locations. No atmospheric venting detected."

  The Arrowhead's massive armor protection had been just enough to save it from destruction. Miron looked at Borya, staring at the MTD and mouthing silent words. "You can't afford another pass like that. If you open the range, floater accuracy will suffer more than yours."

  Borya gave him a quick glance before shaking his head once. "Every minute I drag this out is to their advantage. I need to force a decision before the ship falls apart all by itself." He raised his voice. "Navs, new parameters. Adjust orbit to one thousand kilometers below the target's. Assume target's orbit remains constant. Skirt the atmosphere, but stay clear of drag, else they'll see us first. Helm, execute upon acquisition."

  "Yes, sir. Calculating." After a few seconds, Matfey added, "New burn angle ready."

  "Burning now," Osip replied. The deck trembled as manifolds redirected the main thruster's output forward.

  "Osip, when we regain the target, orient the ship to track through fifteen degrees. Guns, firing plan. You'll get only a few seconds of heavy railgun fire, so make it count. Activate Viper launch trigger. Concentrate your fire at the central hull. Break his back." Borya sat back, folding his hands together.

  Miron took a deep, quiet breath, and tried to feel the Ship Master's confidence. Speed had been their main advantage so far, and Borya was willing to give it up for a chance to surprise the enemy. If it failed, they faced a long, vulnerable climb out of low orbit, and they only had one salvo of Vipers left.

  The distance to the planet slowed its steady decrease, and settled at one thousand kilometers. Tenacious skimmed the atmosphere, lying in wait. Bogdan reported the two unresponsive turrets were too damaged to repair. Between the Lancer cannon and the turrets, the ship's firepower had been reduced by half.

  The timer tracking the floater's expected reappearance still showed nine minutes when Yegor said, "Target reacquired―"

  In the moment of the Detection Operator's hesitation, Miron saw the disaster unfold. His stomach turned hollow as the MTD updated the floater ship's orbit.

  "They adjusted their orbit," the officer continued. "Flattened it. They're almost at apogee. Closing speed at maximum effective range will be thirty-six point three nine."

  Borya's jaw bunched, his only visible reaction to the failure of his tactic. "Guns, turrets only. Helm, emergency burn, full power."

  Miron silently cursed Borya's stubbornness. The situation had been reversed, with Tenacious stuck in low orbit while the floater ship controlled the distance. Obviously, they'd overestimated the damage done to the enemy's drive nodes. The floaters had probably managed to coax out just enough speed to bounce off the atmosphere. The MTD continued to update the target's projected orbit as the pulsing dot traveled back towards Nadir, making it clear the enemy still retained some ability to maneuver. The yellow line doubled back across itself, which would give the enemy the option of a clear run at Tenacious's stern as she struggled to regain speed. Borya could turn away to protect the drive, or risk fatal damage and continue to accelerate. The former likely meant the floaters would get at least one more pass. The latter could mean Tenacious's destruction.

  "Helm, cease emergency burn," Borya said. "Reorient the ship to face the target, and continue to track for heavy railgun fire." It was the sensible choice. The floater ship responded by keeping its distance, not risking a close pass without a chance for a crippling hit.

  Miron studied the display. They were at an impasse: though they were creeping into weapons range, the floaters seemed unwilling to close in the face of Tenacious's heaviest weapons, and Tenacious couldn't accelerate out of orbit without exposing her drive. But the enemy was running out of time: in minutes, Tenacious's close orbit would put the planet between them and the floaters, and they'd be able to reorient the ship without fear of enemy fire.

  The dim, pulsing echoes of heavy railguns brought Miron's attention back to the target diagram. It was a valiant effort by the gunners, but they were firing at the extreme end of their range. Even with the shells tracking the target, the enemy's increased velocity meant the chance of landing hits was―

  More impacts blossomed on the enemy ship, including multiple overlapping strikes on the central hull, between the smooth curves of the wing roots. Bright yellow lines indicated armor penetration.

  "Target is venting atmosphere in two locations," Yegor reported. "Indications of serious structural damage." The floater ship rolled lazily, trying to hide its injuries.

  Miron stared at the gunners. Ipati whistled a taunting melody.

  Finally, the floater ship disappeared behind the horizon. "Reorient the ship," Borya said. "Emergency burn. Get us out of this orbit." The drive engine labored to accelerate the ship, and the deck plates trembled with the power released. Yet as Miron watched, Tenacious's speed indicator on the MTD slowed its steady rise.

  "Anisim, Control. What's going on?" Borya said.

  "Number three fuel injector failed," Anisim said through the comm. "Fuel line broke. Looks like floater sabotage." The engineer's voice sounded like he was yelling over background noise. "I can fix it, but I need the engine shut down and cooling for six hours before I can start."

  "Forget it," Borya replied. "Just find a way to get more thrust out of that engine, right now."

  Although the MPD thruster retained enough power to push them out of their low orbit, it would take much longer to do so. Every minute of reduced acceleration meant more time stuck in low orbit.

  "Target acquired!" Yegor snapped. "Coming in at relative twenty-three point one seven!"

  The enemy orbit line solidified on the MTD, now drastically different in shape. Miron turned to Borya in horror at the truth it revealed: the enemy hadn't been anywhere near as crippled as they'd shown themselves to be.

  "Cease burn! Osip, turn us around! Guns, fire as you bear. Release countermeasures." The Ship Master looked disgusted. "They got me," he muttered. "Gutsy bastards."

  The deck heaved before Miron had a chance to speak, crushing him into his seat. A deafening impact echoed through the ship, followed by a sickening groan. Blood drained from his head, his sight slowly turnin
g to grey.

  The pressure relented before he passed out, but he didn't need to hear a report to know the ship was out of control. The acrid stench of an electrical fire penetrated his nose, and smoke clouded his vision.

  "Report―" Gervasi coughed. "Report damage!" she managed, her hoarse voice loud enough to defeat the sirens and the deep creaking noise of a ship in its death throes. "Somebody kill that fire!"

  Bogdan gave a retching cough and straightened in his chair. "Drive's out. The keel broke. Hull breaches... Ah. Many. Local emergency power only. Guns are out." A pause. "We're adrift."

  Borya and Miron locked gazes through the rising smoke, and the Ship Master's eyes slowly hardened. Without breaking their eye contact, Borya called, "D-OPS, where is the target?"

  Yegor spoke with a slur: "They're slowing down. Closing the distance."

  Borya nodded. "If you want to go, you should do it now," he said.

  "Damn it, Borya," Miron said in a hoarse voice. "It doesn't have to be this way."

  The Ship Master shook his head. "It does. It's been coming for a long time. Ever since the fight at the Pillars. You remember that?"

  Miron nodded. Of course he did.

  "I thought I would die then. It was a good time to go. A good way. It was the least we could do, to die with those stubborn bastards of Vengeance group. After what they did. But then, we survived. Some of us. The demotion..." He scoffed. "I was still trying to understand why I still lived. But I think I know now." He gave Miron a rueful smile. His tired eyes held a clarity Miron hadn't seen in them in years. "It was you. That wasn't your death, and I couldn't take you with me. And they made you a Commander." Smile fading, he leaned closer. "Command means killing. Theirs, and yours, too. It always hit you too hard. You can't fix it, Miron, and you can't make up for it, because there's no other way. It's just how it is."

  Miron swallowed through the painful knot in his throat. "I'm going to try," he whispered. "Dying won't help."

  Borya sat back and faced forward. "It's going to help. That ship needs to go, or they'll just hunt you down. If we all abandon ship now, they'll know what we intend to do―and they'll still hunt us down."

  "The target is closing topside," Bogdan reported. "They're aiming to board."

  Borya gripped the armrests of his chair. A terrible look came to his face, a far deeper cold than Miron had thought him capable of. "Get going, Miron. These bastards rode us halfway across the galaxy, and now they're going to pay for it. I'm going to blow up their precious cocoon in their faces. Hopefully, they'll live long enough to realize it." He turned to the dazed gunners. "Hey! Wake up. We're not done yet."

  Miron stood. It wasn't the first time he'd left a friend to die. As before, all the things he'd never managed to say didn't fit in the few seconds he had left, and he tried to say it all with a look and a nod. As before, it was enough. Borya returned the nod, and said, "Be on your way now."

  "Commander," Gervasi said, and turned her chair to face him. "You're an asshole. But... I want you to know: I now think you meant well."

  "I'm truly sorry about your friends," he said. She turned away without another word.

  He stepped out of Control. The last words he heard Borya say were, "Guns, firing plan―" before the door slid shut behind him.

  He ran down the corridors of the doomed ship, heading for the nearest lifeboat. The Control compartment's armored cage had protected it from the worst of the damage, but the rest of the ship had been wrecked. The way ahead flickered with firelight, and even before he got close, he felt the radiating heat. The metal bulkhead itself had caught fire, sparked by a surge of power within and sustained by the melting power cables. An engineer lay on the floor nearby, her body charred and blistered. The fire burned too hot to approach. He had to find another lifeboat.

  He had no plan beyond getting off the ship. All he knew was if he died now, the mission would be over, and he would have failed. He wasn't going to let that happen.

  Turning the next corner brought him face to face with fleet guard Chief Zakhar. The man's stony expression hadn't changed from any of the other times Miron had seen him. He wore his grey ACS like leisure clothes, utterly unaffected in his movements. Each hand brandished a weapon. "Commander. Do you need help?"

  The chief had been patrolling the doomed ship, prepared to do everything he could against enemy boarders, and unconcerned with things he couldn't change. He needed this man. "Come with me," he said. There was someone else he would need, another man who would do his duty no matter the circumstances. Zakhar followed without comment.

  The infirmary stank of burned meat. Rurik and his two orderlies rushed around half a dozen wounded. One man screamed as he writhed on his bed, and Miron caught a glimpse of charred flesh and gleaming bone. "Rurik. Come with me."

  The doctor shot him an astonished glance. "Do you see these people?" he snapped. He told the orderly, "Tie it now, and get the HS. You're doing this one."

  Miron stepped close. "Doctor, you are leaving. We're out of time, and I need you, right now. Do you understand?"

  Rurik didn't even look at him this time. "I'm not leaving these people now, Commander. You can censure me later, but I can't help but feel we'll all be dead before you'll get the chance. Making my refusal somewhat easier to bear." He lifted a woman's eyelid and flashed a light inside.

  Miron turned to Zakhar. "Knock him out and bring him."

  The chief stepped up behind Rurik and struck him on the temple. The doctor collapsed into Zakhar's waiting arms without a sound.

  "What are you doing?" Esfir demanded, her voice tight with panic even as she continued working on her patient.

  Miron left the infirmary. Zakhar followed, the motionless doctor draped across his shoulders.

  A spacetight emergency door blocked the way to the lifeboat. The ten-centimeter thick barrier glowed red in the center, and groaned as it changed shape. The detour didn't take long, but every second, Miron expected the ship to tear apart around them. He wished he had time to find others who would be of use to him on the planet, but time had run out.

  A square, man-tall hatch in the outer hull came into view. He ran up and slapped the single button on the side. The hatch swung up to the overhead with a hiss, and he stood aside to allow Zakhar to carry the doctor inside.

  Before he stepped inside, another figure rounded the far corner. Esfir. Their eyes met.

  You're not leaving. You're going to die here. Miron closed the door behind him.

  Zakhar had strapped Rurik into one of the six seats and tightened his own harness. Miron hit the launch button before finding his seat at the lifeboat's rudimentary controls as an icy female voice counted down.

  When he faced the entrance, he saw Esfir's wide-eyed, terrified face pressed against the window. The double barrier didn't carry sound, but he didn't need to hear to imagine what she screamed at him. He quelled the horror in his heart, and met her frantic stare with cold indifference. At least Rurik had had to be forced to leave his patients. Esfir still stood at the window when the countdown reached zero and the lifeboat blasted away from the ship. He held her gaze until she was too small to see.

  From the outside, Tenacious looked like a derelict. Craters marked the once smooth, dark grey surface. An entire section on the starboard side had been blown out from within. The drive exhaust and the entire lower half of the stern had been torn away, all the way forward to the distortion projector ringing the hull amidships. Miron didn't bother wondering about the fates of Anisim and the rest of the engineering crew. Most of the department where he'd worked all those hours was gone, and the rest was exposed to space. The final hit that had put them out of the fight had been massive.

  The floater ship didn't look much better. Now that he actually saw the vessel instead of interpreting a diagram, the skill of Tenacious's gunners became even more obvious. Dozens of hits marred a handful of heavily pockmarked sites around the bulging stern with its tear-shaped drive nodes and in between the four sweeping wings. The ragge
d wounds trailed strands of once-molten metal, now solidified in the cold of space. Even from the extreme angle of his view, he could see the charred interior of the enemy ship.

  The lifeboat's controls beeped at him, demanding he choose a course of action: maintain orbit, or descend to a specified location on the planet's surface. Little information had survived the Exodus, but his briefing had included a list of regions where advanced technological research facilities might have been concentrated. He set the lifeboat's destination to an area in close proximity to several potential sites, allowed the system to choose a suitable landing zone.

  As the lifeboat's engines reoriented the craft, a flash of light on Tenacious's hull made him look over. The low-powered docking thrusters sprouted bright blue jets, sending the ship into a gentle tumble. The missile ports along her starboard side slid open. Now he knew how Borya meant to end it, and his frayed nerves tightened his jaw. If they were still too close, there was nothing they could do.

  The floater ship slowed its approach. They likely realized the danger, but the prospect of recovering their cocoon made them reckless, as it always did. As Tenacious rotated, her armed missile ports came to bear on the enemy.

  Space exploded with light, searing his eyes. Before he could cry out, the lifeboat tumbled like a toy. Wincing at the pain of the straps cutting into his flesh, Miron tried to keep his head from swinging around. Blood rushed to his head, then drained away in a moment. A claxon blared a warning, and a single thought found voice in his head: if the lifeboat couldn't correct its orientation before entering the atmosphere―

  A sound like hammers battering the fuselage. Bright yellow flames streaked past the viewport, and still the craft rocked like a leaf in the wind. A brief metallic shriek ended with the craft jerking to the right. Sweat sprayed from his hair with every motion. He wondered if he would burn too quickly to feel it, or if the dying craft would keep back the heat enough to prolong his death.