Nearspace Trilogy

by Sherry D. Ramsey

  “Anything wrong?” I asked him.

  He didn’t look up. “The drives aren’t meant to cold-start like this after days of being shut down,” he scolded, although his remarks weren’t addressed to me, or anyone else. He continued in the same vein. “Look at that—three seconds for a response from the field actuator? That’s way below acceptable—”

  I tuned him out. The drives—the ship, really—were Viss’s babies, and he could always find something to complain about if everyone didn’t treat them that way. If there was something seriously wrong, he’d tell me. The rest of the griping, well, that was just Viss.

  Baden, Maja, and Yuskeya arrived on the bridge in a flurry, just as everything shook again from another impact. Whatever they were hitting the station with, it was pretty serious. I’d seen the gelatinous outer skin of the uruglat absorb a Chron torp as if it were nothing more than an errant fly. Anything that could shake this place was something new.

  Baden Methyr slid into the communications chair, although at the moment there didn’t seem to be anyone apart from the Airavata to communicate with. The Chron had a reputation for not answering when anyone called, and also for not calling, themselves. Maja pulled a spare skimchair over beside him, after flashing me a worried smile. I winked at her. Not to worry.

  Right.

  Yuskeya took her place at the navigation board and looked at me expectantly.

  “Here’s all I know,” I said, sitting in the command chair while Hirin fetched up at the weapons board. “The station is under attack by Chron. The Corvids will try to protect us, but may have to release us—probably without much warning. I want everything ready to go in a heartbeat if we need it. Everything,” I repeated, glancing over at Hirin. He nodded. He took his job as de facto weapons officer seriously, even if he’d only invented the position to give himself something to do.

  “No chatter on the comm,” Baden said, his fingers working the board methodically.

  “Okej, where is everyone else?” I asked. “Keeping everyone safe is what we’re here to do, so let’s do it.”

  Baden had his head cocked to one side, listening to something only he could hear over the comm panel. “Airavata reports one of the diplomats is not on board. The other five are accounted for. The representative from Vele—her name is Andresson—was off the ship when the attack started.”

  Damne. I swore silently. “What about Summergale and Jolah?”

  Rei answered. “They were both over at the Airavata, last I knew.”

  “Scan for their ID chips and comm them.”

  After a tense moment, Rei shook her head. “Neither is aboard, and no answers on the comm.”

  “Baden, comm the Airavata and ask if Lieutenant-Commanders Summergale and Didkovsky are aboard over there. If they are, tell them to stay put. We can sort out who’s on what ship later if we have to leave.”

  We waited for an answer. Finally, Baden shook his head. “Neither are aboard the Airavata. Someone said they went with Andresson for a tour of the Corvid waste reclamation centre.”

  I swore aloud this time, not caring who heard me. “Fha!” I called. “Fha, are you there?”

  The next hit, when it came a long few minutes later, must have knocked something loose. The Tane Ikai lurched, tilting crazily to starwise, and I had to grab the arms of my chair to keep from being thrown to the floor. The viewscreen still showed nothing but black.

  “Are we free of the station?” I demanded.

  “Still through the wall, as far as I can tell,” Rei said in a tone of disgust. She didn’t much care for the whole Corvid docking system. She said it made her claustrophobic. I was starting to know what she meant.

  The hologram of Fha appeared near my chair, although it was flickering and less substantial than usual. Her wheat-coloured robe skewed awkwardly across her shoulders. “Captain,” she said, slightly breathless, “this is really not a good—”

  “Three of our people are missing,” I broke in. “They apparently went on a tour of your reclamation centre, but they’re not answering their communication devices.”

  Fha’s hologram didn’t seem to move, and I thought it had frozen. Finally, she said, “Yes, they were observed in that area of the uruglat. Unfortunately, we have lost communications with that sector.”

  A trickle of fear sped like icy water down my spine. “Is it badly damaged? Do you think they’re safe?”

  Yuskeya was at my side. “Captain, I could suit up and go find them.”

  “What?” Viss looked up from the engineering board. As engrossed in the drive details as he was, he’d still heard that.

  Fha flickered out, then surged back stronger. “The station has not been breached. Some systems are experiencing interference, however. Communications is one of them.”

  “Captain?” As she pressed, I remembered Yuskeya’s beaming face when she caught sight of Jolah Didkovsky in the galley. She didn’t turn to look at Viss.

  “Fha, are there obstacles to moving around inside the uruglat? I need to know if it’s possible or prudent to send a search team for my missing people. They would have their own life-support suits.”

  Static. Then, “—would not recommend it at this time. There is interior debris in some areas.”

  “We can’t leave them here, Luta,” Yuskeya said, and I knew she must be desperate, to break with her own code of always calling me “Captain” when we were on the bridge.

  “I can’t risk anyone else,” I said. “We’ll sit tight. They might turn up any minute.”

  “The Captain’s right, Yuskeya. Give it a minute.” Viss couldn’t leave the engineering board, but most of his attention was on our little by-play. She still didn’t answer him.

  I felt Yuskeya’s hand on my arm and turned to meet her eyes. I thought I knew what I’d find in them, though. Even after Yuskeya’s true affiliation as a Protectorate officer had been revealed, she’d always acted as if she were under my command. When we’d been stranded in Corvid space weeks earlier, I’d asked her if she thought I should turn over command of the ship to her. She’d refused then, saying that only in dire circumstances, if she thought the Protectorate wouldn’t approve of my choices, would she ever consider suggesting that she take command. As I met her steady, brown-eyed gaze, I was afraid that perhaps that moment had arrived. And I knew I couldn’t actually stop her if she insisted on going to look for the others. Her face said plainly that she was about to do just that.

  “All right, go,” I said. “Full EVA suit. Comm open at all times. Report every minute!” I was practically shouting the last instructions because she’d run to the EVA storage next to the airlock, wrenched down one of the silvery suits, and started struggling into it the moment I’d told her to go.

  “Captain!” Viss’ voice bloomed with disappointment, but he didn’t say more.

  “Fha? Is there clear passage from our docking bay to your waste reclamation centre?”

  “Test,” Yuskeya said over her helmet mic. “Captain, can you hear me?”

  I gave Yuskeya a thumbs-up as Fha finally answered. “—do not have reports—all areas. Passable with caution, perhaps.”

  That was good enough for Yuskeya. She crossed to Viss and put a hand on his arm, then leaned in to touch the faceplate of her helmet briefly to his forehead. “It’ll be fine,” she murmured, and I knew that even though her helmet mic fed to the entire bridge, the words were for him. Then she turned and passed through the airlock door without another word.

  “Christos. Does she even know where the reclamation centre is?” Baden asked.

  “We were down there the other day,” Viss said, his voice harsh. “She knows the goddamned way.”

  “I know the way.” Yuskeya’s voice sounded tinny and small. “This corridor is clear. Moving ahead.”

  “Captain Paixon.” The hologram of Jarama was back suddenly, materializing half-in and half-out of one of the spare consoles. Things must be going badly for the Corvids. I’d never seen them make a mistake like that.

/>   “What’s happening?”

  “The Chron have improved at bypassing our asteroid defences,” the Corvid said, and his hologram and Fha’s both wavered as the station took another hit.

  “No kidding,” I muttered. “Does this happen a lot?”

  Neither of the Corvids answered for a long moment. Then Jarama said, “The frequency is gradually increasing. Although we continually change our algorithms, it does not seem to—”

  His voice cut off, but the hologram remained visible, its beak-like mouth moving silently.

  “Afraid I’m no good at beak-reading,” Baden said, but there was little humour in his voice.

  “Lift mechanism is not working, I’m taking the central stairwell down.” Yuskeya’s voice sounded thin and noisy with static. The Corvids used circular stairwells to physically connect upper and lower levels. No doubt there was some feature of their mysterious anatomy that made ladders inconvenient.

  “Tell the Airavata we’re doing what we can to locate the others,” I told Baden. “They should prepare to leave the station at a moment’s notice, with or without them. We have to be ready, whatever happens.”

  The next minute stretched as if we clung to the rim of a black hole, elongating into nothingness punctuated only by the dull reverberations of strikes and launches. Yuskeya didn’t report in again.

  “Yuskeya?” I said over the comm. “Where are you now?”

  With a loud buzz of static, Jarama’s voice reasserted itself in sync with his hologram.

  “Captain, we believe we should release your ships now, so that you have a chance to make it back to your Nearspace and alert the others. Also, we cannot continue to guarantee your safety docked here.”

  A chance?

  I found myself out of my chair, although I didn’t remember standing up. “I sent one of my crew to search for the three missing people. They’re still somewhere on the uruglat.”

  And now it’s four.

  “We . . . care for them,” Fha said, the audio breaking up. “Must strengthen . . . at . . . releas . . . ships.” Her hologram winked out.

  “What about the Chron? If they come after us?”

  Maja left her seat and came to stand on the other side of my chair, face pale but determined. “I can take the navigation board.”

  “We will try to keep them engaged, or destroy them,” Jarama said. His hologram had stabilized as Fha’s disappeared. “Remember that your activator drive can be used to shut down ships following you too closely.”

  Hirin nodded. He’d probably thought of that already. “Unfortunately, the drive can’t disable torps or other weapons they might fire at us.”

  “Is your ship ready to release, Captain?”

  “No!” Viss protested, but I glanced at Rei and Hirin, who both nodded.

  “We don’t want to abandon our people, but we can safely leave,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “Good luck, Jarama. Someone will return as soon as possible. Someone better able to help you.” The whole damned Protectorate fleet, if necessary.

  “And to you, Captain,” he said gravely, and disappeared.

  The ship lurched again, and Maja clutched at my arm to keep her balance.

  “This is a mistake,” Viss said with an unaccustomed timbre of despair in his voice. “We shouldn’t leave them.”

  “We don’t have a choice,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “If the Corvids have to release us to save their station, we can’t stop them. They’ll look after Yuskeya and the others.”

  “If they can,” Viss rasped. “Christos, what a mess.”

  The ship canted slowly to one side, and Maja and I both clutched at the command chair to stay upright. A loud sucking noise surrounded us, and then the station retracted from the Tane Ikai, leaving no trace of itself on the ports or viewscreens. Someday I really wanted to know what kind of material that thing was made of. Right now, though, I had more pressing things to think about.

  WE EMERGED ON a side of the station that was, for the moment, free of any ships but ourselves and the Council launch.

  “Airavata is asking for instructions,” Baden said.

  “Tell them to make for the wormhole back to Nearspace with all speed,” I said. “We’ll follow and protect them. I’m assuming the Corvids weren’t too busy to send us both the nav coordinates to get through the asteroid field.”

  “Got them,” Rei confirmed, her fingers skating over the piloting board.

  “Airavata confirms that they do as well,” Baden said.

  “Let them know the Corvids will take care of our people,” I instructed, silently hoping I was right about that.

  “Four Chron ships in the system,” Hirin reported. He’d slid into the secondary navigation console until Maja could get her feet under her enough to cross to Yuskeya’s board. “Debris that would account for a fifth. They’re on the other side of the station. A number of the small Corvid vessels are harrying them.”

  “Then let’s get out of here while they’re busy,” I said. “Rei, make for the wormhole. Keep us just behind the Airavata. Hirin, let’s have torps loaded into the rear firing tubes just in case.”

  I reached across the chair and gripped Maja’s arm. “You can do this.”

  She nodded once, her eyes very blue and dark with worry. She pulled free of my hand and crossed quickly to the nav board, letting Hirin move to his usual place. Her fingers moved into the unfamiliar routine on the board without hesitation, and she kept her eyes on her screen.

  “Viss.”

  “Captain?” He didn’t look around at me.

  “Viss.”

  That time his eyes met mine. Dark and angry.

  “We’ll come back for them. Or the Protectorate will. I promise.”

  He pressed his lips together in a straight, flat line, but nodded once before he turned back to the board.

  The Tane Ikai pushed away from the station under the maneuvering drives, following the Council launch. I checked the rear viewscreen to assess damage to the station, my heart pounding out a Morse code that said this is wrong, this is wrong, go back. It felt cowardly, disgraceful, running away when the Corvids could be in trouble, when four of our complement were still back there. Realistically, though, I didn’t know what we could do to help. We were armed, but the Airavata was not, and our mission was to protect them. The uruglat looked the same as it had when we arrived, but considering its nature, that didn’t necessarily mean anything.

  “Airavata has engaged their burst drive,” Rei announced. “Kicking ours over now too.” The two ships shot forward, covering the yawn of dark space that separated us from the relative safety of the wormhole.

  We were only halfway there when Maja said in a clipped voice, “One of the Chron ships has broken away to follow us. Corvid runners are in pursuit.”

  “On it,” Hirin said, before I could even give him an order. Since we were technically “sharing” the captainship of the Tane Ikai now, I couldn’t complain.

  “Try the activator drive?”

  Hirin nodded. “It’s worked before.” We’d managed to stop a Chron ship that way a few weeks ago, when it was determined to stop us from returning to Nearspace. I hoped that hadn’t been a fluke.

  “You’ll only get one shot.” I knew I didn’t have to remind him. The device needed time to recharge after every use. It wasn’t intended as a weapon, only as an activator for the mechanism that allowed wormholes to be temporarily duplicated and their endpoints manipulated. Corvid technology that the Chron had appropriated from them a long time ago. But the Corvids had told us that firing the drive at another ship had the happy side effect of shutting down just about any kind of drive system and disrupting internal electronics. If your main objective was to stop your enemy from increasing speed or making any evasive maneuvers, you just had to get your aim right and try for a direct hit. On the one chance you had.

  Like I said, not intended as a weapon.

  They fired on us, but the torpedo faded right and went wide
. Rei did her best to keep us moving at a good speed while maneuvering enough that we didn’t make an easy target, either.

  “Firing,” Hirin said. “I hope I don’t catch any of the Corvids with it.”

  “Take the chance. They know we have the device and that we’re likely to use it.”

  There was no flash, no visual indication that we’d fired anything at all. The only other time we’d used it, I’d been so close to unconscious that I wouldn’t have noticed if it had shot flaming balls of gas at the enemy. But I saw what I needed to see. The Chron ship behind us didn’t stop, since all we’d done was shut down the drives. The effect couldn’t apply any brakes or counter-force. But suddenly they weren’t gaining on us anymore, and they were simply hurtling along in a straight trajectory, no maneuvering. Their drives had to be down.

  Rei whooped once and Baden pushed a fist into the air. Ahead of us, the Airavata neared the asteroid field guarding the mouth of the wormhole.

  “Stay as close as you can, but give us enough room to maneuver here,” I told Rei.

  “Airavata says they’re switching to autopilot so the computer can follow the safe navigation coordinates,” Baden reported.

  “Doing the same,” Rei said. The field of rolling, tumbling asteroids loomed large ahead, and I stifled an involuntary gasp as the Airavata disappeared into the chaos, seemingly avoiding one of the grey stone behemoths by inches.

  A flash on the rear viewscreen drew my attention.

  The Corvid runners must have taken advantage of the Chron ship’s sudden vulnerability. The flash was a Corvid energy weapon, blowing the Chron ship to bits.

  The bridge went unusually silent. I felt a thick knot of guilt twist in my stomach. I knew the Chron in that ship would have done the same thing to us if they’d had a chance. It didn’t make me feel better. We’d slowed them down, and the Corvids had taken them out. Far in the distance, Chron and Corvid ships buzzed around the Corvid station like angry insects. I wondered how long the battle would go on, and when it would be safe to return.