by Dennis Young
“How did they manage to take out nearly your entire squadron then?” Mitchell drew a breath, then spoke again. “Recall all fighters, then report to my ready room.”
“Yes, sir.” Straum’s voice was barely a whisper.
“Captain, one of the Qoearc ships is breaking orbit!” Neunada at the tactical console turned quickly.
“Belay that last order, Commander. Load your crewed fighters into the docking ports and order Marshall and Armstrong to do so as well.”
“Yes, sir. Straum out.”
Mitchell faced the screens. “Helm, prepare—”
“Captain Mitchell, this is Armstrong. Let us chase him down. I promise he won’t get away with the salvaged fighter.”
“Commander, you just saw what that single Qoearc ship did to a squadron of autonomous AI fighters. Your experience against capital ships is nil. Request denied.”
“Marshall here. Mitch, the other two Qoearc ships are de-orbiting as well, heading this way.”
Trachenberg persisted. “Sir, I’m a superb tactician. I know how to fight, and my crew is chomping at the bit.”
“ETA of the other Qoearc ships, fifteen minutes.” Neunada’s baritone cut through the chatter.
“Captain, formal request to pursue the Qoearc ship.”
Trachenberg’s voice was not a plea, but Mitchell knew it was getting close. She might just break off and go anyway, he thought. Then I’d have even more trouble.
“Armstrong, stand by. Mister Neunada, charge weapons and prepare countermeasures, relay that order to the other ships.”
“Sir, Armstrong and Marshall both reported Battle Stations as soon as the first Qoearc broke orbit.”
Mitchell punched the intercom button to Armstrong again. “Commander, you will give chase and stop that Qoearc ship.” He paused, then shook his head in resignation. “Use any means necessary to carry out your orders. Godspeed, Armstrong.”
“Order received and logged. Thank you, sir.”
Trachenberg broke the link, not giving Mitchell time to change his mind. In a flash, Armstrong was gone, headed out of system at flank speed.
“Mitch, we’re bearing to the left, you take the right.” Guererro’s voice was calm. Mitchell knew she was a crack combat captain.
He hit the comm switch again. “Acknowledged, Sonja, but do not engage until fired upon.”
“That didn’t work so well before.”
“Those are my orders, Captain.”
“Aye, sir,” replied Guererro. “Marshall will not engage unless fired upon.”
Mitchell sat back again. At least his duty now was clear. “Ms. Auvery, take us out of orbit, one-half impulse. Nav, prepare standard evasive pattern Delta on my command. Tactical…” he paused, looking around the Bridge. “Stand by all weapons. Prepare to launch fighters.” He turned to Rashim at the comm console. “Inform Harmony we are under attack by the Qoearc and may not be able to keep our promise, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” Rashim turned to the comm and began speaking softly into the transmitter as Burlingame came about, heading for Harmony and the Qoearc.
* * *
EAS Armstrong…
Armstrong flashed by the outer gas giant, hot on Diviak Nurmeen’s trail.
“Commander Takuda, I need everything you’ve got from the impulse engines.” Trachenberg hunched over her intercom, watching the Qoearc ship that was nothing more than a point of light ahead.
“Acknowledged, Captain, I am pushing it to the limit now.” The heavy Japanese accent was calm as Trachenberg remembered.
“Everything, Kenji. This is banzai time!”
“Banzai!” came the shout from the speaker.
A cheer resounded on the Bridge. “Banzai!”
Grins flashed around, and Trachenberg sat back. “Nav, status?”
“Gaining slowly, but they may beat us to the singularity border.”
“Then we need to slow them down.” Trachenberg hit the intercom button again. “Chief Klauski, is your Phoenix wing ready for launch?”
“Affirmative, Captain, but we’ve never launched at this sort of speed.”
“Stand ready, we’ll see what we can do about that.” She clicked off. “Navigation, range?”
“One hundred thousand kilometers, closing rate two hundred kilometers per second.”
“Almost ten minutes. We’ll never make it,” said Lieutenant Karan Wells at Tactical.
“Tactical, prepare torpedoes. Time your firing to coincide with our crossing the singularity border. Do not be late.”
“Enemy fire incoming! Tracking!” The shout from the Tactical cut through the chatter.
“Damn! I knew it! Evasive at my order!” Trachenberg watched the forward screen, counting seconds as the graphic showed three well-spaced symbols, any of which could spell doom for her command. “Stand by, roll ninety degrees to port… now! Slide between them!”
Armstrong lurched, the compensators overloaded for only an instant. The enemy ordnance flashed by, one nearly grazing the hull, but not close enough to detonate.
“That… was close.” Wells turned briefly to shake her head at Trachenberg. “Please don’t do that again, Captain.”
“Only if I have to.” Trachenberg hit the comm button again. “Engineering, stand by hyperlight power. I need more on impulse.”
“Captain…” Takuda’s voice paused. “I can give you ten percent over if we drain one accumulator.”
“Do it, give me a countdown when we reach thirty seconds prior to full drain. Helm, ahead ten percent over flank speed. Tactical, give me a countdown to torpedo range.”
“Captain, our coils are fully charged, hyperlight on your command.” The E-tech glanced over his shoulder and gave a quick nod.
“Two minutes to optimum torpedo range.”
“Chief Klauski, ships locked and loaded?”
“Ready to launch, Captain. You’ve got a bunch of wide-eyed pilots back here, but they’re prepared for whatever happens.”
“You will launch only on my command.”
“Acknowledged, launch only on your command.”
“One minute to torpedo range, Captain.” Wells attended her panel. “Safeties released, torpedoes armed and seeking.”
“Captain, thirty seconds to border.”
“Accumulator approaching full drain,” came Takuda’s voice from Engineering. “Thirty second countdown commencing… now.”
“Damn! Border first, then range.” Trachenberg drew a breath. “Stand by to fire.”
“Incoming! Three again!”
“Border, Captain!”
“Tactical, fire, two only! Helm, evasive pattern Charlie Brown!”
Armstrong fired, rose on its tail, ninety degrees straight up, the Qoearc ordnance racing by harmlessly.
“Inside loop, come around, ready torpedoes, stand by PAKS!”
“Closing, Qoearc coming about, emitters firing.” Wells voice was cool and steady.
Armstrong shook as energy harmonics leaked through the hull polarization.
“Torpedoes, spread of six, ten seconds Particlebeam fire! Hit them hard!”
Wells fired, lights dancing across the Qoearc defenses, and two torpedoes impacted high on pressure domes. Diviak Nurmeen broke left, firing as it passed.
“Slow to one-quarter impulse.” Trachenberg hit the intercom. “Air Boss, launch, Fox and Hounds, get them off the ship!”
“Fox and Hounds, aye.” A pause. “Fighters away, launch bays clear.”
“Acknowledged Air Boss,” replied Trachenberg. “Helm, one-half impulse, Tactical—”
“Qoearc firing!”
The impact slammed everyone on the Bridge to the deck. Trachenberg crawled back to the command seat and hit the intercom again. “Air Boss, report!”
“Fighters engaging, will advise.”
“Captain, polarization at sixty percent!”
Trachenberg shook her head to clear the cobwebs. “Helm, come about, 270 mark 30, Tactical, target the Qoearc amidships w
ith PAKS, port energy screens with torpedoes. Concurrent fire!”
“Firing. Hits! Qoearc port engine down, minor damage to midships!”
“Incoming!”
The Bridge crew went down again. Cries rose, and the damage control ensigns stationed at the turbolift ran to their aid. Smoke spread as the compensators blinked on and off. Exhaust fans clicked on, drawing the pungent air away. Trachenberg knew the ship was drifting.
“Polarization at twenty percent! Countermeasures down!”
“Helm, evasive, Whirlpool, Z minus 5000 meters!”
Emitter fire hit Armstrong. Trachenberg was thrown aside, rose with her left arm ablaze with pain, crawled back to her seat, and punched the intercom. “Fire Control, manual torpedo fire!” No answer. She looked to the viewscreens, the one showing aft shattered, debris spread over the deck.
“Captain, I have a shot!”
“Hit them hard, Wells! Full PAKS! Engineering, status!”
“Polarizers recharging, up to thirty-five percent, we’ve got about two minutes of PAKS power left, and half our stinger including the torpedo deck is shot away!”
“Sickbay?”
“Still there!”
“Docking bays?”
“Affirmative!”
Then Special-Ops is intact, thought Trachenberg.
“Captain, the Qoearc is coming about! Geez, what does it take—”
“Hit the control pod, now! Everything! Take it out!”
Concentrated PAKS fire cut across the foredecks of Diviak Nurmeen. Trachenberg watched in horror as the ship began turning toward Armstrong.
“Aft section still active, they’re bringing the rear mass driver to bear!”
“Send a PAKS charge right down the gullet!”
“Captain?”
“Fire into the tube! Precision fire!”
“Aye, aye!” Wells hit the buttons. Blue fire arced a ragged line down the Qoearc’s launch tube. The sublight power deck exploded, setting off a chain reaction into the auxiliary fuel tanks and engines, sending heavy debris everywhere.
“Back us off, now, now, now!”
“Incoming!”
Debris slammed into Armstrong and through. The main hull took the brunt, decks buckling under tons of wreckage. What was left of Diviak Nurmeen drifted across the screen.
“Captain, hail from the Qoearc ship.”
Trachenberg grimaced and paused for breath before answering. “Where are the fighters?”
“Buzzing the Qoearc, setting up shots on the drifting hulk,” replied Wells.
“Hold fire. Mister Schrader, on the viewer.”
The forward screen lit, the picture filled with static and pixels. It showed a decimated Qoearc Bridge and a bleeding figure in the command seat. Smoke filled the rear of the control area and bodies drifted in zero-G.
“Trachenberg, commanding EAS Armstrong. Stand down and we’ll send out rescue shuttles and bring your survivors aboard. We will deliver you to the Qoearc Consulate at Fleet Base Twenty-four for repatriation. You will be given medical treatment—”
The figure on screen held a bleeding hand and spoke.
“Translator on,” said the Comm Officer quietly.
“I cannot understand your Speak, yet I know what you must be saying. Therefore, I decline your offer. We go to the bak’nal with honor. Toks out.”
“Captain, energy buildup in the Qoearc core!”
“Hard about, flank speed, get us out of range! Air Boss, get your fighters out of there!” Trachenberg steadied herself against the command seat and watched the auxiliary screen at the science station. Armstrong raced away, but the gas torus effects of the explosion still rocked the ship heavily. The screen cleared slowly, showing nothing but stars.
Four
The Warrior Way
“Duty Log, Captain Harlan Mitchell, 161209.10. The situation has stayed nominal for twenty-four hours since the decimation of the AI fighter squadron. I’ve ordered a full report from Commander Straum, Sciences, and Tactical. The Qoearc haven’t moved and neither have we. There has been no contact from Harmony, Armstrong, or the Qoearc. We could all sit here for the rest of the life of the universe and nothing would change. This is what is called ‘the hardest part of being a warrior; waiting’. “
* * *
EAS Burlingame…
Mitchell watched the Qoearc ships on the screen. They had not fired since the skirmish with his fighters, only met the Interceptors bow to bow, and all four ships hung is space somewhere between Harmony and its moon.
“Mister Rashim, any contact from Armstrong?”
“No, sir, but I’m scanning for long-range encrypted. It will take a few moments to analyze.”
“Tactical?”
“Evidence of energy discharges, Captain, but they’re a long way away, so it could be natural or just noise.” Neunada checked his instruments again. “Nothing certain, but I think there’s a firefight.”
“Nav, Qoearc positions?”
“No change, one hundred kilometers, sir.”
“No weapons charged, no power spikes,” reported Neunada.
Mitchell clicked the intercom. “Air Boss, status?”
“Fighters in the docking bays, awaiting orders.”
“Hail from the Qoearc, sir.” Rashim turned in his chair. “They’re asking to speak directly to you.”
Mitchell nodded and sat straighter. “Patch in Marshall, no audio from their side, then put the Qoearc on screen.”
A moment later, the screen lit with the image of the Qoearc Bridge. “Tak’iv woc nec?”
“Captain Harlan Mitchell commanding this task force. And you are?”
“Zacan Yiikor, Beauzic. You have pursued our ship after we have taken lawful battle salvage. Your small craft fired on our war cruisers without warning. Explain.”
Mitchell furrowed his brow. “Captain, I think we both saw exactly what happened. And rather than repeat what I said to Zacan Toks, I will only say this; you have caused death and destruction to Harmony, an Earth Alliance Protectorate planet, and may have brought war between our governments. Stand down.”
The link broke.
“I think that says it all, sir,” said Neunada softly.
“Captain, I have a signal from Harmony. Elder-First Carmichael is calling.”
Mitchell thought quickly; the message might carry sensitive information, but he couldn’t leave the Bridge. “On screen in thirty seconds, Lieutenant. All Bridge hands, what you may hear is confidential. No discussion with anyone or amongst yourselves. Understood?”
“Aye, sirs” made their way around the Bridge.
“Put him through, Mister Rashim.”
Carmichael’s face filled the forward screen. “Greetings again, Captain Mitchell. Can you explain your rather unusual actions?”
Mitchell counted to five before answering. “The Qoearc attacked our small craft, which were only positioning themselves to further protect Harmony, sir.”
“Yet you provoked them, Captain. Perhaps they felt threatened by your small ships.”
I’m sure they justified that in their minds, thought Mitchell before answering. “No, sir, we did not. We made no aggressive moves toward the Qoearc. Our small craft only took up orbit ahead and behind their ships.”
“According to the Qoearc we have spoken with, your craft fired on them.”
“That’s a damned lie,” whispered Norea from the Helm.
Mitchell shot her a quick, hard glance. “No, sir, we did not. Our ships weapons were not energized, and none were discharged.”
“The Qoearc provided recordings of your attack,” replied Carmichael, his face showing flushing at the cheeks.
“Do you recall, sir, my comments about how recordings could be falsified?”
“They insist their recordings are accurate.”
“Sir, Qoearc don’t lie in these matters.” Rashim had left his post and spoke softly into Mitchell’s ear. “Something must have happened we weren’t aware of.”
Mi
tchell thought for a moment before replying to Carmichael. “I’ve been informed there may have been a… malfunction during our… maneuvers, Elder-First Carmichael. Will you allow me time to investigate?”
“Very well, Captain, but I insist on a full explanation in a timely manner. Good day.”
The screen cleared, showing the Qoearc ships again.
Mitchell motioned Rashim back to his duty station and pressed the secure key to Special-Ops. “Commander Straum, I want you in my ready room in ten minutes. I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ve got a potential crisis with the AI’s and I need your advice.”
“Aye, sir. Ten minutes.”
* * *
EAS Armstrong…
Trachenberg waited with impatience as the med-tech set and stabilized her broken arm. She hadn’t even known it was broken, only that somehow, she had ended up beside the command seat and her arm wedged between the chair and the body of the E-tech. He had taken the full force of the viewscreen blowing out, pierced in a hundred places by shrapnel. He had bled out in moments. She could only whisper a prayer for his passing.
The med-tech gave her a smile and patted her shoulder, then realized it was the one injured. He mumbled apology and moved to aid another of the Bridge crew.
Trachenberg pressed the intercom button, awkwardly reaching across her body to do so. “Bridge to flight deck. Air Boss, status, please.”
The subdued reply was hesitant. “We lost two, caught in the debris field. Three others damaged, but they made it back. All fighters are in the hangar deck and being rearmed.”
“Arm the five undamaged and get them to the launch bays as quickly as possible. I don’t think any surprises are imminent, but we may have missed a ship’s boat or two with weapons. Launch the fighters at your discretion and have them run standard Combat Patrol.”
“Aye, Captain, standard CP acknowledged.”
Trachenberg closed her eyes. The meds were beginning to make her woozy and she knew she would soon need to turn command over for a while. She punched the intercom again. “Medical, what’s the casualty situation?”
Addams voice was clear, but fatigue laid heavy in his words. “Thirty-two injured, nine seriously, being treated in Sickbay and in their quarters, as we’re out of beds.” He paused, and Trachenberg knew what was coming. “Fifteen dead, most of those blown into space when the torpedo deck was hit. Damage Control recovered only three bodies.”
