“Specialist,” Winter said, turning to the helm, “I think this is about the time for you to see if you can work your magic. Find me a path through the bad guys to get us to the target. The escape vector doesn’t matter at this stage. If we get the chance, we’ll work that out later.”
“Crunching the course now, sir,” Sabatini replied.
“No threat warnings in orbital space,” Morgan said, as the ship rose out of the clouds. “They’ve got their whole fleet concentrated. My guess is that they were getting ready to move out.”
“Then we’re just in time. Helm, where’s my flight plan?”
“Got it,” she replied. “Positive track, all the way to low orbit. We’re going to be blasting past quite a few bad guys to make this work, sir, but I’m pretty sure we can make it one-way at least.”
“Then make it happen,” Winter ordered, reaching for a button on the armrest of his chair. “Bridge to Hangar Deck. We’re ready to begin Phase Two. Prepare for launch on my order. We’re going in.”
Chapter 20
Mendoza climbed into the cabin, looking across at Singh and Volkov. She reached into her pocket and tapped a button on her tablet, waiting for a couple of seconds for the command she had just issued to filter through the communications system on the shuttle.
“Specialists Singh and Volkov, report to the bridge on the double,” Winter’s voice barked. Volkov looked at Singh, a frown on his face.
“I thought we were about to take off,” Singh said. He reached to a wall control, and said, “Singh to Bridge. Confirm that last order, please.”
“On the double, Specialist,” Winter replied. “Takeoff is postponed by ten minutes. I need to brief you both on some mission updates.”
Singh shook his head and stepped out of the shuttle, Volkov reluctantly following, as Mendoza moved forward into the pilot’s couch, running her eyes over the controls. Pre-flight checks had all been completed by the sole remaining launch crew before they’d left for their damage control station, and everything was ready for immediate launch.
She glanced back at the cabin again, shook her head, and stabbed a control to seal the hatch, then another to open the vehicular airlock, cycling the shuttle through the mechanism and releasing it into the cold depths of space. She waited a few seconds for the shuttle to clear Xenophon’s hull, then fired her engines to follow her mothership, staying on the same course as they dived towards the planet.
“Launch complete,” Mendoza said. “All systems green.”
“Roger that,” Bianchi replied. “We have a positive course all the way through the first wave of defense forces. There should be some incoming fire, but we’ll try and screen you as best we can. Once we get clear of it, burn your engines as hot as you can and make right for the target. We’ll cover.”
“Understood, Commander. I’ll do my part.”
“We’ll do our part,” Volkov said, stepping out of the spacesuit locker and walking over to the co-pilot’s seat. “I figured it was you behind that signal. It didn’t make any sense at all to give two out of three of us mission updates, and in ten minutes we’re going to be setting up to hit atmosphere.” He looked over the controls, and asked, “Did you set any other traps on the ship?”
“That wasn’t on the ship at all. Just the shuttle. I disabled the communications system in the cabin for three minutes, and knocked out the diagnostic subroutines.”
“And just out of academic interest, why did you suddenly decide that you had to complete this mission on your own? It’s not as though the ship’s going to be any safer than the shuttle. Just what do you have in mind?”
She paused, then said, “There’s still time for you to get away. If you used one of the spacesuits, you could get out of the airlock and coast for a while. If we manage to work a miracle, Xenophon will be able to pick you up.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Mendoza turned to the console, and said, “There’s going to be leakage. From the cranial connector. The bulk of the feed is wireless, and we’re not using the correct components. It’s a miracle that we were able to get it working it all, and if the database hadn’t been so astonishingly adaptive…”
“It’s a miracle of science, I get it,” the engineer said. “Are you trying to tell me that anyone on this shuttle is liable to be linked into the network whether they like it or not, and there’s nothing they can do to stop it?”
“The apparatus is at the rear of the ship. There’s a chance that someone sitting forward will be able to stay clear, but the further down into the gravity well we go, the harder it’s going to be for them to resist. I’ve programmed the computer to take over as soon as we get within a hundred miles of the surface. That should be about when the effects really kick in.”
Volkov slumped back in his couch, and she continued, “I knew this going in, which is why I did everything I could to keep you and Singh off the ship. I knew that Commander Winter would never approve the mission if there weren’t any safeguards, but I also knew that anything we could come up with in such a limited time would probably fail anyway.”
“Then we’re going in together,” Volkov said, shaking his head. “I knew I should have stayed in bed this morning. I figured you were just attempting some sort of stupid, meaningless heroism…”
“When in fact that was all on you,” she replied. “Though as I said, there’s still time for you to get out of here. Hell, if you did that now, you’d probably outlive us all. We’re still way above escape velocity.”
“And then one of the Tyrants snatches me up and plugs me into the network anyway, whether I like it or not,” he replied, a scowl on his face. “Not quite what I had in mind when I signed up for this mission. Though it wasn’t as if anyone actually gave me the chance to volunteer, or anything stupid like that.” He sighed, then said, “What can I expect?”
“I don’t know,” she replied.
“That’s the best you can do?”
“I’m afraid so,” she said. “This is totally beyond our experience.”
“How were you going to approach it, then?” the engineer asked.
“Have you ever done any meditation?” At Volkov’s blank expression, she continued, “Try and focus on your sense of self, your identity, everything that makes you special, unique, different. Keep a barrier between yourself and the outside. Picture a solid wall, if that helps. Anything that works for you. Other than that, go with it. We do have one advantage, and it’s a big one.”
“I’m very pleased to hear it,” Volkov said. “I was rather thinking that we were diving into a pool of piranhas with a spork.”
“Not quite. The systems we have are far more powerful than anything the Tyrants are using. I’ve seen some of their equipment, and they were forced to retrofit their designs with only limited knowledge. We have a design that was created, as near as possible, by the people who originally constructed the network. No guesses, no compromises. It will produce a pure signal, and that alone should help us overcome at least some of the resistance we’ll be facing. That Xenophon will be causing a distraction should help, as well.”
“Then we’ve got a chance,” Volkov pressed.
“I wouldn’t have suggested this if we didn’t,” she replied. “I can’t give you odds. I don’t know enough. I only know that in theory, it should work. That’s about the best I can do.” She looked up at the monitor, and said, “We’ll be coming into range of the first wave of defense forces any time now.”
“On it,” he replied, reaching for the controls. “Countermeasures running, though I doubt they’ll do any good, and I’ve got the short-range sensors fired up.” His eyes widened, and he said, “Picking up fifteen incoming craft, all of the same design that we’ve encountered before, weapons hot. Each is going to get one shot as they swing past.”
“Lousy formation,” Mendoza said, gesturing at the tactical display. The Tyrants hadn’t had the time to put themselves into any sort of battle line, instead advancing towards Xenophon in
a long, drawn out row of ships, tens of thousands of miles long. There was no way for them to support each other, provide any fire suppression or defensive assistance. It was a maneuver born out of sheer desperation, rather than any aggressive strategy.
“Fifty seconds to first wave,” the engineer said. “We should be out the other side in a little over ninety-five. They’re concentrating everything on Xenophon for the moment, but three of them have good chances to take a shot at us if they choose to.”
Nodding, Mendoza fired the shuttle thrusters, drifting tighter behind Xenophon, hiding in their wake. The bulky ship could soak up multiple hits and keep moving. One good strike would reduce the shuttle to rubble.
“Energy spike from the leading ships,” Volkov warned.
“I see it,” Mendoza said, her focus far more on Xenophon and her pilot than on the enemy ships ahead, attempting to keep pace with Sabatini’s wild maneuvers as she threw the mighty warship across the sky to dodge the incoming bolts of crimson flame as they raced from the Tyrant warships. That was her greatest defense.
“One down, fourteen to go,” Volkov said, as the first of the enemy ships raced past, sweeping out towards the gas giant. They were out of the battle for the foreseeable future, the enemy opting to throw some of their ships into a maneuver from which they would struggle to return, hoping for a lucky hit. The Tyrants were worried. That alone provided a modicum of hope.
In a normal battle, Mendoza would have been able to link into Xenophon’s tactical net, follow every move the ship made almost before they made it, but in this firefight, with all the potential for interference and hacking, that simply wasn’t an option on the table. She had to work on pure intuition, knowing that any wrong move would send them wildly out of formation and exposed to the full fury of enemy fire.
Another pair of Tyrant warships swung past, unleashing a broadside that caught Xenophon amidships, a fountain of escaping atmosphere hurling the cruiser to the side, Mendoza barely able to compensate. She glanced at Volkov, who leaned over the sensor systems, trying to get a damage report.
“Nothing too bad,” the engineer reported, scant seconds later. “I think Sabatini deliberately over-pressured the chamber to use it as a thruster. That’s just a cargo area, and currently empty.”
“It certainly is now,” Mendoza replied. The next group consisted of three ships, and they were doing the very thing she had feared, splitting into two formations, one focused on Xenophon, the other moving for the shuttle. She looked up at the planet, looming ahead, strangely familiar from the work she’d done with the alien database, the outline of the continents, the oceans, almost as though she had always known it.
It was close. Close enough that she might be able to make a break for it now. They couldn’t keep up this dance for much longer, and if they tried, Xenophon would likely be pounded to pieces in the attempt. She took a deep breath, reached for the throttle, and threw it full open.
“What the hell are you doing?” Volkov asked. “We’re three minutes early! We don’t have the fuel to pull this off.”
“One-way trip, remember,” she replied. “I might be able to manage an atmospheric skip, but we’ve got to motor if we’re going to get through.”
“Fine,” he replied. “I’m throwing all the power we’ve got to the engines. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it right.”
She nodded, smiled, and reached for the overrides, disengaging the safety systems to allow the full force of the ship’s reactor to propel them towards the planet, acceleration rising well above the usual safe limits. A sea of warning lights flickered on her panel, but she ignored them all, knowing that in ten minutes, none of them would matter in any case.
The Tyrants were slow to react to her course change, perhaps initially assuming it to be nothing more than a feint, an attempt to distract them from the advance of Xenophon into their orbital space, but after less than a minute, the final elements of the attack group altered their trajectories to intercept the shuttle, five course plots converging on their projected position.
She had the advantage. She knew where she was going. The Tyrants didn’t. She sped towards the surface, heedless of the risk, far too steep for anything other than a fiery death in the atmosphere. The enemy must have considered it a simple decoy move, set their interception course as though she’d swing back, move into position for a safe orbit, but she never did, continuing her insane dive towards the planet.
“Ten seconds to firing range,” Volkov warned. “They’re red-lining their weapons systems. I guess they don’t intend to waste this chance.”
“Neither do I,” she replied, sending the shuttle diving to starboard on her thrusters, spending fuel recklessly in a bid to clear the potential firing pattern, her reward a swarm of crimson bolts flying harmlessly through space, well clear of the shuttle.
“Two minutes to atmosphere,” Volkov said. “We need to slow down, Ronnie, or we’re not going to have time to pull this off.”
“I know, I know,” she replied, dodging past the last of the enemy ships. She was through the pack. Now she had to survive the maneuver. Or did she. There was another option, one final possibility that she hadn’t warned Volkov about. They were going to be entering a simulated environment. The rules of reality were flexible in such a setting. Hackable. To the point that she could stretch a single second into near infinity, the perception of time enjoyed by any computer system.
A quick sequence of commands was enough to buy her a couple of centuries. In theory. Assuming it worked. Everything was improvised, everything was thrown together too quickly to test. Safely through the enemy defense perimeter now, she swung to the side, trying to put the shuttle on a survivable approach path, but it was too late.
It was all too late.
The ground rushed up towards them, moving at almost insane speed, the hull stress monitors wailing in anguish as the external temperatures rose. The Tyrants were ignoring them, perhaps believing that the shuttle was unmanned, that all of this had been nothing more than a ploy designed to buy time for Xenophon, now far in the distance behind them.
“Burn-up in one minute!” Volkov said. “Pull up! For God’s sake, pull up!”
“How far to the surface?” she asked.
“Hundred and fifty miles,” the engineer replied.
“Hold it together a little longer, just a little longer,” she said, as much to the shuttle as to the engineer. Even this high up, the atmosphere was thick enough to cause problems, and as they descended, the stress levels continued to rise, higher and higher, the dull wail of sirens filling the cockpit. She stabbed a control to shut them off. They were doing no good. She couldn’t follow their directions. Even if she wanted to, she couldn’t pull out of the dive, not now.
“We’re being tracked!” Volkov warned. “Missile emplacements on the surface, and they’re getting ready to launch!”
“Five seconds to go,” Mendoza replied. “We’re almost there.”
“We’re not going to make it,” Volkov said. “Hit the button.”
“Not yet.”
“Hit the button! We’ve got launches from the surface, one minute to intercept, assuming there’s anything left of us by then. Hit the damned button!”
She looked at the surface one last time, reached for a control, and threw it.
And all was darkness.
Chapter 21
“Where the hell are they going?” Winter asked, as Singh stepped onto the bridge. He turned to the technician, and asked, “What are you doing here?”
“You called me to the bridge, sir,” the befuddled crewman replied. “Over the communications system. Volkov was right behind me, but the shuttle launched before he could get out. What happened, Commander?”
Shaking his head, Morgan replied, “I guess Mendoza decided that she was going to keep the risks down to a minimum. I can’t fault her for that.”
“I can,” Winter said. “Not your fault, Specialist. Take over the communications station, see if you can pick
up anything from the shuttle.” He looked at the trajectory plot, watching grimly as the shuttle raced through the enemy formation, diving for the surface at insane acceleration.
Frowning, Holloway said, “They’re travelling far too fast, sir. I don’t see how they could put themselves onto any sort of a survival approach pattern. They’re going to burn up in the atmosphere in less than three minutes.”
“Maybe something went wrong,” Bianchi suggested. “Could the Tyrants have found a way to suborn their control systems, take navigation out of the hands of the helm? If they’ve got some sort of idea what we’re planning, then we need to…”
“She worked it out,” Morgan said, turning to Winter. “She’s smart. Smart enough to figure out that we were using her as a decoy. Maybe she knew that all along, or maybe she realized that her plan couldn’t work at the last minute. That’s why she left Singh behind. I’d guess that’s why she tried to leave Volkov behind as well, but he was just too slow.”
“Could you tell me…,” Bianchi said.
Reaching for a control, Winter ordered, “Bridge to Engineering. Activate all destruct charges, on my authorization. Set for impact.”
“Aye, sir,” the resigned voice of Moore replied. “All charges are armed and ready for detonation on impact. Heat-shield deployment is under way. All sensor readings of the planetary atmosphere suggest that the approach maneuver should be possible with a little care.”
“Understood, and thank you, Lieutenant. For everything.”
“Commander…,” Bianchi pressed.
Looking around the bridge, Winter said, “I suppose I should make my confession right now. I never thought Mendoza’s plan was work. Too many variables, too much risk, not enough time to prepare.”
“Then why are we here?” Bianchi asked. She paused, then said, “You’re going to use this ship as a ballistic projectile, targeting the surface. Though if we try and make our approach fast enough to do any good, we’ll burn up in the atmosphere long before we hit the ground.”
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