by CJ Williams
“But his own men command all those vessels.”
“Sort of. What King Kkoli doesn’t know is that the operating system of his yachts was designed specifically for me. The specification of the Booker yacht includes a standing order allowing me to designate a second-in-command when I am not physically on board. And that’s what I’m going to do right now.”
Her brother’s whiny voice answered. “Now what?”
“I’m talking to all of you,” Carrie shouted. “Can you hear me, you little snots?”
Fergie spoke once more. “Our distance now holding at two light seconds.”
The responses from all the Booker yachts began coming in like a machine gun echo, each one different and each equally indignant; thousands of them.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Buzz off, big sister.”
“You can take a flying leap, sis.”
Kkoli’s face rippled in surprise and he barked at a figure out of the camera shot.
Carrie flashed a grin at Moore. “This is the third war I mentioned…brother and sister. And in this war, I always win. Fergie? Make sure this goes out to everyone.” She turned back to the camera. “Booker!” Carrie said forcefully, holding Teeny Jim up to the camera. “In accordance with Standing Order 529, I am designating Teeny Jim as my second-in-command. You will now accept his order. Listen!”
She concentrated on sending out as broad a message as possible and trusted Fergie to amplify the order to maximum range. All Booker vessels. You know who I am. I’m your big sister and only I and Teeny Jim are authorized as essential crew. I am confirming that both Teeny Jim and I order you to destroy all Bakkui ships in this system immediately. You have the Hammer!
The red camera light went out and Carrie moved up to the window. She gazed out, focusing on the space inside the green reticle and held her breath.
And then it happened. The dark space where the advancing Bakkui were located erupted with streaks of fire and nuclear detonations. Most importantly, all the tracer-like fire was pointed backwards toward the trailing Bakkui warships.
“It worked,” Carrie said. “Thank God, I was so worried there for a moment. Good old Booker. I need to give him a hug!”
The squadron leader was giving her a questioning look.
Carrie explained. “Those yachts don’t function without a replica of this bear on board. It’s designated as an essential crew member; it has status. So, I just put him in command and he gave the order to turn on the Bakkui.”
“But—”
Carrie cut him off. “We can argue later, Squadron Leader. Yes, there are a lot of Bakkui out there, but those are powerful yachts; they’ll do some damage.”
The armed yacht was a fearsome machine and when ordered to engage, it was terribly effective. Carrie had watched videos of the long-ago battle between Annie and the Bakkui in Earth’s solar system. In that engagement the Sadie yacht took down sixteen Bakkui warships, two of them colony-class, without even breathing hard. Carrie crossed her fingers that each Booker would do as much.
“This isn’t over by a long shot,” Carrie continued. “I’m giving command of the Fergie back to you…at least for now. I suggest we hightail it to your rendezvous point.”
Moore looked like he had a lot to say, but instead, he turned to his first officer. “Take us to Jupiter 12-9. Advise Jupiter Command of our movement and ask for orders.”
Silently, Carrie spoke to Fergie. Send some reconnaissance drones into that mess. I’d like to see what’s going on.
Acknowledged.
Moore spun on his heel and glared at her angrily. “Highness! I have command or I don’t!”
“Sorry,” Carrie said. “My bad. I’ll stay out of your way.” She moved to the observer’s chair and took Eolin from Amanda. “You don’t have to stay here, you know.”
Amanda shook her head. She looked scared but determined. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.” She went over to badger the cameraman who was still recording the princess’s every nuance.
Moore glanced at the tactical display. Fergie had gathered enough data by now to count the forces arrayed against the Alliance fleet; two hundred eighty thousand vessels. It was a daunting scenario. The yellow diamond icons that displayed the Bakkui warships were so numerous they overlapped each other until the display was simply a thick mass of gold.
The single white diamond indicating the Sarah Ferguson looked lonely indeed against such a force. Small purple ovals along her flanks represented the fighter escorts.
“Zoom out,” Moore said. “Display Alliance forces.”
The screen zoomed back until it included a pitifully thin line of friendly ships. They showed as white diamonds icons, representing the Ambrosia-class warships, flanked by an equal number of white ovals representing the fighters. Sprinkled among the ovals were hundreds of white triangles, indicating the Sadie-class armed yachts. All vessels were broadcasting Alliance identity signatures.
Today, the Alliance was facing more capable ships than in the past. The Bakkui’s Ambrosia warships didn’t have the smart shields that Justin and Rico had developed but they were still formidable. When the two fleets came together, the battle would be fierce.
“Look at the red, Highness,” the tactical officer said. “Are those from your Booker yachts?”
Carrie examined the tactical display. At the leading edge of the enemy’s advance, red diamond icons depicting destroyed Bakkui warships began to appear, floating on top of the mass of yellow. The hand grenade that she had thrown into the enemy advance was working.
“Fergie,” Moore said. “Differentiate the Booker yachts.”
A line of light blue ovals appeared inside the yellow mass.
“Zoom in,” Moore ordered. “Put our location at the bottom.”
The map zoomed in and the motion of the Booker yachts became apparent. They zipped up and down the front line of the Bakkui’s fleet, leaving red diamonds in their wake.
“Imagery from the reconnaissance drone is available,” Fergie said.
“On-screen!” Carrie and Moore both said at the same time.
Carrie clapped a hand over her own mouth and shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, her voice muffled. But she leaned forward to examine the battle up close as it appeared.
One of the Booker yachts was engaged with eight of the Bakkui’s Ambrosia warships. It fired its main blaster cannon repeatedly while pivoting its shield to hold off its attackers. The Bakkui cannons, firing the huge forty-eight inch projectiles, so devastating against older Bakkui ships, were proving useless against the Booker’s knife-edged force fields. His shields easily deflected the slugs away from his hull. Some of the projectiles were cut in half where they hit the razor edge of the shields head on. On the downside, the Bakkui shields were proving moderately effective in defending against the Booker warships.
“Send this message,” Carrie said loudly, standing up and moving in front of the camera. “Booker! Your shields are holding fine. But you need to get closer before firing. Close range will diminish the effectiveness of their shields. And use your disrupters!”
The sarcastic replies were almost instantaneous.
“Up yours, Sis!”
“You try getting closer!”
“Thanks for nothing!”
Fergie cut the speakers. “Do you wish to hear more of the responses?” she asked.
“Not necessary,” Carrie replied quickly. She cast another glance at Moore. “Sorry,” she repeated.
He ignored her comment and pointed at the screen. “They’re doing it. They’re doing what you said and it’s working.”
On the display a Booker yacht almost rammed one of the Bakkui before firing at point-blank range; the warship exploded in a burst of sparkling incandescence. Before the shimmering faded, the yacht had moved to attack again.
Moore spoke again. “Look. By fighting in such close quarters, the smaller yachts are causing fratricide amongst the Bakkui.”
“You’re right,”
Carrie replied.
The Bakkui warships made no allowance for their mechanized brethren. They simply continued to unload at the treacherous space yachts and damned to anyone in the way.
Carrie made a prediction. “In a few minutes the warships will figure it out and start going vertical. If they can attack from a position that’s perpendicular to the yacht’s flat shields they’ll be more effective.”
“There goes one now,” Moore said, pointing to a Bakkui warship. It zoomed up and spun about to fire down on a Booker yacht, even as the Booker was ramming another warship. “Your yachts need to start fighting in two-ship formations. The number two should attack those that go high, keep them off the backs of those below.”
“Booker!” Carrie shouted. “Pair up. Fight together, one high, one low.”
His whiny voice was getting more desperate. “I’m a little busy now if you hadn’t notic—”
“Responses muted,” Fergie said.
Moore shook his head. “What is up with that personality?” he wondered aloud.
“It’s just an interface,” Carrie said quickly. “The coding was done in a hurry, based on my brother’s personality. But that’s another story. It doesn’t mean it’s not capable. Fergie, send in more reconnaissance drones. We need to learn all we can about the tactics while we have the chance.” She touched the squadron leader’s arm. “Sorry, I keep butting in.”
Moore had already given up. “Highness, please offer guidance whenever you wish. Fergie, beam this information to the fleet. Have them develop tactics for our own AIs.”
“Acknowledged,” Fergie replied.
“Look at that,” Carrie said. “The battle is turning into a giant beehive now.”
The growing cluster of warships and yachts continually tried to reposition on each other. Each barrel roll presented new opportunities for adjacent vessels, who then engaged. The constant maneuvering resulted in a tightening spiral which rolled and wobbled, growing larger every second.
The smaller yachts had a turning advantage over the larger Ambrosia-class warships; they could make tighter turns. Like a giant rolling scissors maneuver, warships would overshoot to the outside of the turn when trying to reposition for a shot on the nimbler yachts.
Each time a warship overshot, the yacht reversed its turn and poured fire into the warship’s underbelly. But the momentary change of direction expanded its own vulnerability which drew in other attackers, all of whom were firing continuously.
“The Bookers won’t last long in that,” Carrie said. “There’s just too much lead being thrown around. Plutonium, I should say.”
“True,” the squadron leader agreed. “But look at the damage.”
Along the leading edge of advancing Bakkui warships, the display screen showed more red than yellow all. The Booker yachts had been more successful than Carrie had ever dreamed.
But the result was still inevitable. In places, the light blue ovals were turning red. Where they did, the Bakkui moved toward the surviving Bookers, which enlarged the consolidating sphere of destruction. Each additional warship that joined the fracas poured in more fire, also multiplying the fratricide already occurring.
“Idiots,” Carrie remarked. “They’d do better to break off and attack us, but I’m not complaining. It won’t be long now before the Bookers are gone and they’ll head our way.”
“I’m afraid so,” Moore agreed.
Over half of the Bakkui fleet was now part of the giant swarm of blazing warships.
“Fergie,” Carrie said. “Can you set your rounds for proximity fuzing at high yield?”
“Yes, Highness.”
“And you have safe shells?” She didn’t want to accidentally hit any of the inhabited research bases throughout the solar system.
“That’s correct, Highness.”
“Target the center mass of all those ships and start firing, maximum power, maximum yield, proximity fuze. Order the rest of the fleet to do the same.” She gasped and turned to Moore. “I’m so sorry, Squadron Leader. I keep usurping your authority.”
“Let’s do it this way, Highness,” Moore replied. “You have command.”
Carrie opened her mouth to protest but then stopped. “Okay, I have command. Thank you and I do apologize.”
A staccato thumping vibrated through the deck as Fergie began pumping four rounds per second into the Bakkui melee. The first impacts were visible through the bridge’s front window. Bright miniature suns erupted within the beehive.
“Spread your fire, Fergie,” Moore said. “Random points within the main mass.”
“Acknowledged.”
The impacts from the rest of the Alliance warships blossomed, multiplying the fiery brightness.
“Concentrate on the top and bottom edges,” Carrie ordered. She looked at Moore to explain. “We want to keep that formation as flat as possible. When they do reform we want their axis of attack to go through the asteroid belt.”
“Good point,” Moore replied.
“You have the hammer, Fergie,” Carrie said.
Fergie responded mechanically, “I have the hammer.”
Carrie glanced at the tactical display but it had gone dark. The thousands of nuclear explosions were generating too much electromagnetic interference at this point. Out the bridge’s window, the detonations began to reshape the mass of fighting Bakkui, flattening it as she had wanted.
“I think that’s it,” Carrie said. “I did what I could with the Bookers. You’ve got about a minute…maybe two at most…and that ball of warships will turn into a standard formation. They won’t wait to start heading in system. You have command, Squadron Leader. I promise.”
“Very well,” Moore said. “Comm Officer, inform Jupiter Command that we are resuming our position within the fleet…again.”
“Aye, Sir.”
“Continue firing until ordered otherwise.”
“Acknowledged,” Fergie said.
The tactical display flickered back to life. The last few blue ovals winked out, their red color merging with the rest of the Bakkui fleet. The yellow diamonds began infiltrating through the red smears and, just as Carrie had predicted, the advancing fleet flattened out, resuming their standard formations. The numbers said a hundred eighty thousand warships remained.
“Here they come,” the tactical officer whispered.
Carrie resumed her place in the observer’s seat and snagged Eolin. He was preoccupied with digging something out of his own shoulder bag. She hoisted him onto her lap and helped extract his own Teeny Jim. Then she gave him a hug until he squawked.
“I love you,” she whispered in his ear. He returned a smile, accepting her declaration as no less than expected. Since falling under Carrie’s wing, he had adapted to the new circumstances quicker than Ttal, except that he rarely spoke. Carrie didn’t worry about it. She accepted him for what he was and tried to make him feel loved.
She cast a glance at brilliant flares of atomic fire outside the bridge window. Any decent mother would send her son and daughter back to one of the staterooms, as far away from the violence as possible, but Carrie could not do it.
If the end came, it would not be painful. The people on the Sarah Ferguson would exist in one second and in the next there would be nothing left but scattered particles in the superheated inferno of a fusion bomb. If that happened she wanted her atoms mixed with those of her children, not be separated by vaporized bulkheads and upholstery. It didn’t make sense, but that’s how she felt.
“Contact in thirty seconds,” Fergie said.
Carrie got Amanda’s attention and waved her over. She made Amanda sit in the observer’s seat and put her son in the PR Director’s lap. Once Carrie was sure they were comfortable, she took Amanda’s face in her hands and with her thumbs, wiped away her friend’s gathering tears.
Amanda sniffed and pushed Carrie’s hands away. “I’m fine,” she said, trying to muster a confident smile. “It was worse than this when they attacked Moonbase.”
Carrie kissed Eolin and resumed her position at the front window. It seemed strange not to be in the Captain’s seat.
The vibrations in the floor had a reassuring familiarity as the Sarah Ferguson poured fire at the oncoming horde. The shields in front of the bridge window flashed again and again as rounds bounced off, leaving hot phosphorescent-like smudges down either side.
“Commencing peel-back,” Fergie said. The view out the front window swiveled as Fergie did a one-eighty. The guns paused during the turn but resumed the instant the turn was completed; the long shoulder mounted cannons could fire both fore and aft. After a brief moment Fergie faced forward again, firing at the approaching Bakkui.
The pattern repeated several times. Carrie shifted her attention between the tactical display and front window. The Alliance Fleet was being driven inexorably backwards. The sheer number of advancing Bakkui was unstoppable.
Carrie felt a faint tickle in her mind and gasped in recognition. Without thought she struck as hard as she could, but it was wasted effort.
Samia! Carrie sent. I thought you might be here. How many copies of you are out there?
Samia chuckled in Carrie’s mind. It was so like Sadie that it was unnerving.
Wouldn’t you like to know? But to what end? Clearly your ragtag fleet is no match.
Carrie wanted the conversation to be recorded. “Fergie, you need to relay this conversation.”
“Yes, Highness.”
Carrie reached out again, letting Fergie trace the link. I see you inoculated yourself against my First Family command authority. She switched to speaking verbally. “I didn’t think that was possible.”
“How many things do you not know, wild human,” Samia replied. “Peyha was a fool to give a level-one implant to an illegitimate offspring, and an infant at that. I have to admit that caught me off guard. But it won’t happen again.”
“It has been a steep learning curve,” Carrie said. “But I keep studying.”
Samia’s voice was filled with disdain. “Oh yes. That was a clever ploy with Kkoli’s toy spacecraft, but it won’t make any difference. No more than your idiot Warlord who kept harassing us the entire trip. Kkoli was a fool for trying to face him because your precious Warlord turned out to be a coward anyway. He ran away every time we tried to engage. I finally dispatched a battle group to deal with the problem and ordered Kkoli to press on.”