He gave Char a thumbs-up. “Clean,” he declared.
She nodded in agreement. The ship was clean. The three devices they had destroyed were the only ones, at least in close proximity to the War Axe and Ramses’ Chariot.
“We need Ted and Ankh to take a look at this stuff,” Terry said, wincing at the thought.
Char vigorously shook her head. “Once they have the firing plan completed, we’ll turn them loose on it. In the interim, maybe Smedley can work with Plato and his stepchildren to study this stuff.” She pointed at the collection of shattered metal, parts and pieces, and even a few bits of organic material.
“Take it all to the maintenance bay, where it can be scanned,” Terry ordered.
The warriors in armor complied, moving the collection to two pallets and then carefully carrying them to the oversized hatch in the forward section of the hangar bay, right before the three drop ship tubes.
Terry jumped from the top of the ship, executed a somersault, and landed on his feet.
“Where did that come from?” Char wondered.
“Feeling good,” he told her.
“Maybe if you’d smashed your face, you’d get in the Pod-doc so we can figure out what’s wrong with you.”
“Maybe there’s nothing wrong with me,” Terry countered.
“Then the Pod-doc won’t find anything. Cory’s worried. You trust our daughter, don’t you?”
“That’s a loaded question. I thought you trusted me.” Terry held both her hands and looked into her purple eyes, lost afresh in the wonder of the swirls and the twinkle that appeared.
“I do,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I trust you with my life, but I don’t trust you when it comes to yours. You are a terrible judge of whether you’re fine or not. Marines and their tough-guy attitude. You people need the Navy to look after you.”
“Whoa! Them’s fightin’ words.” He found himself incapable of conjuring an angry face for Charumati.
“Pod-doc,” she reiterated.
“When this is over,” he replied, turning serious. “I am fine. At this moment, my head is clear, and my body is as sharp as it ever was.”
“These people are depending on you. I’m depending on you.” A tear glazed one eye. “You told Ted you were thinking of taking a vacation. I’m putting my foot down. We’re taking one as soon as this is over, right after you come out of the Pod-doc. We’ll take Ramses’ Chariot and go to a pleasure moon somewhere.”
“They have those out here?” Terry winked. “Maybe we can whip by Onyx Station.”
“No. Absolutely not. We are not making our vacation a work trip. You’ll start drinking with Nathan Lowell, and then who knows what will happen.”
“Deal,” he agreed—not that he had any choice in the matter.
“Maintenance bay?” Char asked. Terry had been inching toward the hatch while they talked.
“Never thought you’d ask. I’m in!” They walked hand in hand across the hangar bay.
Bundin watched them go, remaining alone with the Chariot.
“Now we wait,” he said to no one.
Chapter Sixteen
“Fire,” the commander ordered. The Traxinstall appeared, fired its primary weapon, and disappeared, moving directly beneath where it had been. Counterfire filled the space between where they ended up and where they’d been. One beam scorched an ugly scar across the outer hull.
The crew collectively held its breath. The fire rapidly slowed and stopped.
“Our time for effective attacks is drawing to a close.”
“As long as we operate alone, that is the case,” the weapons specialist suggested.
“Feints and misdirections,” the commander said without hesitation. “Get to engineering and build three arms’ full of noisemakers.”
“Yes, Lord Mantis,” Katamara dipped his head and hurried from the bridge.
“Secure from attack operations. Assume a stand-off distance of five hundred.”
His last attack had caused little damage but told him a great deal that he would use next time. The ships had moved and shifted in response to it, opening a gap through which he would launch a devastating strike on the station. It was the weak link, and the key to success, now that the big ship was denied him.
Or maybe it wasn’t. He sat down and leaned back. The big ship needed to die, as well as the station.
B’Ichi was getting tired of being in his suit, so he’d taken a break and was playing catch with Dokken while Cory watched. She had heard about the Keome but had never met one until B’Ichi had come aboard. She didn’t understand the heat he needed to survive until she saw him nearly freeze to death without it. Bundin remained standing outside the hatch to Ramses’ Chariot, either lost in his own thoughts or sleeping. The squad never knew which.
K’Thrall had been drafted to join the team looking at ways to find and defeat the enemy ship.
After two hours in the Pod-doc, Bon Tap and Slikira were as good as new.
Chris was currently in one for his concussion, and had been scrapped for the follow-on mission because, even with the nanocyte repairs, he’d need rest to finish the healing of a bruised brain.
Bon Tap hurried through the hangar bay, waving at the others as he looked for his suit.
The rest of the Bad Company was scattered throughout, half in their suits while the other half rested. Fifty percent stand-to, as Colonel Walton had ordered. Major Kimber was making sure of full compliance, but the Company was well-disciplined. They were on edge, frustrated because they couldn’t hit back at the invisible enemy.
Slicker walked up to Bundin and tapped on his shell. He waved as if saying hi.
Or telling her to bugger off.
“I hear we’re down two. At least we’ll fit better in the ship,” she said.
“I won’t,” Bundin grumbled, his mechanical voice booming more deeply as it bounced off the special deck plating in the hangar bay.
B’Ichi stopped playing catch, scruffled Dokken’s neck, and returned to his armor—a suit outside of another suit. He was ready when Bon Tap appeared in the hatch. The Malatian performed a series of hops and agility exercises to loosen himself up and reacquaint himself with the mechanized combat unit that was their armored suits.
Bundin waved one tentacle toward the cargo loading hatch. Slicker accompanied them inside.
“What’s this?” she asked before looking at a small pallet. She checked the label. “Food!”
“Only the best for my squad,” Bundin declared as he joined them, entering through the cargo hatch. “Button us up and get us out of here, Dionysus.”
“As soon as possible, Corporal,” the AI replied.
“We have a bad guy to hunt down, and I have a plan,” Bundin said mysteriously.
Captain Micky San Marino scowled darkly at the War Axe’s main screen. His warship had been originally built as a destroyer, but had been upgraded and was comparable in size and firepower to a battleship at this point. All that, and Micky still couldn’t catch the ghost—the enemy ship making hit-and-run attacks on Keeg Station and Spires Harbor, which was on its way to becoming the largest shipyard in the Federation.
“We have over a hundred ships out here, and we still can’t pin this guy down. What the hell does he know that we don’t?”
“It’s not what he knows, it’s the technology. He appears, fires, and is gone before we know it,” Colonel Walton lamented. He was head of the Bad Company’s Direct Action Branch, and the War Axe was the flagship from which he ran his operations as part of a private conflict-solution enterprise. “He’s out there right now, drinking tea, eating crumpets, and picking his next target.”
Micky gritted his teeth in frustration. “Systems? K’Thrall, Ted, Ankh? Anyone, you have to give us a few seconds. We need to know where he’s going to appear next.”
The speakers projected a voice speaking Yollin. The translation chips in the crew’s heads instantly translated the language into something each could understand. T
erry heard English.
“Ted is continuing to analyze the appearances to determine a pattern, but he’s been unable to find anything so far. The ship is hiding in this dimension using something other than Etheric energy for power.”
“We’re dead in the water,” Micky suggested.
“I hate playing defense,” Terry started. “Can Ted create an unpredictable array of our ships? Put them in constant motion to provide an ever-changing field of fire? Sitting still and trying to be ready to pull the trigger isn’t working. Let’s see if luck will favor us.”
“Ted has begun the effort to program the fleet for random and violent action,” K’Thrall reported with less frustration in his voice.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Terry said. He squeezed Char’s hand as she smiled at the news.
Clifton turned from his position at the helm. “Federation Corvette Seven Four, Magistrate Rivka Anoa is preparing to Gate in.”
“Order them off! Tell them to stay away from here,” Terry shouted, but it was too late.
“Roger,” Micky acknowledged. The klaxons sounded as the enemy destroyer appeared not far from the War Axe. “Fire!”
The heavy destroyer fired streams of railgun projectiles in a blanket around the enemy ship, covering the estimated travel routes. It turned its nose toward the Axe and started to fire, using the materializing ship for cover.
“Cease fire!” Terry yelled. “We can’t risk hitting the corvette.”
“Cease fire,” Micky confirmed. The stream trailed off as projectiles and plasma bolts from the enemy ship approached. “Extend the forward shield!”
“Captain?” Clifton called.
General Butler executed the order. “Shields are extended but have weakened by twenty-five percent. I don’t recommend extending them farther, or the degradation would render them useless. Do you intend for the inbound ship to Gate between the shield and the ship? I would not recommend such a course of action.”
“No choice, Smedley. Ship-wide, brace for impact.” The command echoed throughout the ship as the crew scrambled to secure themselves.
The first projectiles disintegrated against the gravitic shields, but the volume of fire overwhelmed the defenses. The prow of the War Axe screamed in agony, and those on the bridge winced at the sound. The enemy’s plasma weapons deflected into space.
“Starting to drift,” Helm remarked. “Compensating with thrusters.”
“Gate established,” K’Thrall reported from the Combat Information Center deep in the heart of the ship. That was where the captain should have been, but he’d refused to leave the bridge. He wanted to fight the ship from the bridge, where he was more vulnerable but felt more in control.
The corvette slid through the Gate, almost crashing into the War Axe. Its engines flared as they brought the small ship to a full stop.
The Bad Company’s Delta Squadron was moving to contact. Ships with a clear line of fire were sending streams of hypervelocity projectiles at the enemy destroyer. Unfazed, it pressed toward the War Axe, staying visible far longer than it had before. Terry pounded his fist in frustration.
“It’s right there!” Terry exclaimed. But blocked by the Gate.
“Bring the corvette in. Retract the shields to normal density,” Micky ordered.
“Terry to Rivka,” Terry said aloud, expecting Smedley to patch him through. “Let Smedley take control of your ship and stand by. We’re in the middle of trying not to die, so bear with us. Walton out.”
The corvette immediately started moving toward the open hangar bay. It hesitated until there was enough clearance, then smoothly slipped inside.
“Fire all weapons,” Micky ordered. The War Axe shifted position as the mains shuddered into action. Massive railguns along the port and starboard lengths of the ship sent heavier projectiles at a faster rate of speed. The enemy destroyer faded and was gone.
“Fire into the projected flight path and in a three-sixty around where it disappeared,” Micky shouted unnecessarily. Smedley already had his marching orders.
The ship’s nose circled to direct the fire of the main weapons. A spark and explosion detailed a hit on the enemy’s invisible ship. The War Axe zeroed its fire but wasn’t rewarded with the enemy’s destruction.
“Dammit!” TH snarled.
“Damage Control to stations. Let’s fix the ship before that bastard returns. We hurt him once again, but not enough. Next time, people, we’ll splatter his ship across the stars,” Micky vowed, having had enough of playing cat and mouse. Smedley sounded the appropriate call to action within the ship. Terry looked at the captain but didn’t have the right words of encouragement.
“I’m going to the hangar bay to meet the Magistrate,” Terry told him on his way out. He hurried off the bridge, almost running into his wife. “Rivka is here. Going down to say hi and see what she needs.”
Char followed. “How’s the ship?”
“Been better. Ted is working on something to try to get in front of this bastard.”
“How is it possible that someone is owning us like this?” Char shook her head in frustration. She wanted Terry to get into the Pod-doc to see what was wrong, but he wouldn’t go while the fight was ongoing. No matter how hard she tried, she knew he wouldn’t go until it was finished.
“We got off some shots, and hit it, too,” Terry explained as they went down the six flights to the hangar level. “But I don’t know how badly we hurt it. It doesn’t have shields while it’s cloaked. I just don’t know. More importantly, Ted doesn’t know, and that’s what bothers me the most.”
Char listened carefully. “What are we trying to protect?”
“I don’t understand.”
“What is it attacking? As in, what is worth dying for?”
“The station where R2D2 has its research facility. The shipyard isn’t cutting edge yet. If it gets damaged, it can be repaired without too much difficulty. The Harborian Fleet is here, but killing a hundred ships is a tall order. Killing the War Axe would be a major coup for the bad guys because the Direct Action Branch is on board. Our combat suits are here. We have advanced weapons, but we also have Ted and his AI Plato and our friendly Crenellian.”
She frowned. “Do you think someone is trying to kill Ted?”
“Crazy thought, but it’s all I can come up with. Someone is coming after the heart and the genius of the Bad Company.” TH shrugged. “I’ve run through all kinds of scenarios, but this guy has yet to kill anyone—not that he hasn’t tried, unless he is that good.”
His wife sighed. “I hope you’re wrong, or that Ted does what Ted does and finds a way to track this flaming bunghole so we can kill him.”
“Nothing like a missile up the tailpipe to let you know that you messed with the wrong people.”
“That’s one way to do it,” Char remarked.
They walked onto the hangar deck and stopped. “Where do you think the access is?” Terry asked.
Char shrugged. Their question was answered when the hatch popped and a short ramp extended to the deck. Terry and Char stepped to the bottom and waited. First person out was a big man, heavily armed.
“Why, Rivka! You’ve changed so much since last we met.”
“Red, meet Terry and Char,” a voice yelled from within the ship as she peeked around her bodyguard.
The tension in the man’s face eased as he approached. “Bodyguard?” Terry asked. The two men shook hands, matching the power in the other’s grip.
“My name is Vered. My job is to keep Rivka safe. I hope you understand.”
“I used to do some of that myself, about a million years ago. I do understand, my man. I doubt the Magistrate is very popular with the criminals.”
“You can say that again.”
“The Magistrate can protect herself,” Rivka called from the hatch. “But since he’s on the payroll, I let him carry all my firepower.”
Terry glanced at Red to see a minute shake of his head.
“Of course, Magis
trate. You want something that you think I can provide?”
Rivka hugged Char first, then Terry Henry. “What the hell is going on out there? We Gated into the front of your ship. Should that have blown something up, namely, you?”
“That’s what the AI said. Imagine how surprised and pleased we are not to be dead. But that’s also a testament to Ted’s engineering of the new Gates, which your ship has. They are much cleaner with the post-Gate energy dissipation, or so I’ve been told.”
Char stepped in to answer Rivka’s question. “An enemy destroyer showed up out of nowhere and started shooting. It can cloak, and it’s giving us fits. A small fleet of ships like it, and we’d all be dead. At least it’s only the one, so we have an uneasy stalemate at present. Sometimes one or the other gets off a shot that lands close to home. One of these times, it’s going to hit something important.”
“I like to say that hope is a lousy plan,” Terry offered. “But hope is all we got.”
“You have something else, too. You mentioned you might be able to loan me a techno-whiz on a short-term contract?”
“Nothing like getting right to it, eh, Magistrate?” Terry looked down. “Have you grown taller since Onyx Station?”
“About six inches. I changed my hair too, but you’re a man and probably didn’t notice.”
“Your eyes are different, too,” Terry added in a weak attempt to redeem himself. “Pod-doc?”
“Necessary evil in this line of work. The ambient temperature on a planet where we conducted an arbitration was one hundred and sixty degrees Fahrenheit. Without the nano boost, I would have been like him.”
“Oh, my God! Do you have to tell everyone?” Red blurted.
Rivka laughed. “I do. I really do. He passed out, and I had to carry him, in the heat. I told him he needs to eat more salads, but he’s not doing that.”
“I’m good now,” Red gruffed.
Jay and Lindy slowly descended the stairs.
“You can put your hardware away, Red. On the War Axe, you are under my protection and that of the Bad Company. There is no threat to the Magistrate.”
Destroyer: A Military Space Opera (The Bad Company Book 5) Page 13
