by Jake Elwood
Tom nodded, telling himself to relax. He felt an overpowering urge to do something, though. Leaving Unger, he walked around the big elm tree, wondering if the tree would survive the war. It would be a shame if it died or was destroyed. It was beautiful, and it had taken decades to grow.
A small face peeked around the trunk at him, then drew back. Tom stopped walking and waited. After a moment the face reappeared, a little girl no more than six or seven years old. She stared up at him, eyes wide and unblinking, then stepped into view. She wore a pink dress and shiny pink slippers, and a pink bow decorated her hair.
"Hello," Tom said. "My name is Tom Thrush."
Her nose crinkled. "That's a funny name."
"Rebecca! That's not a nice thing to say." A woman came around the tree, reaching for the little girl's hand. She and the girl had the same black curly hair, the same pointed chin.
"That's all right," Tom said. "It is a funny name." He smiled at Rebecca. "It's Cree."
She cocked her head. "What's Cree?"
"Cree are from Earth," he said, "but there's a lot of us in space now. We were one of the indigenous tribes in North America." Seeing her blank look, he added, "That's a continent back on Earth."
By the look on her face she was already bored with this history and geography lesson. She said, "Are you in the army?"
"I'm in the United Worlds Navy," he said. When her nose crinkled again he said, "It's like the army."
"Oh." She thought for a moment. "Mommy says bad people are coming here. She says we have to run away."
Tom nodded, aware of the mother's eyes watching him. "Your mommy is right."
"Are the bad people going to hurt us?"
"No." He wished he felt more certain, but he shook his head as if there was no doubt. "You're going to fly away in a couple of hours. You'll be long gone by the time the bad people get here."
"Mommy says the ship needs fixing."
Tom, who was almost beginning to miss his conversation with Pelletier, nodded. "Yes. The repairs are almost done, though." He started to edge away, hoping the little girl would accept this reassurance.
He should have known better.
"What if the bad people get here before the ship is fixed?"
He opened his mouth to tell her there was no danger of that. Then he hesitated, his mouth open. Finally he stepped toward her and dropped into a squat so their eyes were at the same level. "That might happen," he said. "But I have a spaceship in orbit." He pointed at the ceiling. "It's a warship. If bad people come, I'll protect you. I promise."
She stared at him, solemn as a statue. Finally she said, "Okay."
"Your job," said Tom, "is to stay close to your mother and be brave. Can you do that?"
Rebecca responded by lifting a hand to her forehead in a grave salute. Tom saluted her back, then stood. "Good girl."
Unger tapped him on the shoulder, filling Tom with relief. "Sir, I needs to speak to you."
Either he's very perceptive, or there's some new crisis. He let the marine lead him away from Rebecca and her mother. "What is it?"
"A ship just came out of hyperspace. The Dawn Alliance is here."
Tom wanted to say that he needed a moment to think. His subconscious, though, had been preparing without his active attention. He was surprised to find that he knew exactly what to do. "Go to the Spring Sunshine and tell them to hurry up with the repairs."
Unger nodded and left at a run.
"Smitty!" Tom bawled.
The constable came hurrying over. Tom, seeing that every eye in the plaza was on him anyway, pitched his voice so everyone could hear. "The Dawn Alliance is in the system. We need to get everyone aboard the Spring Sunshine." He held a hand up as people started to move. "Now, the ship is still finishing repairs. She won't be leaving for at least half an hour. So there's no need to panic, no need to trample anyone. Move in an orderly fashion to the ship."
People filed toward the corridor leading to Dome Two. Tom walked toward Pelletier and his people, Lachance coming over to join him.
A row of stubborn faces stared at him as he came to a stop. "I was going to forcibly remove you," Tom said. "I still would if time permitted. But we're out of time. I urge you to get to the Spring Sunshine while you can."
No one moved. Pelletier had seven followers left. All of them looked stubborn, implacable.
"Suit yourselves," Tom said. "Don't interfere with the evacuation. Beyond that, all I can say is good luck with the Dawn Alliance." He turned away, looking toward the sound of running footsteps.
It was Unger. He joined Tom and Lachance, then glanced at Pelletier's people a few paces away. He didn't bother lowering his voice as he said, "Are we herding the idiots onto the ship?"
"No. We're heading back to the shuttle." Tom looked around at the rapidly emptying plaza. "We've done what we can here. Now our place is on the Kestrel." Pelletier, foolish as he might be, was right. It was the Navy's job to protect the people of Sunshine Base. "We have to stop that ship."
Chapter 27
The shuttle rose from the surface of Argo, acceleration combining with the ramping up of the shuttle's gravity field until Tom felt as heavy as an elephant. It was responsibility, not gravity, that really weighed him down.
The cockpit windows showed dark sky, without stars or ships. He brought up a view from the aft camera, watched the base shrink with distance, and told himself he'd done enough. Most of the personnel were safe, and most of those who remained would be clear of the base and into hyperspace in a few minutes. As for Pelletier and his followers, well, they had a right to go to hell their own way. I did what I could. It wasn't enough, but it was all I could do.
Stars emerged from the darkness as the shuttle cleared the atmosphere. The Kestrel loomed ahead, expanding as they approached, and Tom imagined the frigate suddenly racing away. The bridge crew had to be considering it. This was a dangerous place to be, after all. Were they tempted to flee?
Did they think they'd be safer if they left their captain behind? He kept leading them farther and farther from Garnet, after all.
Were they right?
He thumbed a button on the dash, calling the Kestrel. When the frigate responded he said, "What's your status?"
"We're good for the moment, Sir," O'Reilly responded. "I've got one ship. No other portals, no other contacts. It looks like maybe a light cruiser." He sounded … not panicky, but certainly rattled. "What do we do, Sir?"
Don’t leave without me. He managed not to say the words out loud. "Watch it. Do standard laser evasion. And sound battle stations." He glanced at his console, which told him only that there was a ship with a Dawn Alliance transponder, and the direction. The Kestrel had better scanners and, frankly, better operators. "Have you got a range?"
"Eight hundred and thirty kilometers. Closing fast. It's definitely a light cruiser, Sir." O'Reilly sounded calmer now.
"Do you have time to pick us up before they reach you?"
"Easy," O'Reilly said, and Tom let his shoulders sag in relief. "They're, let me see, twelve minutes out if they keep accelerating. We'll have you aboard in nine." The speakers went silent for a moment. "We're moving toward you. That'll shave a minute off the collection time."
"Good man," Tom said. There would be emergency vac suits in the back of the shuttle. If he waited until he boarded the Kestrel he could put on his own suit, but every moment was precious. "Suit up," he called to the others in the back of the shuttle. "Then send someone up here to spell me so I can suit up too."
By the time he returned to his seat the shuttle was gliding toward the yawning hatch of the shuttle bay. Tom was back on his feet before touchdown, one hand pressed impatiently to the handplate beside the shuttle's main hatch. He scrambled out as the hatch slid open, stumbling as the Kestrel resumed evasive manoeuvers. He steadied himself and headed for the bridge at a run.
Don't run. It'll alarm the crew. The little voice spoke sense, he knew, but he was completely unable to slow down. Every moment counts,
he told himself. I'm not panicking. I'm just not wasting any time.
It didn't matter, because he didn't encounter a single person in the short stretch of corridors and stairwells between the shuttle bay and the bridge. He slowed to a walk for the last few steps before he stepped through the hatch and onto the bridge.
Several heads swivelled to look at him, and the sense of relief from the crew was so strong it stopped Tom in his tracks. Do they think I know what to do? I haven't got the faintest idea. Why can't they see it?
It was a singularly unhelpful thought, and he suppressed it, crossing to the captain's chair and taking a seat. He'd gotten used to the chair in the long days since he'd taken command. Now, though, in the face of a crisis, he felt the significance of it more strongly than he had since the day he took over.
Oh my God, I don't know what to do. I'm not a real captain. I can't handle this.
Well, what would a real captain do? Or say?
"Status," Tom said, surprised that he sounded quite calm.
"The bogey is headed directly toward us," O'Reilly said. "They haven't tried to contact us, and we haven't tried to talk to them. They're about eleven minutes out." The other ship had stopped accelerating, then.
Cruisers, even light cruisers, were a class up from frigates. The bogey would have more mass, more gun turrets, more missiles in her magazines. She would be able to dish out more damage, and soak up more damage when the Kestrel fought back. She was heading straight for the frigate because she knew she would win this battle.
"We have plenty of time to bug out," O'Reilly said. "A course of sixty degrees by fifteen will get us far enough from Argo to open a portal in about eight minutes, and it'll increase our distance from the bogey at the same time." His hands rose, hovering over his console as he waited for Tom to give the order.
Tom opened his mouth. Take us out of here. Those were the words he wanted desperately to utter. Take us out of here. Get us back to Garnet. Get us out of danger before someone else gets killed.
Before I get killed.
Instead, he said, "Belay that."
O'Reilly said, "But-" then closed his mouth.
"The last transport is still loading back at Sunshine. We have to buy them enough time to escape." He turned to the com station. "Onda. Have you contacted the base?"
Onda nodded. "They know about the ship. They say they're hurrying." Onda looked at Tom with wide eyes. He looked frightened. And perhaps a bit betrayed. I'm his captain. I'm supposed to keep him safe. I'm not supposed to put him in harm's way.
Tom wanted desperately to follow that thought to its logical conclusion, to bug out and tell himself he was doing his duty. He felt himself wavering, and closed his eyes, remembering little Rebecca and her grave salute.
He opened his eyes. He'd made his decision, but a bowel-watering fear still filled him. I need to make it irrevocable. Otherwise I'll lose my nerve. And Rebecca and her family and all the others will pay the price.
He grabbed the microphone on the arm of his chair. He brought the mic up near his mouth, and heard the bridge speakers hum as the mic went live.
"Now hear this. This is the captain speaking." His own voice came from the bridge speakers, amplified, distracting him. He hesitated, gathering his thoughts, gathering his nerve.
"A Dawn Alliance light cruiser has entered the system and is threatening Sunshine Base. The last civilians are still evacuating. The only thing between the light cruiser and the civilians is us."
The bridge was silent, every eye fixed on him. It would be the same all over the ship, the crew hanging on his words, waiting to find out how much trouble they were in.
"Ever since the outbreak of the war, we have been mostly concerned with our own safety. It was always my intention to deliver you promptly to Garnet as soon as our message of warning was delivered to Sunshine. I had planned to avoid combat.
"However, the situation has changed. A large number of civilians are in grave danger. In the final analysis, this is a ship of war, and we are soldiers. Whether spacers, marines, United Worlds crew or Havenites or … free-range revolutionaries, all of us share one goal. We protect our people. We defend the innocent in times of war."
Words that had rung hollow in his mind sounded authentic, undeniable, when he spoke them out loud. He was right, he realized. By the looks on their faces, the bridge crew realized it as well.
"The civilians on Sunshine are not armed. They cannot defend themselves. They look to us for their protection, and we will not fail them. We will do our duty and buy them the time they need to escape." Most of them, anyway. The ones who aren't too stubborn and foolish to flee. He took a deep breath, wishing his mouth weren't so dry. "To someone who didn't know you, this voyage might have looked like a nightmare proposition. We've assembled a most unlikely crew. However, I've seen each of you rise to one challenge after another, again and again. I've been deeply impressed with every one of you. There's no one I would rather have with me in a time of war."
He pushed the microphone down, heard a click from the speakers as the connection broke. He got the mic properly stowed, then looked around the bridge. It might have been his imagination, but he thought the atmosphere had changed. The crew was no longer frightened, no longer thinking of escape.
They were thinking of the civilians they must protect. They were thinking of war.
Yes, his inner voice mocked. You gave such a brilliant speech that they're all inspired and ready to die at your order.
O'Reilly glanced up from his console, gave Tom the barest hint of a nod, and looked down again.
"All right," said Tom. "This won't be an easy fight. Let's make sure we're ready."
Reports came in from one station after another. "Gun crews are standing by."
"Damage control teams are ready."
"Missiles are loaded and ready to fly."
"We're ready here in Operations," Trenholm said, sounding almost indecently cheerful. "I hate having to do real work, though, so try not to get yourselves killed, okay?"
"I'll do my best not to inconvenience you," Tom said dryly. "O'Reilly. What's the bogey doing?"
"Coming straight at us."
"Good," Tom said as convincingly as he could. "Fire lasers, and continue standard evasion."
The stars wobbled as the Kestrel jinked and dodged in a series of random movements. The approaching cruiser would do the same, each ship hoping to score a lucky hit. The range of a laser was effectively infinite in the vacuum of space. Accuracy was the only challenge.
A particularly sharp turn made the seat move beneath him, and he saw the bridge crew rock gently back and forth. The Kestrel's internal force fields absorbed most of the motion and kept them all from whipping around. "Benson fields on."
"Benson fields on," echoed Harris at the Tactical console. Any incoming missiles would have their electronics scrambled at a range of almost three kilometers, which gave the Kestrel an excellent chance of dodging.
Tom checked the console in front of him, watching the range between the ships close. How long until they start firing missiles?
He had his answer a moment later when a buzzer sounded at the tactical station. "Missiles!" said Harris. The man hunched over his console for a moment, then straightened up and turned to look at Tom. "Three missiles inbound. Destroyed at a range of about fifty kilometers."
The laser crews would be sitting idle, watching as the ship's computer controlled the weapons. The Kestrel had sliced those missiles into pieces before Harris even had time to look down at his console.
"Do we shoot back?" said Harris.
"Just with lasers," Tom said. "Let them waste missiles if they want to." He'd probe their defenses with a missile soon, but not until the range was closer.
"What if they launch a nuke?"
Tom looked around the bridge, not sure who had spoken. He sensed a tension that hadn't been there a moment ago, and a cold fist clenched in his guts. He was scared of a nuke. They all were.
"There won't be a
nuke. They'd have fired it already. If they fire one now, we'll take it out with lasers." He wasn't entirely convinced by his own argument, but the crew seemed to accept it. He checked the range on his console, watched the numbers count down, and thumbed a button that opened a channel to the missile bay. He spent a moment struggling to remember the name of the man who commanded the bay. "Franco. This is the captain. Prepare me a smart missile."
"Already in the launcher," said Franco.
"Stand by for just a moment." He watched his console until the range closed to a hundred kilometers. "Fire the missile now!"
"Missile's away," said Harris. Tom glimpsed the missile, or at least the flare of light from the tail, before it vanished in the distance. Smart missiles dodged and zigzagged as they flew, avoiding a lot of laser fire. They carried a primitive scanner package, calculated the range to their target, and stopped evading just outside the reach of a Benson field. The missile would coast in for the last few kilometers, unconcerned with disruptions to its electronics.
A good defense package could still destroy a smart missile at considerable range. Tom kept his eyes glued to his console, fighting the urge to hold his breath as he watched the missile close with the enemy cruiser. There was even a glorious moment when he thought it would get through. Then the yellow dot on his screen that represented the missile flashed red and disappeared.
"Destroyed at a range of three kilometers," Harris reported, and Tom let his shoulders slump. The cruiser had tagged the missile at almost the instant it entered their Benson field. If they'd been sloppy he might have tried a salvo of missiles in the hope that a few might get through. It was clear, though, that it would be a waste of ammunition.
A siren sounded, just for an instant, making Tom jump in his seat. He looked at Harris.
"Laser strike," Harris said. "Aft hull. No damage reported. We probably have a nasty black mark in the paint, though."
We're doing well so far, Tom realized. They must be blazing away at us with everything they've got, and that's their first hit. He checked the range; sixty kilometers and closing fast. "Back. Maintain a range of … fifty kilometers." If we can avoid a toe-to-toe slug match we might still survive this. We'll stay far enough back to dodge most of what they throw at us. We'll keep them busy chasing us, and then we'll get out of here.
