by Medron Pryde
“A penny for your thoughts?” Dawn asked with a smile.
Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know.” She cocked her head to the side, intrigued by his answer. He chuckled. “I guess I just never expected this.” He waved at the cockpit around them.
Dawn nodded slowly. “On the plus side, it does give you some nice views.” She nodded towards hyperspace.
Malcolm glanced at her for a long moment, then laughed, leaned back in his seat, and looked out through the canopy at the beautiful rivers of multicolored gravity flowing around them. “That it does,” he said in admiration. There were some good views here. And he felt closer to them here than he had on any starship he’d ever walked on.
A display flashed and he glanced over to see what it said. “Ah,” Dawn began, her tone still amused. “It appears we’re on target.”
Malcolm nodded and scrutinized the display. They were on final approach to Bosphorus and rising steadily towards the hyperspace wall. The gravity flows brightened around him, colors becoming more pronounced as they approached normalspace. Finally, more displays came to life as recon drones punched through the wall and returned views of the Einsteinian universe. Rivers of color faded, replaced in the canopy by a view that should have been darkness with pinpricks of light, if his experience was any measure. It wasn’t, and Malcolm’s jaw fell open.
Celaeno burned in the distance, and behind it the Pleiades Cluster filled the sky with more light than Malcolm had ever seen in any night sky. The light of over a thousand stars within a few dozen lightyears of each other was awesome to behold when one stood mere lightyears away.
“Wow,” was the only world Malcolm could whisper.
“Yeah,” Dawn returned, her voice hushed as well.
“That’s…something,” he finally added, unable to make his mind work enough to come up with whatever words described that sight. Not that he expected to ever come up with those words. No human had ever conceived of a sight like this when they invented language, and even now the words of mankind failed to convey the wonder in his mind.
“That it is.” Dawn sighed in pleasure. “I thought you’d like the view.”
“I…love it,” Malcolm whispered in awe.
“Me too,” she answered, and they fell into silence as they just watched.
It felt like a minute or an hour before any sound stirred them. Malcolm’s glance at the time display showed a minute had passed, but it felt so much longer. Then the interruption registered.
“Well, now that we’ve all had a chance to admire our destination,” Captain Olivia Wyatt of Normandy transmitted in a voice that tried to sound composed. She failed to conceal the awe, but Malcolm had to give her points for the brave attempt. “I think it’s time we actually go there. All ships are cleared to surface,” she finished, her voice still shaky.
He glanced out to see Smith’s Avengers flash out of hyperspace, and then gravity began to swirl around Normandy. One second, she was a calm bubble cutting through the chaos of hyperspace. The next second, a maelstrom of gravity erupted as her hyperdrive tore at the wall separating them from normalspace. Then a rainbow of colors flashed for a moment. Malcolm blinked the light away, and when he opened his eyes Normandy was gone.
The other ships of the fleet followed her out, erupting in multi-colored flashes of their own and leaving hyperspace a roiling mess of turbulent gravity in their wakes. Wolfenheim was last to leave, and her mammoth bulk left a virtual gravitic storm behind as she punched through into normalspace. The other Blackhawks followed her in a staccato series of flashes until Malcolm and the eleven Blackhawks in formation around him flew alone in hyperspace.
He waited for a few moments, watching the natural rivers of hyperspace flow through the wakes of the ships, erasing all evidence that anyone had ever been there. It was like the universe had forgotten about them. He licked his lips, wondering if there was a lesson in that.
Malcolm shook his head and turned to Dawn. She cocked her head to the side, waiting for him to give her the command. He let out a long breath and nodded. That was enough for her, and she turned her head away. Energy crackled through their fighter, and the hyperdrive reached out to claw at the very fabric of hyperspace. The displays blanked out, the canopy went solid black, and something snapped around them. Then the displays and canopy returned to life, and normalspace came into focus all around him.
Displays showed nearby space, dominated by the Wolfenheim Project’s fleet and empty of anything else. Other displays showed further objects. Celaeno in the distance, a gas giant nearby, and an Earth-sized moon orbiting it. One display showed Bosphorus Station itself in orbit over that moon, and the scores of freighters docked in her massive bays. Even now, in the middle of The War, the business of trading continued.
Between Bosphorus Station and Malcolm’s fleet, much smaller forts formed a shell of protection. Heavily armed and armored, they were the final line of defense against any attack into Bosphorus. Cruisers, destroyers, frigates, and even corvettes swarmed around the forts, a testament to just how seriously the Constantinople Trade Union took the security of their space stations.
“Contact,” Dawn announced, and one of the displays shifted to show a new view.
A single squadron of eight destroyers moved towards the defensive shell, pursued by an enemy Malcolm recognized in an instant. Shang.
“Well, that’s just bloody awesome,” Malcolm noted with a scowl.
“It gets better,” Dawn returned, highlighting the missiles streaming from ten Shang cruisers. The ten destroyers escorting them did not fire, probably conserving their ammunition. Even Shang destroyers didn’t have enough ammunition bunkers to maintain the long-range missile bombardments the Shang preferred, but the cruisers pelted their targets with wave after wave of destruction. The eight destroyers shot down scores of missiles, their defense grids filling space with laser pulses, counter-missile missiles, dazzlers, and more. Decoys sucked Shang missiles away from their targets, but despite every trick in the book, they were only eight destroyers. Several missiles snuck through the squadron’s defense grid and exploded around the destroyers.
“Ouch,” Dawn whispered.
“Yeah,” Malcolm whispered, even though the handful of missiles weren’t enough to do major damage to a dedicated warship. But as the display continued to show new data, he could see that those weren’t the first missiles to penetrate the defenses. Deflection grids fluctuated, and some of the destroyers sent out far fewer defensive missiles and lasers than they should have. The destroyers had been taking fire for some time.
They were Murphy’s squadron. Their identification codes proclaimed it. For a moment, he considered ordering the fleet to jump back out again and leave Bosphorus to its own devices. A quick glance at the ranges of the Shang fleet and the Bosphorus defenses, followed by a second of quick head math, suggested that they could probably get an update on the routes into the cluster quickly enough to avoid any action. As long as Bosphorus didn’t drag their feet before transmitting it. And Murphy was trying to stop him, so he didn’t owe her anything. It would serve her right.
Malcolm let out a long breath. She was here because of him. That made this his responsibility. And whether he liked her or not, she was American. They were Shang. They had enough American blood on their hands already. He just couldn’t sit by and watch them add more without doing something.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered, shaking his head in disgust.
“What?” Dawn asked, looking concerned.
“We have to do something about that,” he grumbled.
She followed his eyes to Murphy’s squadron. “You mean we need to help them?”
“That does seem kinda crazy, doesn’t it?” Malcolm asked.
Dawn turned back to him with a gentle smile. “Sometimes crazy works. The trick is knowing when.” She studied him carefully. “Does it feel right?”
Malcolm met her gaze and sucked in a long breath as he considered her words. He knew what she was asking. Was it hi
s instincts or his mind? It was easy to double think oneself into doing the wrong thing for the right reasons, after all. But doing something just felt right, and he nodded.
“Good,” she returned with an approving nod. “Then let’s get cracking. I assume you want to talk to Olivia?”
Malcolm chuckled at how well she knew him. “Yes please.”
Dawn looked away for a second, communicating with the shard of herself running Normandy. Then she nodded and turned back to him. “Here she comes.”
Moments later, Olivia flickered into existence, her twenty-centimeter holoform standing next to Dawn’s. “Yes, Malcolm?” she asked, her tone betraying mixed curiosity and doubt.
Malcolm smiled. “Dawn told you already?”
Olivia chewed her lip before answering. “She said something crazy about getting involved in a fight with a fleet twice our size.”
Malcolm cleared his throat. Yes. It did seem crazy. He sighed. “Look, we need to help them.”
“My ships don’t have the firepower to take them,” Olivia informed him with a firm shake of her head. Malcolm nodded in acceptance of her statement. “And it’s our job to protect Wolfenheim,” she added, both eyebrows rising as if daring him to correct her.
“They’re Americans,” he returned in a calm tone.
Olivia looked uncomfortable and turned away from him. “But they’re not our allies,” she said, her tone more firm than her body language suggested.
Malcolm smiled at her and shrugged. “The enemy of my enemy…”
“Is only the enemy of my enemy,” Olivia cut him off, shaking her head hard. “Malcolm. I understand why you want to help. And, God help me, I love that you want to.” She smiled. “But they outnumber us two to one, and outmass us by…more. We just can’t do it.”
Malcolm sighed and looked at the display. The eight destroyers still held on, but they weren’t going to make it to the Bosphorus forts. They were taking too much damage. Another salvo of missiles rolled over them, stabbing deep into their defensive grids. They belched fresh atmosphere and wreckage into space, even as another salvo of missiles shot back towards the Shang. The missiles died far short of the Shang inner defensive ring though. Mere destroyers couldn’t fire enough missiles to saturate the point defense of a Shang fleet. “They’re going to die if we don’t do something.”
“They’ll die if we try,” Olivia whispered, her tone resigned. “All we’ll do is die with them. Trust me, Malcolm. We can’t help.”
“Smith wants in,” Dawn interrupted the argument. Malcolm nodded at her, and the wing commander flickered into existence next to Olivia.
“We don’t have to send in the warships,” Smith’s holoform said the moment he appeared, confirming that he’d been listening in. Or that his cyber had brought him up to speed very quickly. “Our fighter wing can do the job.”
Malcolm shook his head. Blackhawks had been the best fighters of their day, but even after the Peloran refits, they were still space superiority fighters, not attack birds. “We can’t take on cruisers without heavy support.”
“Blackhawks can’t,” Smith said with a smile. “But they can seriously bad-touch a destroyer. And Avengers eat cruisers for breakfast.” His smile turned nasty. “Been there. Done that.”
Malcolm blinked as the thought hit him and nodded very slowly. He’d seen enough battle footage of Avenger squadrons ripping cruisers apart to know that Smith was right. Still. “You’ve only got one squadron. There are ten cruisers.”
Smith shrugged. “We’re not trying to beat them, right? Just get their attention? Give those destroyers time to make it to the forts?”
Malcolm glanced at the display showing the battle out there and nodded. “Yes. That would work.”
“Well, I can guarantee we can get their attention,” Smith promised with a wry grin. “Move in. Hit them hard. Pull back out once those destroyers get out of range. They’ll never see it coming,” he finished in a proud voice.
Olivia’s holoform shifted on the console to get their attention. “We can grab their attention so you can sneak in,” she volunteered with a smile.
“How?” Malcolm asked, intrigued by her sudden change of mind.
Olivia shrugged. “They already know we’re here. It’s hard to hide a starship-sized transit, and Wolfenheim’s a real pig.” She paused in disgust and shook her head. “They see us right now. If we burn our engines hot, they’ll think we’re running. And that’s guaranteed to get their attention.”
“And while they’re looking at her, we sneak in from another direction,” Smith finished, his tone filled with admiration.
“Exactly,” Olivia answered with a conniving smile.
“That would increase the chances of it working,” Smith added. Then his eyes flicked back to Malcolm. “Assuming you’re decided on helping Murphy. We could sail away and know she’s done hunting us forever.”
Malcolm sighed. “I know. But she’s here because of us. And her people didn’t ask to die out here like this. If they do, it’s our fault.”
Smith nodded very slowly. “Very well. You stay with Normandy. The rest of us will go in and teach those Shang a lesson or three.”
Malcolm shook his head. “No. I’m going in too.”
Smith just raised an eyebrow at him. “No. You’re staying here.” His voice left exactly zero doubt who was in charge on that point. Malcolm might give missions, but Smith commanded them.
Malcolm swallowed as the Marine’s old eyes glared at him, but he cleared his throat and met them with stubborn resolve. “My idea. I can’t send you into danger and just watch.”
Smith’s eyes narrowed. “You don’t have any experience at this.”
Malcolm shrugged. “And I never will if you leave me behind.” Smith cocked his head to the side at Malcolm’s tacit admission that he could do that. Malcolm wasn’t challenging his authority. He was merely questioning the idea of giving that order.
“True.” Smith nodded and measured Malcolm very carefully. Malcolm sat up straight, willing the man to see that he was ready. “Very well,” Smith finally said. “You stay behind us.” Malcolm opened his mouth to say that he didn’t need their protection, but Smith’s eyes flashed and he shut his mouth again. Smith grunted. “Good. Captain?” he asked Olivia.
“Captain,” she returned with a respectful nod.
Smith crooked a smile at her. “Let’s do this.”
“Agreed.” Olivia turned an approving look towards Malcolm. “Director?”
“Olivia,” Malcolm corrected with a smile. “You take care of the fleet.”
“Yes, Malcolm,” she returned with a smile. Then she sucked in a breath and nodded. “You come back,” she ordered and turned away as her holoform faded out.
“Well, I see you’re making progress,” Smith noted in an amused tone.
“Mmmm?” Malcolm asked, watching the empty spot where her holoform had been.
“She didn’t order me to come back,” the other pilot answered with a snort.
“True.” Malcolm aimed a questioning glance at Dawn’s satisfied holoform. “Well, I’m sure you coming back is implied,” he added with a smile. But he breathed in deep, enjoying the fact that she had singled him out for that particular order.
“Yeah. I’m sure.” Smith snorted again and his holoform faded out, signaling an end to the conference. Then his voice came from the speakers. “Form on me and follow your beam,” he ordered in a voice that erased all other thoughts.
“Roger that,” Malcolm responded without hesitation as a beam appeared on their displays, and nodded towards Dawn. She smiled back and they swung away from Normandy. The eleven other Blackhawks of their squadron accelerated with them, maintaining a defensive formation. Each one was controlled by one of Dawn’s shards, copies of her main personality residing in each of the Blackhawks’ computer systems. The fighters could fly on their own, but she and Malcolm commanded the entire Cowboy-style squadron from their fighter. Having tested the arrangement in simulations,
he liked it. Dawn could easily move the fighters in unison, since she was the brain of every single one and knew her own moves perfectly.
The thirty-six other Blackhawks of their fighter wing formed up into a triangular formation. Malcolm couldn’t tell which three had pilots. The others had cybers only, like his. It was a good arrangement, giving them heavy firepower and limiting the possibility of losing trained pilots. Building new fighters was easy, after all, but it took a couple decades to grow a new pilot.
Smith’s thirteen Avengers took point and accelerated towards the Shang fleet. Malcolm idly wondered why the Cowboys had taken to flying a baker’s dozen of fighters. It seemed counterintuitive somewhere in there, but he shook his head. It probably made sense somewhere, even if he couldn’t think of it. He would have to consider that. It made interesting ideas come to mind for a planetary defense force.
Then all thoughts of fighters disappeared as the fleet’s engines came to full power. Massive plumes of blue flames reached out from the warships, bringing light to the darkness of nearby space. Wolfenheim’s multiple fusion engines, each the size of a frigate, belched out the largest torches of light, beacons demanding the attention of anyone with eyes. She was a great big clumsy excuse for a starship, and her engines barely moved her compared to what they would have done to a warship. But what she lacked in nimbleness, she more than made up in ability to catch the attention of every single person in the entire system.
In comparison to the colony ship and her escorts, the sixty-one starfighters slunk away in almost total darkness. Malcolm’s displays showed his gigawatt-class gravity drive running far above normal levels, dropping the fighter’s effective mass to almost nothing. It was an incredibly wasteful way to fly, and Malcolm had to bury his inner accountant down deep to keep from wincing as he watched the fuel levels drop. Controlling gravity itself at levels approaching full nullification was expensive, but it had advantages.