by James Palmer
“It’s not fair, old girl,” he said in a whisper, patting a section of cool bulkhead with his left hand. “You should have died in battle.”
He chuckled at himself. “Listen to me,” he thought. “An old man talking to his ship. No wonder they want to put me out to pasture.”
Kuttner quickened his pace, striding confidently toward the command deck, the vestiges of his hangover leaving him like clearing smoke.
Commander Hamilton was sitting in the command chair watching a flurry of holographic screens flickering all over the command deck. He swiveled the chair around as the hatch slid open, and stood when he saw who it was.
Kuttner smiled, waving his hand dismissively. “As you were, Commander. I’m just taking one final lap around. What’s our ETA to Zephyr?”
“Four days and change at current speed,” said Hamilton. “If we double the thruster output we can make it in two.”
“No, no,” said Kuttner. “Make ‘em wait.” He looked around the command cluster for a long moment, taking in every sight, every sound, every smell. He looked over his officers, each one hard at work at their respective stations, from Lt. Brackett at Communications to Stetson Cade, his capable and sometimes trigger happy gunner. Everything was in order. It made him proud but also a little bit sad, and he felt as if he would never see any of them ever again.
“Sir?” said Hamilton, raising an eyebrow. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Commander. Right as rain. Just…” his voice trailed off. Finally, he said, “Maintain course and heading. I’ll be in my quarters taking a nap.”
Hamilton smiled. “Yes, sir.”
Kuttner turned to leave the command deck when Lt. Brackett spoke.
“Commander,” she said. “I’m getting a distress beacon over tightbeam.”
Both Kuttner and Hamilton turned toward Brackett’s station. “Source?” said Hamilton.
“There’s a lot of tachyon echo, so it’s close,” she said, tapping buttons on her console. “Signal originated from the Danvers colony, planet Verdant.”
Hamilton looked at Kuttner. “That’s a pretty remove outpost, almost in Draconi space.”
Kuttner nodded. “ETA to Verdant?” he asked.
“Six hours at present speed,” said the navigator, Lt. Hudson.
Hamilton looked at Kuttner. “Your orders, sir?”
“Set course for Verdant,” commanded Kuttner.
“Aye, sir,” said Hudson.
“We’ll be late for the ceremony,” said Hamilton.
Kuttner waved this away. “This is still an active duty Solar Navy vessel, and if there is a human colony in trouble, we are going to come to the rescue.”
Hamilton nodded. The Onslaught would be reduced to a pile of scrap metal in a few weeks, but for now it was still the old man’s ship. It was his call.
2 Arrival
Hamilton had never seen the old man this animated, this alive. He’d been moping around since they received the decommission order. He’d thought the party would have cheered him up, but even that had seemed to dull his spirits even further. Things had been rocky between the two men ever since Hamilton had arrived on board at Peralta Station, still angry about losing his last post and unsure about what to do in this new one. Captain Kuttner appeared amicable, if a bit senile, and Hamilton was happy to show both him and the Admiralty what he could do with his own command post, even if it was as the second in command aboard an aging battleship.
From the moment he stepped aboard, it was obvious to Hamilton that the vessel had seen better days. But he set up a regular repair and maintenance schedule and now things were looking better, which he felt only made Kuttner dislike him even more. “Great,” he’d said, when looking over the results. “She’ll be nice and shiny when they break her down.”
Hamilton couldn’t win with the old man, so he just did the best he could to do and stay out of Kuttner’s way. This smiling captain he saw before him now was a refreshing change of pace from the dour, cynical commanding officer that had coldly welcomed him aboard less than three standard months ago. Obviously the promise of a new, exciting mission had served to cheer the old man up a little. Hamilton thought he could get used to this.
“The deck is yours, Commander,” said Kuttner, and without another word the old man sidled through the door and disappeared down the corridor, no doubt to partake in his promised nap.
Hamilton didn’t mind. He had been nervous at first. After all, the lives of over eight hundred men and women were effectively in his hands. But now he found that he enjoyed the rush of command, even relished it. He returned to the command chair, squeezing the edges of the armrests, feeling the vibration of the ship’s engines throbbing up through his fingers. He listened to the sounds the ship made, the rush of air through the recyclers, the reedy thrash of the oxygen scrubbers, the hum of the four huge ion engines glowing with blue flame far to the rear of the powerful vessel. He felt a part of it. No wonder Kuttner had never retired. What a rush.
The hours went by, with little for Hamilton to do but sign off on duty rosters and order minor course adjustments. He thought idly about the colony. It was a relatively new one. Maybe the distress call was nothing. Perhaps some essential equipment malfunctioned, or they had a disease outbreak. Or… If his service in the Solar Navy had taught him anything, it was that nothing was ever that simple. He had heard things while he was in Special Operations. Things that chilled him to his core. If—
“Sir,” said Lt. Brackett, “Coming into communications range now.”
“Hail the colony,” said Hamilton.
“Nothing but static, sir,” she said.
Hamilton looked at her. “Is there some interference? Or are they just not answering?”
“They’re not answering,” said the communications officer. “It’s like their tightbeam transmitter just isn’t there anymore.”
“How is that possible?” he said. His heart rate increased. “Hudson, get us to Verdant as quickly as you can.”
“Aye, sir,” said the navigator.
Hamilton could feel the Onslaught accelerate. A holographic display flickered to life in the air directly in front of him, showing an image of their destination along with various data pertaining to the planet. He studied it for a moment, but didn’t see anything he thought would be helpful. The colony administrator’s name was Talbot, which might be important if he or any of his fellow colonists were still alive, but Hamilton had his doubts.
“Nearing the planet now,” said Hudson.
Hamilton nodded. “Begin braking procedures. Get us in geosynchronous orbit over the colony.”
“Aye,” Hudson said, grinning. He was young, but it was no secret he fancied himself the best pilot and navigator in the fleet, and Hamilton had come to believe he was right.
Hamilton gripped the armrests tightly once again as he felt the pressure of the Onslaught’s deceleration field pressing down on them to keep them from being flung about and turned to goo by the ship’s rapid slow-down before it entered Verdant’s gravity well.
“Brackett?” said Hamilton. “Any luck?”
“Still no answer, Commander,” said the lieutenant.
Hamilton nodded. “Keep trying. Tightbeam, radio, smoke signals, whatever you can think of.” He thumbed a switch on the command chair and spoke, “Captain Kuttner, we’ve arrived at Verdant. Your presence is requested on the command deck.”
A sleepy mumble, then, “I’ll be right up.”
Ten minutes later the command door slid open and Captain Kuttner stepped onto the deck, wearing a crisp, clean uniform. He stood beside Hamilton in the command chair, knuckling sleep from his eyes. “Any word?”
“None, sir. “We’ve been trying ever since we’ve been in range. But now we know why.”
Hamilton pointed at one of the readouts hovering in the air near the navigation console. It was a close-up of what had once been the colony. There was nothing left but a pitted scrap of earth, roughly in the shape the colony had been.
Every building, every vehicle, every scrap was simply gone.
“What in God’s name happened down there?” said Kuttner. He stared aghast at the image for a long moment. “It’s like someone came along and just scooped up the entire colony and made off with it.”
Hamilton nodded. “It certainly wasn’t any weapon that we know of. No orbital bombardment. No chemical or biological agent. Spectrograph picks up no trace elements or anything not native to Verdant.”
Kuttner nodded. Clearly this was not the adventure he’d been looking forward to.
“Sir,” said Hudson. “We’ve got company.”
Kuttner and Hamilton turned their attention to the main display, which showed a very familiar ship coming around the curve of the planet. Its black jagged lines made it all but invisible against the blackness of space, but the blue-green surface of the planet brought it into stark relief. It was a Draconi battlecruiser.
3 Engagement
“They’re hailing us,” said Brackett.
“Answer them,” said Kuttner.
The display flickered, replacing the image of the Draconi ship with that of their occupants. Kuttner felt his heart rate increase as he found himself face to snout with a reptilian visage he’d not seen since before the end of the war. The creature’s looming presence was so large it appeared taller than him even on screen. Black scales covered a sleek, sloping head that glinted wetly in the glare of an overhead light source. Long white needle teeth jutted out of its closed mouth, and Kuttner could tell that one of them was missing. The Dragon wore a blood red uniform emblazoned with the alien sigils of his race. The effect—of seeing a spacesuit on a lizard—should have been comical, but it was far from it. Kuttner tried to hide his unease, which was a common feeling mankind had toward the Dragons. He’d once heard a lecture from an Academy scientist theorizing that this feeling was caused by some fear-producing pheromones the Dragons secreted. But he wasn’t getting any pheromones now, across the vast distance of space that separated their two ships. Kuttner thought it was some old race memory stored in humankind, back when they were just proto-mammals running from dinosaurs. Many humans had a natural revulsion to reptiles, which was only magnified when those reptiles carried guns and wanted to kill you.
The commanding officer of the Draconian vessel blinked at him, her translucent nictitating membranes sliding sideways across her eyes. Tiny, vestigial wings bobbed up and down uselessly on her scaly back. Millions of years ago, it was believed, these appendages had been much larger, allowing the Draconi’s ancestors to ply the skies of their homeworld. Now they were little more than decoration, but strangely disconcerting nonetheless.
Kuttner adjusted his uniform shirt, mentally pulling himself together. The Solar Navy was no place for cowards, and he had been in conference with the League’s former enemies before.
“Commander of the Draconi vessel,” Kuttner said. “I am Captain Kuttner of the LS Onslaught. You are currently occupying League space in violation of Section Seven, Subparagraph Four of the Tycho Treaty. I demand that you state your business here.”
“I am Grand Leader Zola of the Claw,” said the Dragon. “And you are in no position to demand anything, human.” A slender, forked tongue flicking from her mouth. “We were tracking an enemy vessel into what you think of as your space. I am not surprised to find it was you.”
“What are you talking about?” said Kuttner. “We haven’t been anywhere near your territory for months. Now state your business here.”
Zola nodded her scaly head once. “Very well. If you insist on playing dumb. Several of our colonies have been destroyed, their presence wiped clean. We were dispatched to investigate, and traced the perpetrator back here.” She pointed a taloned finger toward one of their displays, which showed the planet Verdant.
“Our colony down there was also destroyed,” said Kuttner. “It looks like we have a common enemy.”
“Not likely,” said Zola. “The Egg Mother would not allow two inferior species to best us. I believe it was you who assaulted our colonies, and then destroyed your own so you would not be suspect.”
“Preposterous,” said Hamilton.
Zola glanced at the Onslaught’s first officer before continuing. “It is you, Captain Kuttner, who are in violation of the treaty.” The screen went dark. A chill flew up Kuttner’s spine. He knew what that meant.
“Get them back!”
“I can’t, sir,” said Brackett, her hands moving frantically over the communications controls. “They’re not responding.”
“Captain,” said gunner Stetson Cade. “They’re powering up their weapons.”
“Damn it!” said Kuttner, thinking frantically. The treaty, already contentious and fragile, was at stake here. But he wasn’t about to show up for his retirement party dead.
“Do the same, Gunner Cade,” he commanded. “Fire up the guns.”
“If only the central gun were online,” said Hamilton.
Kuttner nodded. The ship’s central rail gun was one of the most devastating weapons ever designed. It used two giant electromagnets to propel depleted uranium shells at incredible velocity. But it had been shut down to begin getting it ready to be scrapped along with the rest of the vessel. They wouldn’t have time to get it going again. Not now.
Gunner Cade was in his element. He fitted a dark visor over his face, and holographic readouts flickered into being around him. With his black manipulator gauntlets he worked with them, moving virtual instrument sliders into position. “Guns online and charged,” he said.
“Raise defense fields,” said Kuttner, and a readout floating nearby showed the capacitors along the Onslaught’s outer hull charging, covering the skin of the vessel with blue electric fire. If a projectile hit them it would be incinerated instantly. Kuttner wasn’t so sure about the Dragon’s energy weapons, which were like nothing mankind had seen. “All hands, battle stations.”
The Claw fired first, sending a blue stream of charged particles in their direction.
“Attempting evasive maneuvers,” said Hudson, the view of the Draconi ship skewing sideways wildly as the Onslaught’s attitude thrusters engaged to push them out of harm’s way.
The beam missed them, but just barely, tickling the vessel’s defense field as it headed into empty space.
“Keep us moving,” said Kuttner. “If they want to hit us they’re going to have to work for it.”
Kuttner’s eyes flickered from one readout to another as he braced himself for an impact. The Onslaught had been through many battles with the Draconi, and had the scars to prove it, but it was never easy, and he was well aware with each of them that the next one could be their last.
The Draconi vessel moved in pursuit of the fleeing League vessel as it sped away from the planet.
“Keep as much distance between us as you can,” said Kuttner. “And lay in a course for this star’s L1 Lagrange point.”
“You’re making for the Q-gate,” said Hamilton.
Kuttner nodded, his eyes never leaving the view screen. “If we can get to it before they do, we can come out anywhere. They won’t be able to follow. They wouldn’t dare follow us into League space.”
“They’re out for revenge,” said Hamilton. “They might.”
Kuttner ignored him as he stared at the view screen. Behind them the black ship was fast approaching, another searing blue beam of energy lancing through space toward them.
The ship shuddered, and warning sigils flew into the air all around them.
“We’ve been hit, sir,” said Hudson.
“Where?”
Hudson checked his monitors. “A glancing blow. It hit one of our capacitors. Defense field at forty percent.”
“Damn,” said Kuttner. That was it. Enough running. “Gunner Cade, you may fire at your discretion.”
“Yes, sir,” said Cade with a little too much pleasure in his voice. He touched a control stud, and a holographic cage of light formed around him in the shape of a gun turret. He clasped th
e virtual controls and began twisting in his seat to get a bead on the Draconi vessel. He squeezed off a few shots, and Hamilton felt the muffled thump of the Onslaught’s twin-mounted turret guns going to work.
“Confirmed hit,” said Cade proudly.
“They’re still coming,” said Hudson as he angled the ship toward the system’s small G-type star and salvation.
“They know what we’re doing,” said Hamilton. “They’re never going to let us reach the Q-gate.”
“That’s just what I’m counting on,” said Kuttner.
The deflector field—what was left of it—sizzled as it was struck by another stream of charged particles from the Draconi warship.
“Lt. Hudson,” said Kuttner. “Make for the Q-gate like our ass is on fire, but at the last possible moment, I want us to skirt around it. Think you can do that?”
“Sure, sir,” said the navigator. “But you’d best hold onto something.”
The Onslaught headed for the Q-gate at the best possible speed, the Claw dogging them the whole way. Cade fired back, the twin ion turret guns doing some damage, but not enough to make the Draconi change their minds. If anything, it only made them press the attack further.
“They’re hailing us,” said Brackett.
“On speakers,” said Kuttner.
“I see you would rather run like cowards than face your accusers. Very well. We will hound you to the edge of the galaxy.”
“And I see you’d rather mindlessly attack without provocation than listen to reason,” said Kuttner. “We’ll see what your high command thinks of your tactics. If you’d like to accompany us to the nearest Admiralty court, you may do so.”
“Why, you—”
Kuttner made a slashing motion across his neck with his finger, and Brackett cut the feed. “Don’t answer their hails anymore. Let her stew a little.”
“We’re nearing the Q-gate,” said Hudson.
“On screen.”
The viewer flickered. A tiny speck orbiting the star up ahead grew larger as they neared it. It was a large oval ring made of some dull gray metal.