Ship of Destiny

by Frank Chadwick

  Now the passage of time seemed to accelerate. The first hellstar detonated within killing range of the fleet and she saw two Ships lose power. Then another hellstar detonated and one Ship went dark. Then two hellstars, then three more, and her tactical screen no longer showed a coherent picture. It was time to shift fire to the enemy ships, but she no longer had a good target solution on them. Another hellstar detonated somewhere ahead of them, and another, further clouding her screen. How many had gotten through?

  And then she saw the large signatures of enemy ships, but they were so close!

  “Ship! Engage the enemy, close action!”

  “We missed him,” Rockaway said, surprise in her voice.

  Sam studied the tactical display, but it was clear she was right. The Troatta fleet, much battered and reduced in numbers but still a cohesive force, had passed through the remnants of Task Force Eleven and were on course for K’tok. A small rearguard was almost within engagement range of Task Force Twelve, but a stern chase was going to be a tough fight to win. The closing times on the missiles would be longer, the numbers nowhere near as good. And P’Daan was definitely alive down there; he’d already broadcast one boasting, self-congratulatory message.

  “Chief, have you got a fix on that broadcast by P’Daan?” Sam asked.

  “Yes, sir. It came from the contact flagged Bandit two-six.”

  Rockaway looked at him. “What are you thinking, Bitka?”

  “Just wondering . . . I know these light cruisers have no coil guns, but don’t you have missile packs on the spin habitat?”

  “Yes,” she said cautiously, “we have two launcher modules installed, with six Mark Four missiles total. But we don’t have a jump drive to get them to P’Daan.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows.

  “Oh, no,” she said as she realized what he meant.

  “Hey, I’m open to suggestions if you have a better idea,” he said.

  She looked down and thought for a long moment but then shook her head and sighed. “Okay, I guess Through Their Bowels it is. And I was so looking forward to retirement.”

  “You’re my age,” Sam said. “Way too young to be thinking about retirement.”

  Her expression became almost haunted, and she answered quietly, meant only for his ears.

  “Since Fourth K’tok, it’s about all I think about.”

  Tatak-who-had-been-Kakusa leaned her forehead against the slick metal of the control console between the two command sockets. Ship Ninety-Six had disintegrated in the brief but incredibly violent melee when the two fleets passed through each other. Ship Ninety-Six. Her sister Tamari, gone! If the stardust had not damaged the enemy ships so heavily, she doubted any of the Troatta vessels would have survived. S’Bitka had never used such powerful lasers on them in P’Daan’s Realm, but then they had never fought his ship at such close range.

  Incoming communication from the Fleet Vice-Guide, Ship said.

  “Very well,” she said, sitting up straight.

  The message this time was simply voice, not hologram. Perhaps the holotransmission equipment on P’Daan’s Ship was damaged. She imagined every surviving Ship had suffered some damage.

  Reform the firing wall and Ships rotate to engage to rear. The enemy pursuit force is being damaged and disorganized by the Iron Squadron. We will destroy the enemy remnants. The command Ship will pass through the fleet and command from the far side until the pursuing fleet is dealt with.

  “Ship, open the command channel to the surviving Ships in Golden Squadron.” Since the destruction of the Ships carrying the two senior helms of the squadron, Tatak/Kakusa had assumed command. Once she had a connection, she passed the orders on to the two other surviving squadron Ships and in triangle formation they rotated their vessels to bring their meson guns to bear on the pursuing fleet.

  She saw the passage of the command Ship through the line on her tactical display. Curiosity drove her to summon a high-resolution visual graphic of the Ship and she saw the latticework of its jump drive generator twisted and dark. Interesting. Would P’Daan have stayed with them had his jump drive been functional? She didn’t know. There was something manic and driven about this Guardian, and in those cases, it was impossible to tell what triggered their decisions.

  All the sterns of the Ships were now facing in the direction of their course, toward the world the Cottohazz-things called K’tok. They would have to turn back in order to engage the enemy orbital defenses, but that would not be for at least another day or two. For now, their concern was behind them, the pursuing fleet. She remembered her fight against S’Bitka in P’Daan’s Realm, remembered turning her Ships to face a threat she thought was behind them, and then being attacked from the unexpected direction. Her respiration membranes shivered in anxiety. No, surely not.

  Jump emergence, the Ship announced in its flat, calm voice.

  Tatak/Kakusa saw it at once on the tactical display, to their Ships’ sterns! They hurtled toward the new contact but with all of their weapons pointing the opposite direction.

  Again!

  “Ship, power up our close-range particle accelerators and engage any missiles it fires. Transmit this to Golden Squadron: Rotate Ships and engage new enemy.”

  One Ship was facing the new contact, however: P’Daan’s command Ship. It did not fire at first, must be turning to bring the enemy target into its arc of fire. Like the other enemy jump missiles, this one had very little velocity of its own and so the fleet raced toward it. But unlike the others, this one fired two hot missiles. A warship, not a jump missile! She saw the energy signature from P’Daan’s Ship as it fired, saw the heat spike from the enemy ship showing it was hit.

  Sam’s workstation rebooted and then died again as the bridge emergency lighting came on. Beside him he could see Captain Rockaway talking on her commlink but couldn’t hear her, as both had their helmets closed and were on suit life support. They still had some atmosphere in the bridge, but not much. The battle had been very brief and they were taking a beating, but they had managed to fire at least one fire lance and hit P’Daan’s ship before they lost power. Now Sam wasn’t sure what was happening, and without a functioning workstation he felt deaf and blind. He looked around and didn’t see any workstations running. He hoped auxiliary bridge was in better shape, and then he felt a tingle from his commlink. Captain Rockaway.

  Bitka, P’Daan’s ship is crippled and we have two more fire lances in detonation range, target-locked on the forward command module. You want to say anything to him before I blow his shit away?

  For a brief moment he considered transmitting something, maybe, Who’s the hunter now? But that was stupid.

  “Nah, just kill him. Quick.”

  The voice of the Fleet Vice-Guide was cut off as the command Ship went dark on her tactical screen and then was replaced with an intense star-like spike of energy as its reactor exploded.

  And then the new enemy was past them as the fleet raced on toward K’tok, leaderless but alive. They still lived! She lifted her arms and panted, sucking air in through her breathing slits. The tactical screen slowly cleared as superheated debris and gas cooled. Then a thermal bloom—another hellstar! The missiles from the pursuing enemy fleet, the one approaching from the outer system, were reaching them, and the ships themselves were within minutes of overtaking them and passing through their formation, the formation now badly disordered by the last attack.

  Then is this the end? her Ship asked.

  “Perhaps, Ship, but perhaps not. Give me the common channel to all surviving Ship helms.”

  It is so, the Ship answered.

  “I am senior surviving helm and I take command of this fleet. By my order, all Ships cease firing immediately.” She knew many of her helm sisters would wonder at this order, question its propriety, but she also knew they did not wish to die today for nothing. She had assumed command, and so the responsibility was on her.

  “Ship, now give me a broadcast channel to the enemy.”

  It
is so.

  She took two breaths and then discarded forever her false identity. Whatever time she had left, she would live as herself.

  “I am Kakusa by-Vrook through-Kuannawaa, she who defeated S’Bitka, Destroyer of Worlds. I am now senior surviving helm of the Troatta Armada, and I surrender these Ships and their crews in the name of Y’Areez the Eternal.”

  Can such a thing be done? The Ship asked.

  She did not answer, because she did not yet know whether in fact it could be done. Then a voice came back over the communicator.

  Kakusa by-Vrook through-Kuannawaa, I remember you. I accept the surrender of all of your ships. Have them turn their guns away from the approaching fleet and we will cease fire. You know you can trust my promise.

  “S’Bitka?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  Four days later, on board USS Andrew Jackson, CGS-223, approaching K’tok orbit

  10 October 2134

  Vice Admiral Gordo Stevens felt good, very good, as he looked again at the final inventory. He beamed at the hologram of his tactical officer, who was already at K’tok Highstation, having been picked up, along with the rest of USS Kennedy’s crew, by FGS Thuringer, the flagship of Task Force Twelve. USS Kennedy was an abandoned, twisted piece of junk, but the crew casualties had been surprisingly light.

  “Damn, Bitka, what a haul! Thirty-three long ships bagged. Eight of them are just radioactive slag and drifting junk, thirteen are dead hulks, ten more pretty heavily damaged, but two of them are pristine. BuOrd is going to have a field day pulling them apart and looking at those meson guns.”

  “They can pick through the wreckage and the hulks,” Bitka said, “and look as long and as close as they want to at the live ships, but BuOrd isn’t pulling any of those functional ships apart.”

  “Oh, no? And just exactly why not, Lieutenant Commander?”

  “They’re enemy prisoners of war, sir.”

  Gordo laughed and then he looked at Bitka again. “Jesus, you’re serious!”

  “Yes, sir. I’m about as serious as I can get. Those ships are self-aware sentient beings, mostly organic. What you’re talking about is no different than live vivisection of human prisoners.”

  “Well . . . what if they promise to put them back together when they’re done?” Gordo said.

  “Chop up some humans, glue their corpses back together, and see who thinks that’s okay. Those ships are alive, they think, they feel.”

  Gordo shook his head, half in frustration but half in amusement. “Damnit, Bitka, do you stay up nights trying to figure out ways to make everything harder?”

  Bitka shrugged. “I feel like I got to know them, sir, a little bit anyway. And there are over a thousand Troatta prisoners. I know we recovered some rations, but we need to fabricate some big hydroponics chambers and start growing Troatta protein or they’re all going to starve. We’ve got some seed stock from the hydroponics in the captured ships. K’Irka may be able to help, too.”

  This Bitka was a funny guy, and Gordo still didn’t really have him figured out, but he was interesting, that was for sure. Gordo thought he might be more concerned about those damned prisoners than what this victory meant for the two of them. Still, Gordo sort of admired that in him. And if all these prisoners died in captivity, how anxious would the next bunch be to throw in the towel?

  “Lot of folks wouldn’t mind them starving, might even drag their feet on fixing the problem until it became moot, so tell you what. That’s your job, Bitka, okay? And you’ve got my authority backing you up, anything you need. Just keep those prisoners alive.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” Bitka said. “I want Haykuz, if you can get him. He knows the Troatta better than any of us so far. I think he’s still Cottohazz staff, so you should be able to request a transfer. Ask the special envoy.”

  “Consider it done,” Gordo said. A thought came to him and he smiled. “Say, what do you think they’ll call this battle?”

  “Probably the Fifth Battle of K’tok.”

  “No, it was nowhere near K’tok,” Gordo said. “They’ll call it the Defeat of P’Daan or something, but I’ll tell you what they should call it: The Miracle Battle. We had one hundred ninety-seven dead or missing throughout the fleet, about three hundred injured, and lost seven ships, four of which we’ll probably be able to salvage. Damn, Bitka—just seven ships out of twenty-nine lost, and we nailed thirty-three of those big Troatta monsters! Hell, even young Goldjune distinguished himself, drew the fire of a whole Troatta squadron on his missile cluster and got through it with hardly a scratch.”

  Bitka said nothing, his expression darkening.

  Gordo remembered what had started this whole thing six months ago and he shook his head. “Bitka, you know how the game works When the admiral’s boy pulls a gutsy move like that and doesn’t get his boat blown up, you give him a medal and make sure his picture’s in all the vid feeds.”

  Bitka looked down with a sour expression, as if he were looking for a place to spit. “I know, sir. But he did it out of desperation, trying to save his career. He figured he had nothing to lose, but what about the other ninety people on Puebla? They had something to lose. A lot of those people went through hell in the uBakai War, and for what? So Larry Goldjune could throw them away grandstanding?”

  “But they didn’t die,” Gordo said. “Wise up, Sam. The Cottohazz needed a win, needed it bad, and we gave them one hell of a victory, maybe enough to pull everyone together and put some sand in their bellies. But nobody wants to hear anything about this battle unless it has to do with heroes, you understand? When you have a victory this glorious, you have lots of heroes, and no goats.”

  “Glorious?” Bitka said. “We got really lucky, sir. Next time it won’t be this easy.”

  “You call that easy?” Gordo said, and then thought about how lopsided the victory had been. “Well, maybe you’re right. But it won’t be as easy for them, either, if we have all our jump drives operational next fight.”

  Bitka nodded. “Well, that’s true. And besides, P’Daan’s dead. If we’re lucky, there won’t be a next time. By the way, sir, thank you for letting me take the surrender. I’m getting a little history with the Troatta.”

  Gordo waved the thanks away, and he felt unexpectedly affectionate toward this odd young maverick officer. And why not, considering what he’d done? Gordo thought about that for a moment, wondered if he could have done all that Bitka had in the last half year, and he knew he couldn’t have. The unaccustomed lump in his throat surprised him.

  “This was your victory, Bitka. But you understand, only the tactical geeks will figure that out, right? For the real world, it will be mine. So, for a change, I owe you. Isn’t that weird? I’ll tell you one thing I can do, I bet we can get that temporary bump to lieutenant commander confirmed, make it permanent. You’ve even got enough years and time in service, I’m going to go for full commander, but no promises on that. I’ll tell you one thing, I’ll get you something more than a Silver Star this time, especially for what you did getting the Bay home. Jesus Christ!”

  “I appreciate it, sir,” Bitka said, “but you might want to save some of your political capital for yourself. You’re going to have some explaining to do to the CNO. You know, about not telling him I was back.”

  Not for the first time, Gordo remembered the conversation he and Bitka had had six months ago. He shrugged and grinned. “Tell you the truth, that never worried me one bit. I figured with you in charge of the plan, we’d both end up either heroes or dead, and either way Cedric Goldjune being pissed wasn’t going to be a problem. I told you a long time ago, if we were both heroes we could tell Goldjune to go fuck himself. Well, son of a bitch if we ain’t! Now get your ass down that needle. Join the celebration down there. You earned it.”

  “Thank you for seeing me, Senator,” Admiral Cedric Goldjune said to the hologram in his office. “It has been hard to reach you the last few days.”

  “There have been many demands on my time, Admir
al, as I am sure you understand. But it is always a pleasure to speak with you. What can I do for you?”

  As if he didn’t know! The son of a bitch looked like a potentate receiving a supplicant. The damned thing was, that was pretty much the situation.

  “You can help guide the President, the SecDef, and the SecNav in their choice of the next Chief of Naval Operations.”

  “But Admiral, are you not already so employed?”

  “Damnit, Carlos, you know this new threat means the Outworld Coalition is a dead letter. There will be a combined fleet, but it will probably be an all-Cottohazz operation. I’m going to be out of a job.”

  Ramirez y Sesma waved dismissively. “Given your experience and years of service, I am sure Secretary Padang will find employment for you.”

  “I’m not so sure. A lot of what’s gone on could be looked at two different ways. Some of our conversations, for example.”

  The senator’s smile disappeared and his gaze became cold and hard. “Whatever was said would damage your reputation as much as mine, Admiral.”

  “That’s true, Senator, absolutely true. But that only matters as long as I have a career worth protecting, if you take my meaning.”

  Ramirez y Sesma looked at him, his eyes calculating. Cedric felt his heart rate accelerate, heard the blood pounding in his ears. Finally, the senator spoke.

  “Not CNO. Not now. Perhaps someday.”