Chapter Twelve
“Fire.” The commander sat back and watched as the ship transitioned beyond the shield, fired, and disappeared back under its cloak.
The Myriador warship yanked sideways, taking a thirty-degree offset to its previous position to stymie the counterfire.
The response time from the enemy battlewagons had dropped to less than a quarter of a second between the escape maneuver and when the first lasers lanced through the space where Traxinstall had been.
“Increase stand-off distance by three hundred percent,” the commander ordered. The ship maneuvered away from the station and hovered, using only control thrusters until it had a gap between the ships that were using their hulls and shields to protect the station.
“Fire.”
The second attack sent a bolt of plasma into the station. It raced in through a previous strike and exploded well within the station. A jet of gases escaped from the shape in a fountain of fire, air, and debris.
Traxinstall had already moved directly overhead by the time the return fire blasted through the area, covering most avenues of escape. The enemy was getting smarter and firing in wider circles more quickly than before.
“Delay the final attack. Increase stand-off distance another two thousand percent.”
“They’ll be able to intercept the plasma ball,” the weapons specialist blurted. The commander glared at the insubordination. “Silence!”
“My sincere apologies, Lord Mantis.” Katamara quivered with bowed head while he waited for his punishment to be doled out.
“Hit the station with this next shot,” the commander offered without following it up. The stick hung over the weapons specialist’s head. There would be no carrot.
“Shall we also throw a mine? Given the penetration of that last shot, we could destroy the whole station with a single mine if we can lob it into the hole.”
The commander waited to answer. He was thinking about it. His strategy would be defeated before he could finish the task of destroying the enemy. The sure way to guarantee the annihilation of the Traxinstall was to kill the families of those manning the warships.
He assumed the families were on the station. He didn’t have to answer the question regarding the station’s biggest vulnerability since a battleship positioned itself in front of the heavily damaged section, a physical barrier with shields extended.
“Not yet,” the commander replied. “But soon.”
He said that to assure the bridge crew that he wasn’t contemplating defeat, but that he was a genius, thinking multiple steps ahead of them. Which he was, but he didn’t consider himself one of the mental giants. He understood the tactics, especially when he developed them on the fly.
“When the command to fire is given, you’ll fire and immediately return to the minefield to recover more of our weapons. Our next strike will be on the shipyard.” He waited through the acknowledgments and then issued the order. “Fire.”
“Dionysus? What the hell just happened?” Felicity asked from where she’d fallen. No one had remained standing after the latest blast. She felt light-headed from the concussive wave that had passed through this section of the station, and light on her back—until she started to float.
“Power sub-station four has been destroyed, and with it, major sections of decks nine and ten. We’ve lost one gravity control module, too.
“Thank God!” Felicity exclaimed.
“I don’t understand. We sustained major damage with that last attack. Battleship Suvorov has assumed station in front of the crater until repair bots can stitch together a new skeleton and skin.”
“Thank God, because Ted’s lab used to be in that section. If he wasn’t on board the War Axe, he would be floating out in space somewhere, dying until his nanocytes revived him, then dying again, as many times as he had the energy before he could no longer be revived,” Felicity drawled.
“I understand. Yes, Ted’s empty office and lab were casualties of the latest strike. I have no data to surmise whether the enemy knew about the lab.”
“I doubt it. I can’t believe we have a traitor on board.”
“It could be anyone passing through. This was a risk when the Gate was constructed and Keeg Station added to the star map.”
“You’re saying this is my fault?” Felicity struggled to her feet just so she could jam her fists to her hips and glare at the wall from which Dionysus’ voice projected. She kept her movements slow and deliberate to prevent launching herself toward the ceiling.
“It was inevitable that characters you don’t want to come calling would, once they had your address.”
“That sounds very old-Earth of you,” Felicity replied. “Do you think this has something to do with that? Who are these people?”
“Aliens. Their ship is like nothing we’ve ever seen before, and their cloak technology is beyond anything we’ve encountered. Maybe they have been around longer than we know, since we haven’t been able to see them? What was the single event that caused them to go on the attack? That is what I want to know.”
“Will we ever know that?” Felicity relaxed at the concession of the inevitability of this conflict, regardless that it was her efforts to build a Gate and make the station part of the expanding Federation that might have been the proximal cause. “Never mind. Connect me with Ted, please.”
“He is on,” Dionysus replied since Ted would pick up but not say anything.
“Ted, honey. We’ve taken some terrible damage to our lovely station. Tell me that this will all be over soon.”
“I can’t tell you that,” Ted said, sounding like he had something in his mouth.
“Why not, dear?” Felicity had learned never to accept the short answer from her husband. He was often too literal, but she had gotten used to it and never took it personally.
“Because I haven’t figured out how to find him. Plato and I are committing everything we have to this one magnificent problem. I need to get back to it. I hope to be home for dinner.”
“He has signed off, Madame Station Manager,” Dionysus remarked.
“God bless his soul. That’s my husband.” Felicity looked at the wall and turned to find the group of evacuees watching her. “He’ll try to be home for dinner. Understand, good people of Keeg Station, the very best minds that the Bad Company has to offer are on this. Soon, we’ll be able to go see what the damage is and start the healing and recovery process.”
She beamed her best smile, but deep down it bothered her that Ted had not yet come up with a solution. He’d been working on it for half a day. He’d been quicker to crack Ten’s security and make it possible for Terry Henry Walton to seize control of the Harborian fleet.
An entire fleet! This was one ship.
Had Ted met his match? She turned away from the others as worry creased her brow and knotted her stomach.
Aaron and Yanmei were half-asleep in the cockpits of the Black Eagles. They had stopped trying to fly a combat patrol around the War Axe and settled for remaining on station, moving every few minutes in a random direction to stymie the terror ship.
Char had returned to the bridge to be with Terry Henry, while Christina, Joseph, and Petricia had gone to the hangar bay and suited up, standing ready in their armor in case they were needed. The entire company was suited and ready for action.
Cory and Kai waited in the wings. Cory, in case someone got hurt. Kai, in case someone needed something. The drop cans were stored farthest from the hangar bay door, and completely blocked in until the asteroids were ejected. Dust filled the air from the rocks in the bay.
“If Dad wants a dust cloud, he’s going about it in the right way.”
Kai nodded in reply. “Smedley is going to have a cow when he’s told to clean this up.” Kai turned away from the mess that was the hangar bay. “Is this going to work, Auntie Cory?”
“That makes me sound old.” Cory shook her head. She didn’t know. She barely understood what the plan was because no one was sharing. They
were running back and forth and throwing a lot of mud at the wall, hoping something would stick. She wasn’t sure it would.
“You are old,” Kai said, softly punching Cory in the shoulder.
“So are you, brat.” Cory ruffled Dokken’s ears.
I’m not that old, he interjected.
“Of course, you aren’t.” Cory leaned down to kiss the top of his head.
“All hands, the station has been attacked again. There’s been a major breach of the interior, and they only have partial gravity. No lives lost. I say again, no lives lost,” Colonel Walton reported over the ship-wide broadcast.
“Substantial damage,” Kai repeated softly. “Is this guy toying with us?”
“I wish I knew. I wish I knew what was up with my dad, too.”
Terry stood tall on the bridge, watching the moving parts of the entire tactical screen. He pieced together the images in his mind, creating a three-dimensional map within which he flew the War Axe to locations for optimal asteroid release. Three spots to send the three unique stores of stone and dust.
“Take us to these coordinates,” Terry pointed to the holo-screen in front of the pilot and navigator positions. He put his finger on the spot he wanted. Clifton started tapping his screen, and the ship smoothly accelerated. “Prepare for deployment.”
“Are you sure the ship will be there?” Micky asked.
“He just attacked the station. Last time he did that, it was a feint before he conducted a secondary attack. Move Alpha and Beta Squadrons to the station.”
“Roger, Colonel,” Smedley replied.
“Let’s put up enough metal and interlocking gravitic shields to keep the station safe. Delta Squadron is to take up a position around the hub of Spires Harbor.”
“Ramses’ Chariot, report,” the colonel requested.
“Nothing new, Colonel,” Bundin replied.
“Roger. Out.” Terry studied the three-dimensional holographic tactical display. The two squadrons of Harborian ships moved agonizingly slowly at the scale shown. He knew they were accelerating at maximum. Delta Squadron was fumbling around, onesy-twosy-ing into place the twenty ships that should have moved in unison. “We need more training.”
“The Harborians have had almost none.” Micky defended the refugees, rescued recently enough that he was amazed they were able to function at all, let alone as a military unit. “Dionysus is mostly in control. The hands are back to doing what they did under Ten—repairs and maintenance according to exact instructions. Is taking their free will more important?”
“As long as we make sure we have a true crisis, then we are on solid ground. When the definition of a crisis changes to suit our desires to control others, then no. Right now? I’d order everyone to link arms and stand tall if that’s what it took to save what we’ve built here. There are too many lives at stake to be sensitive to feelings. I don’t want to lose the station or another ship.”
“I understand, but I want to make sure that they do too.” Micky folded his arms and waited—not in a power pose, but as a blanket of security. He couldn’t advise TH about what to do because he didn’t know.
The ghost in the dark was starting to give him nightmares. Not enough sleep and too much tension. Where would the beast strike next?
“Put me on open broadcast if you would, Smedley,” Terry ordered.
“Ready,” the AI replied.
“All hands on all ships, and our guest, who seems to be taking great pains to avoid loss of life: we are in this together. We are fighting for what we have and what we believe. We don’t know why this ship is stalking and attacking us. He has kept us in the dark, but little by little, we’re closing the noose. Soon, he’ll have nowhere to run. It would be best if he talked to us before he becomes nothing but space dust.”
Terry drew a finger across his throat.
“Broadcast is ended.”
“I hope he understands Galactic Common or one of a million other languages. I can send him a translator if he needs it. All he has to do is make nice.” TH studied the holo image, disappointed by how far away Alpha and Beta Squadrons were from the station.
I see clearly now, but what if the fog comes back? Terry kept his thoughts to himself. There was no need to concern Char or Cory. Not now.
The battle had not yet been joined.
It was time to fight back.
“There is debris where there shouldn’t be debris,” K’Thrall reported. “Dionysus, analyze these scans.”
The Yollin tapped his screen, highlighting data obtained during the last active scan.
“We need a closer look. Wait one.” The crew looked at each other. They never liked it when the AI told them to wait. A high-pitched warbling beep filled the bridge.
“What is that sound?” Bundin asked.
“That is a beacon attached to the canisters and crates.” Dionysus didn’t explain.
Bundin’s stalk head started waving erratically. “Don’t make me play twenty questions with you, Dionysus. What canisters and crates?”
“I presume they were jettisoned or inadvertently lost from the enemy ship, but they are in the area cordoned off by the War Axe. It is off-limits to all activity.”
“Contact the War Axe.”
“The communications links are not active.”
“How does that work?” K’Thrall interrupted. “That should never happen.”
“I cannot break through the static.”
“Where is the static coming from?”
“Residual effects from the earlier blast, I believe,” Dionysus explained.
“We didn’t have this problem closer to the explosion.” Bon Tap was confused. The others joined him.
“We’ve moved back into the area. For some reason, the radiation is concentrated in a small area, as if it’s attached to something.”
“How about we move away from that something and collect those supplies, then beat feet to parts unknown?” Chris offered.
“I assume you’re speaking a common language, but can’t be sure,” Bundin said slowly as he tried to parse the words and understand. “Moving from this area is our first priority. Make it so, Dionysus.”
“Overriding command off-limits area on your authority, Corporal Bundin.” Dionysus backed Ramses’ Chariot away from the static and gave it a wide berth on their way to the beacon.
“You make it sound like you’re recording the order to be used at my court-martial.” Bundin’s voice was deep, and it resonated throughout the corridor.
“Chow?” B’Ichi asked.
“I’m for that,” Bon Tap agreed. Slicker stood as if the order had been given.
“We’re heading toward the minefield to recover whatever is out there that the alien thought was important enough to attach a beacon to, and you want to eat?” Bundin asked in surprise.
“Dionysus, do you need us for anything related to this recovery?” K’Thrall clarified.
“I do not.”
“See?” The Yollin joined the others. “If we’re going where we’re not supposed to go to do what needs to be done, then waiting on the bridge for something bad to happen isn’t going to make it less bad when it happens. We might as well eat lunch, so we’re ready in case there is something we need to do.”
“I like your reasoning. Lunch it is,” Bundin agreed.
The squad helped the Podder down the corridor to the small mess deck, which B’Ichi had confirmed was indeed stocked with source material for the food processor.
“Once we’re clear, make sure the War Axe knows everything you know,” Bundin yelled down the corridor, even though Dionysus could hear him wherever he was on the ship.
“It is mine to serve the whims of the warmbloods,” the AI replied within the empty bridge. “Let’s go fishing and see what we can catch.”
Chapter Thirteen
“This message was different,” the navigator said. “It came in on my channels, and it was one individual speaking briefly. We don’t have anything that can translate
their guttural gibberish.”
“I’m sure it’s nonsense.” The commander waved his center hand dismissively. “Ignore it.”
“Recovery of L7-24T is in process,” Katamara announced to the bridge from his post in the weapons bay.
“The small ship is moving toward our beacon,” the pilot reported.
“Stop recovery and target that ship.”
“No!” Katamara shouted. “The mine is half in the tube. If we move now, it could blow. Just a little more time.”
The commander seethed. They were following his orders, but he had to destroy that ship.
“Hurry up.”
“Yes, Lord Mantis,” the weapons technician replied after a short delay. The specialist was concentrating on his job of deactivating the weapon. It had to be done right.
“Will that ship contact one of the mines?”
“It will be close, but unless it changes course, it will not be impacted by any of the static mines.”
“Prepare to fire the plasma cannon.”
“Almost there,” the technician reported.
“If that ship steals our supplies, we’re as good as dead. Counting down. Firing in five...four...three...two...fire.”
The weapons specialist’s sigh filled the ship as he finished the sequence to disarm the mine less than a heartbeat before the mains cycled enough energy through the bay to make his skin tingle.
The ship remained visible as it fired a second shot at the small but resilient alien vessel.
The return fire caught the Traxinstall off-guard as the commander moved the ship deeper into the field.
Pulse weapons stitched across the prow, one impact penetrating deeply enough to open the hull to space. Atmosphere shot through the small opening like paint from a spray nozzle, but the automated sealing systems kicked in as the plasma cannon fired a third time.
The alien ship lunged toward the Traxinstall, vulnerable as it hung in space, a belligerent mouse trying to win a gun battle against an upstart alien with a huge power signature.
Destroyer: A Military Space Opera (The Bad Company Book 5) Page 10
