by P. R. Adams
“So are we.”
“What?”
“I just received some good news: Engines are coming back online. We’ve got some secondary weapons close to functional as well.”
“Just the Kolkata?”
“Three frigates have maneuverability. They’re close on sensors. Weapons aren’t far behind. A couple destroyers are close, too. Very close. Don’t give up.”
“I wasn’t planning to, but my options—”
Bales squeezed his eyes shut. “Major hit on the Istanbul, Commander.”
Benson swallowed. “How bad?”
“Weapons control is gone. Life support…” He shook his head.
“But they can maneuver? They can get the shields back up. They’re still in this.”
“Yes, ma’am.” It came out half-hearted.
They needed something. The crew was losing confidence. Benson needed them. She needed their belief.
The giant display flashed back to life. It was something.
“Lieutenant Bales. I need a message recorded and ready to transmit.”
“Go ahead, ma’am.”
“Any minute now, the prime minister’s task force is going to come out of Fold Space. When it does, it needs to be alerted to this ambush and told to divert. Identify our task force. Identify me and Commander Devry from the Kolkata. This is an Azoren fleet. The Iwo Jima and its escort ships need to flee at full acceleration.”
Bales’s eyes widened. “The prime min—”
Lieutenant Ferrara gasped. “Fold Space cresting, Commander!”
The three officers manning the helm station turned to her. They hadn’t known about the prime minister’s ship, and now that they did, it was obviously a question that needed answering.
But answers would have to come later. She leaned against the support rails. “Get that message recorded, Lieutenant Bales. Trigger it when those ships come out of Fold Space. Lieutenant Ferrara, find us a way out of this trap.”
“They’ve got us hemmed in, ma’am.”
“Find where we’re least hemmed in. If we’re going to take fire, put the Clarion between that fire and the Pandora. We have to have those sensor systems, or this is all over.”
The sickly helmsman bent over the control panel. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Just a little while longer.”
He nodded, and in profile she thought she saw a sense of resolve on his face.
Chao swung around. “Commander!”
What now? “Yes?”
“You’re looking for a way out of this?”
“You have something?”
“I think so.”
She hurried to his station. “Show me.”
The ensign swiped across his display, then ran through a rushed series of swipes, taps, and drill-downs until the main display showed a rendering of one of the Azoren ships. It was a damaged destroyer.
“This one.” Muscles played across the ensign’s hands as he ran through more interfaces until the destroyer appeared to fire all of its weapons in a tight sequence—once, twice, three times. “Do you see that?”
“That it has a lot of guns? It’s a destroyer.”
“It is, but it’s not changing how it’s operating. Every time its weapons are charged, it drops all its shields at once and lets everything go in a tight window.”
That was sloppy. Arrogant. It only took a second or so, but it was a second where only armor remained.
Benson let it play through again. Every time, the exact same.
“Any chance their stealth technology is making this look worse than it is?”
Chao’s impressive chest swelled at the challenge. “We’re close enough to get some good data on them, ma’am. This is our opportunity. That destroyer’s laying down everything hemming us in here.”
The view pulled out, and a glowing array of lines ran below the task force and back toward the defense fleet.
With that stream of fire stopped, they could drop beneath the web of fire.
It was their best option.
Benson returned to the command station. “Lieutenant Ferrara, you see the maneuvers we’ll need. Lieutenant Bales, pass this along to the other ships. We’ll need to coordinate fire on that destroyer. And I’ll need to talk to Commander Devry again, please.”
The connection was resumed before Benson was fully behind her command console. “Gillian, the prime minister’s ships are coming out of Fold Space.”
“Good grief.”
“We’ve got a message recorded and ready to launch, warning them away, but you know what it’s like coming out of Fold Space.”
“They’ll be flying straight into this mess.”
“Do you have any ships with sensors and weapons online?”
“The Kolkata, but we’re still not picking anything up but you.”
“That’s fine. Can you slave your systems to ours?”
“Give up command of our weapons? Faith, that’s asking a bit—”
“We’ve got fairly clean lock-on on one of their ships. We damaged it earlier, and now it’s our ticket out of this trap they’re closing on us.”
“They’ll know we’ve got weapons, even if we don’t have everything.”
“How long do you think the prime minister’s ships are going to hold up against a fleet like this? And when they’re done with us and the Iwo Jima, they’ll be coming for you.”
Devry didn’t respond. Benson could understand. Giving up control was risky. The fleet commander had to think about defending Kedraal, not just helping out a few ships or saving the prime minister. And putting the fate of her crew in someone else’s control? Benson wasn’t sure she had that sort of strength in her.
Ferrara groaned. “Fold Space opening, Commander!”
Chao straightened. “It’s the Iwo Jima and the rest of the prime minister’s task force.”
Bales tensed. “Message away, Commander!”
The sensation of the heated clamp squeezing tight on her chest returned. “Any response?”
“None yet, Commander. The message is looping.”
Time was up. Benson squeezed her eyes shut. Come on, Gillian. I need you to trust me.
“Faith?” It was Devry. “We just registered a Fold Space exit.”
“The Iwo Jima. The prime minister’s coming through.”
“All right. I’m sending the codes to our sensors. You’ll have control of our weapons systems, too. You better be right about this.”
“It’s the best option. The only one we have.”
Bales looked up from the communications console. “Ma’am? We’ve got codes—”
“From the Kolkata. Pass those along to Ensign Chao, please. Ensign, we’re counting on you.”
Chao rolled his shoulders but didn’t seem to wilt under the pressure. He hunched over the controls and tapped hastily. “That destroyer’s about to fire. Lieutenant Ferrara, are you ready?”
Ferrara huffed and shivered. “Ready.”
The giant display once again showed the Azoren fleet and beyond the bulk of it, the defense fleet and Kedraal. Beams of energy laced across the screen, and the display reflected the enemy destroyer’s attack.
But there was no sign of the destroyer taking fire, no hint that Chao’s plan had worked.
“Ensign Chao?”
Chao twisted slightly. “Something’s wrong, ma’am.” He tapped at the console. “We’ve lost weapons control. Something broke the connection with the other ships—”
“Commander?” It was Bales. He was staring at his part of the helm console in disbelief. “The captain of the Iwo Jima wants to speak to you.”
“Speak—?” Now Benson understood the look on the communications officer’s face.
The muscular weapons officer slammed a fist against the console. “It’s the Kolkata, ma’am. Their comms are dead.”
Bales nodded. “I see it now. It’s fluxing in and out.”
Benson almost laughed. What else was going to go wrong? “Keep trying, Ensign Chao. Lieut
enant Bales?”
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Forward the Iwo Jima connection, please.”
“Commander Benson?” It was a nasal, older voice, full of disdain and misplaced confidence. The sort of voice, she had come to realize, that was common in the senior ranks. “This is Captain Yoav Finkel. What is going on, please?”
“Captain Finkel, the Azoren have launched a sneak attack against Kedraal. The Home Defense Fleet has been decimated. You need to get the prime minister away as quickly as possible.”
“The Azoren? Our sensors are picking up nothing—”
“Captain Finkel, please!”
Chao waved a hand to get her attention. “They’re moving, Commander! The Azoren are moving toward the Iwo Jima.”
Finkel’s voice nearly drowned out Chao’s. “Protocol, Commander!”
Benson bowed her head. Blood thrummed in her ears. All she wanted was for once to work with someone who had even an iota of common sense. “Captain Finkel, they’re coming toward you. They’ll be able to fire on you soon. If you could just turn—”
“This is preposterous. We can’t simply take you at your word. We need proof. The prime minister has a tight schedule—”
“To hell with the schedule, Captain Finkel! If you don’t change course—”
“Commander Benson, that is quite enough! You’re speaking to—”
The signal turned to a high-pitched squeal.
Chao shook his head. “Direct hits on Iwo Jima. Two of the escort vessels are gone. The others…”
They hadn’t even bothered to raise their main shields.
It was impossible. Somewhere on the Clarion, Stiles was sitting on data that could blow up the SAID, data that could reveal a connection between them and the Azoren that would tie the intelligence agency to conspiracy with the intent to assassinate the prime minister. And now the assassination had quite possibly succeeded, aided not by a traitor but a stuffy, self-important idiot more concerned about protocol than doing his job.
“Ensign Chao, has the entire enemy fleet moved?”
“Slowly. That damaged destroyer is trailing. They would appear to be focused on wiping out the prime minister’s group.”
Bales smiled. “We’ve got a connection with the Kolkata, ma’am.”
A quick check of the command console confirmed that the wounded destroyer was repeating the tactic—dropping shields long enough to fire all weapons. “Ensign Chao, that destroyer—”
Chao nodded vigorously. “Firing now, Commander. Multiple hits. The Kolkata’s guns hit it amidships. Multiple fires and explosions…”
The destroyer appeared on the giant display in full details, a mixture of render derived from sensors and actual video. Explosions roared bright against the black of space—three, four, five—then the vessel flew apart.
If the Iwo Jima was still operational, it had to have detected the explosion.
As if in answer, Bales pointed to the display. “Communication from the Iwo Jima, ma’am.”
They’re still alive. Benson exhaled. “Captain Finkel—”
“Commander Benson?” The voice was different—huskier, less certain. “This is Commander Okoye.”
“Okoye? Commander, is—”
“Captain Finkel was…injured. We’ve suffered damage but are functional.”
“Can you maneuver away?”
“We can’t. The damage included Fold Space control.”
And why wouldn’t it? “Do you have weapons?”
“Except for a few, yes.”
“Sensors?”
“We do. We registered an explosion.”
“You need to maneuver, Commander Okoye. Whatever in your group can maneuver, do so. These Azoren ships can’t match our acceleration. I think it’s because of the power required for the stealth systems they’re using.”
“We are maneuvering now. Commander Benson, do you have a plan?”
There was fear in the man’s voice. Exasperation and confusion and fear. That might not be ideal, but it was better than the arrogant certainty Finkel had exhibited.
“I did, Commander Okoye. Before you lost Fold Space capabilities.”
She brought up what data there was on the Iwo Jima. A heavy cruiser in the same class as the Galvan. That meant it had some deadly weapons systems and good armor. It could handle a few more hits.
“Ensign Chao, find me another wounded ship we can destroy. Lieutenant Bales, check with the Kolkata. See if there are any other ships from the fleet with weapons online. If there are, have them slave their weapons to the Kolkata.”
Both officers gave a snappy “Yes, ma’am.”
Now she needed one last thing, and she hoped Okoye was as desperate for help as he sounded. “Commander Okoye, if you want a chance to get out of this mess, I’m going to offer it to you right now, but it comes with risk.”
The other officer snorted. “Risk far surpasses certain doom.”
So, he understood his situation. “I’m going to need your weapons officer to work with mine.”
“Yes. For what?”
“We’re going to slave your weapons systems to ours, just as we’re doing with the defense fleet right now.”
“Slave our weapons systems? You will control when and how we fire?”
“We’re the only ships that can detect these Azoren vessels.”
“We have an obligation to protect the prime—”
“Commander Okoye, our best chance of survival is punching these bastards in the nose. Now, we’ve got one chance here—”
Chao nodded; he had a target.
“—and we have fleet weapons ready to support us again—”
Bales flashed a thumbs-up.
“So all we need now is your cooperation.”
It sounded like Okoye sighed. What were his options? The cruiser had no targets to fire at. The worst that would happen would be a few lucky strikes while the coordinated targeting damaged another enemy ship. The big cruiser’s armor could handle that.
“Very well, Commander Benson, although I protest the idea on principle.”
“Noted. Please have your weapons officer pass the Iwo Jima’s sensor and weapons codes along to Ensign Chao.”
Seconds dragged by, then Chao shouted, “Got it! Bringing all weapons to bear now, Commander.”
Benson pinched her nose. She had been certain she would never see anything as hopeless again as what she’d experienced on Jotun, but now she almost missed the giant, icy moon. At least there, she’d only had a couple grumpy Marine officers to contend with.
More seconds ticked by. On the giant display, the Azoren fleet filled the heavens with fire, trying to track down the lumbering cruiser.
Then a web of energy beams flashed on the display.
And heat bloomed around another of the Azoren ships. It was smaller than the one they’d just destroyed, but the eruptions of fire were even more spectacular.
Some of the Azoren ships landed shots on the Iwo Jima, but the damage was nowhere near as dramatic.
The message seemed to finally sink in for the Azoren fleet commander, as the enemy fleet accelerated away from the Iwo Jima.
And away from Kedraal.
Chao laughed, a shocked, glorious sound approaching a hoot. “Commander! They’re running!”
Benson held her breath until she was sure the ships really were fleeing.
But the other two officers made the same sort of hooting sound as Chao.
The enemy fleet really was fleeing.
She relaxed. They’d gained a respite. Now they had to make it count.
13
Devils. Morganson had heard enough about old human superstitions to know that he was dealing with a devil. His legs wobbled unsteadily as the Spear of Destiny accelerated away with all the power that could be spared from non-essential systems. His fleet had trained for this, running with nothing but engines, helm control, and sensors. Now, in the shadows of the bridge that was lit only by the console, he wondered if training matt
ered.
Against devils.
With nothing providing background noise, even whispers became understandable. In the last several minutes, his helmsman and communications officer had acquired names. The fat, red-faced buffoon was Paolo, and the stoop-shouldered idiot was Carlos. And they were certain the Spear was doomed.
Morganson didn’t have the energy to correct them. Nor did he have the conviction.
Fear hung in the quickly stifling air—sweat, desperate breathing.
Some of that fear was his. All of it? No. The glow of the console on the shivering faces of the others made clear he was not alone.
Not Ostmann, though. He was too strong and brave for fear.
Morganson swallowed saliva that had taken on an alien flavor, altered by the chemicals in the air, the desperation and failure exhaled by Carlos and Paolo.
Ensigns Carlos Francisco and Paolo Mencias.
The root of our failure.
Except Morganson knew better.
He needed a drink. It was a human failing, something the Architect despised and discouraged, but the man was a scientist with no understanding of war. He was old and would soon be feeble. Encouraging dangerous competition among those you created in your lab is not the same as leading soldiers into a firefight or commanding a fleet of inadequate ships against an enemy led by a devil.
The captain smoothed his black uniform coat, aware of the heat he could feel beneath its stiff surface. Heat and damp.
It wasn’t the devil that was causing them to fail. And it wasn’t the buffoonish pair of ensigns.
It was the ship designs.
Falling in love with the shadow technology, building strategies and tactics around the certainty that it couldn’t be defeated and that it could overcome every advantage an enemy had…
The ships had to sacrifice speed and sensor range. They had to give up firepower. The ship armor had to be reduced to allow the sensor-fooling skin to properly work. For the substantial advantage of being able to creep into enemy space and launch potentially devastating strikes, the cost was the ability to truly stand up to any return fire.
Not much of a cost when the enemy can’t see you, but the devil…the devil knew where they were somehow. That devil had struck again and again, tearing away the fleet’s frigates and smaller ships and two destroyers. Now he was in command not of a fleet but of a large task force of heavy vessels.
