by Timothy Zahn
“Or so that we can’t throw out the fighters,” Forsythe said. “Or maybe they don’t want us throwing out the liner?”
Pirbazari shook his head. “It would take some serious reconfiguration of the catapult ships to get to the liner now,” he said. “You can see the Harmonic was careful to get well out of the center of the pyramid before launching the fighters.”
“Then why is it going back in?” a short woman standing beside Forsythe asked. “I mean, if all the fighters are already gone?”
Forsythe frowned. She was right: the liner had shifted course and was accelerating on a vector that would take it close to the Number Two catapult ship. “Zar?” Forsythe murmured.
“The Pax must still be in command there,” Pirbazari said. “On his own, a liner captain would certainly get his ship out of a combat zone as quickly as possible.”
“Obviously,” Forsythe said. “But what exactly is he doing?”
Pirbazari exhaled slowly. “That I don’t know,” he admitted. “EmDef counted a hundred fighters, and that’s all the lifeboat bays a ship that size has. And the fighters are too big to have doubled up.”
Forsythe rubbed his chin. “What about other weapons? Could they have loaded heavy lasers or other missiles aboard?”
“Where would they mount them?” Pirbazari countered. “There aren’t any weapons bays or pods on a liner. It’s got a couple of meteor-defense lasers, but those aren’t big enough for anyone to worry about.”
“EmDef seems worried about them,” someone else said, pointing. “Look—there they go.”
The EmDef destroyers guarding Number Two were indeed on the move. Leaving one of their number behind as close-support to the catapult ship, the rest were now accelerating to intercept the incoming liner. “A feint?” Forsythe suggested.
“I’d say there’s a feint going on somewhere,” Pirbazari agreed tightly. “They only need to hit two of the four ships to disable the catapult. Yet between the fighters and the liner, they’re now threatening three of them.”
And given the odds the Pax ships were facing, it didn’t make sense for their commander to split up his forces more than he absolutely had to. “Maybe they’re just going for insurance.”
“Or as you said, one of them is a feint,” Pirbazari said. “Designed either to draw off or pin down some of the defenders.” He nodded at the screen. “The question is, which one?”
The battles for Numbers One and Three were burning fiercely now, the opposing ships lighting up with the faint flashes of laser and plasma weapons, or the brighter bursts of missile explosions. The EmDef destroyers were by far the larger craft, and with hulls modeled on those of angel hunterships they certainly had the thicker skins. In a straight slugging match, even top-of-the-line Pax fighters probably wouldn’t stand a chance.
But the enemy commander was too smart to play it that way. His fighters were far more maneuverable than the destroyers, and he was using that edge to his full advantage. Dodging in and out of the EmDef defense formation, the Pax ships worked against the destroyers, worked the destroyers against each other, and systematically pumped small missiles through the screen at the two catapult ships.
Most of the shots missed, or were blocked by the destroyers, or were eliminated by defensive fire en route. But a few of them were getting through. Too many of them.
And as Forsythe listened to EmDef Command’s running commentary, he realized that the situation out there was rapidly becoming serious.
Still, the Pax fighters were taking casualties, too. One by one, occasionally in pairs as a lead pilot and his wingman were caught in the same blast, they flashed and shattered and winked out.
But not fast enough. Not nearly fast enough. Through a red haze of anger and frustration and fear, Forsythe watched as the two catapult ships continued to take hit after hit.
And then, suddenly, the operational end of Number One flared with a blue-white fire. “What was that?” someone yelped.
“They got it,” Pirbazari confirmed. “Not the whole ship, but the part that counts.”
Someone else swore. “Then why don’t they leave it?” he demanded. “Look at them. Isn’t it enough that they knocked out the catapult? Now they want to kill everyone aboard, too?”
Forsythe ground his teeth together helplessly. The man was right: instead of veering off, the Pax fighters were still swarming around the crippled catapult ship. “Going for vengeance,” he muttered.
“I don’t think so,” Pirbazari said doubtfully. “Vengeance in the middle of battle is a very unprofessional thing to do. And if there’s one thing those people are, it’s professional. My guess is they’re still trying to keep that group of destroyers pinned down.”
“So that their comrades will be free to take out Number Three,” Forsythe growled.
EmDef had apparently come to the same conclusion. Abruptly, the destroyers guarding the fourth, unthreatened, catapult ship pulled away, heading for the beleaguered Number Three.
“Finally getting some backup over there,” someone near the front said. “About time.”
Forsythe felt his eyes narrow. The backup would certainly be welcome … but at the same time, drawing those destroyers into the fray at Number Three meant leaving Number Four completely helpless. “Zar, what in blazes are they doing?”
“They’re gambling,” Pirbazari said grimly. “With Number One down, they can’t afford to lose any of the others—if they do, they can’t catapult any Pax ships that come into the net. They don’t see the Harmonic as being any real threat to Number Two, and Number Four is far enough away from the battles for them to have plenty of warning if any of the fighters suddenly turn and head that direction. So they concentrate their defense on Number Three.”
“Sounds damn risky.”
“It is damn risky,” Pirbazari agreed. ‘The theory is sound enough; the destroyers can get back to Number Four pretty quickly, and the catapult ship itself isn’t exactly defenseless.”
He gestured toward the screen. “But there’s that assumption that the Harmonic isn’t a threat to Number Two. I’m not sure I buy that.”
Forsythe looked over at that section of the display. The destroyers from Number Two had reached and surrounded the big passenger ship. Concentrating on that part of the running voice track, he could hear the EmDef squadron commander ordering the Harmonic to open its airlocks and accept boarders.
“They’ve been calling on the liner to surrender for the past couple of minutes,” Pirbazari said. “So far, the captain has been stalling them.”
Forsythe shot a glance back at Number Three. The destroyers that had deserted Number Four to come to its aid were nearly within close-point attack range, and in fact the front ships of the formation were already beginning to spark laser flashes toward the invaders.
But the Pax fighters seemed unaware of them. Still dodging in and out of the defending ships, they continued to hammer at the catapult ship.
He looked back at the liner, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. The Pax fighters ignoring the incoming destroyers; the liner, still under enemy control, making no move; the Number Four catapult ship completely open to attack and the Number Two nearly as helpless.
Yet nothing was happening. Why wasn’t anything happening?
And then, suddenly, he understood. “Call EmDef,” he ordered, gripping Pirbazari’s arm. “Tell them to shut down that net.”
Pirbazari blinked. “High Senator, they can’t do that. It’s the only one still operating, remember?”
“I know that,” Forsythe said. Any second now. It had to be any second now. “Call and give the order.”
“If we shut it down, the whole system will be open,” Pirbazari objected. “The rest of the Pax force will be able to come in anywhere.”
“They don’t want to come in anywhere,” Forsythe snapped. “Don’t you see? They want their reinforcements to come in right here. Here, where they can keep their advance force from being slaughtered.”
“But
then—?”
“What are they waiting for?” Forsythe jabbed a finger at the screen. “They’re waiting for their clock to run down. They know that the second they knock out the catapult, EmDef will shut down the net. They’ll have maybe a half-minute window; and that’s what they’re going for.”
Pirbazari’s eyes were darting across the screen, his lips half curled back from his teeth. Except for the running EmDef voice track, Forsythe noted distantly, the whole room had gone silent.
With a jerk, Pirbazari snatched out his phone. “Yes,” he said, beginning to punch in a number. “You’re right. Damn it.”
But it was too late. Even as he punched in the last number and lifted the phone to his ear, the Harmonic finally made its move.
There was a flash from the liner’s midsection, a burst of flame and curling smoke that resolved itself into the fiery tail of a missile. It was followed by another flash as the liner rotated beneath the departing weapon, the second missile bursting out almost directly into the exhaust trail of the first.
Then came another, and another, and another, each new missile emerging just as the liner rotated into position and then dropping into line behind the others like baby ducks following their mother.
Pirbazari swore gently. “The airlocks,” he said. “Of course. No weapons bays or pods on a liner; so they just loaded their missiles into the airlocks.”
The surrounding destroyers tried to react, their own counterweapons blazing away at the line of enemy missiles. But the EmDef ships were too close to the liner, their antimissile defenses too slow to respond. And the destroyers were too far out of line to move into the missiles’ path and take the hits themselves.
Abruptly, Forsythe realized why. The destroyers had, cautiously enough, arranged themselves in defensive formation between the Harmonic and the Number Two catapult ship, the closest and therefore most obvious target for an attack originating from the liner.
But that wasn’t where the missiles were aimed. They were, instead, burning space for the more distant Number Four.
The ship whose destroyers were all currently at Number Three.
The EmDef commander saw it the same time Forsythe did. Orders were snapped, and within seconds the destroyers from Number Four were disengaging from their defense of Number Three and circling back around.
Or rather, they were trying to disengage. But with the trap sprung, the Pax fighters now abandoned their attack on the already crippled catapult ship and concentrated their fire on the destroyers. Even as the EmDef ships pulled free and headed toward Number Four the fighters moved with them, nipping at their heels like tigers attacking a group of fleeing elephants.
A sudden flicker of light caught Forsythe’s eye. Number Four’s defense lasers had found the range, and the lead Pax missile had been flashed into dust Forsythe held his breath …
But no. The Pax commander had anticipated this one, too. The lead missile was destroyed, all right; but the cloud of debris it had become was still moving along its original vector.
And as Number Four’s lasers continued to fire, Forsythe realized that the debris was actually shielding the missiles behind it from the attacks.
Again, the EmDef commander was right on top of things. Another series of orders, and two formations of antimissiles streaked out from Number Four’s launchers. The first group swept through the dust cloud and converged on the next Pax missile in line—
This time the flash was bright enough to activate the telescope screen’s sun filters, creating a brief dead spot in the view.
But not a circular one, as Forsythe would have expected from a normal explosion. Instead, this dead spot was triangular, stretching forward with the rear apex where the Pax warhead had been. Seconds later, when the dead spot cleared away, the second Pax missile was gone.
So were both waves of EmDef antimissiles.
“I’ll be cursed,” Pirbazari murmured, sounding more awed than angry. “A shaped charge. They had a shaped charge in that warhead.”
Forsythe stared at the screen as Number Four’s lasers opened up again and a third wave of antimissiles spat out. “I haven’t noticed them use anything like that anywhere else today.”
“They haven’t,” Pirbazari confirmed darkly. “Their commander seems to have done a very good job of anticipating our defense tactics.”
Forsythe curled his hands into fists. Number Four’s lasers caught the next Pax missile in line, sparking another of the brilliant triangular blasts. Again, the incoming antimissiles died in the explosion. ‘They’re not going to make it, Zar,” he said quietly. “They’re not going to have time to destroy all those missiles before the last ones get there.”
Pirbazari sighed softly. “I know.”
“The ship’s got shielding,” someone across the room said, his voice sounding desperate. “Maybe it’ll be enough.”
“No.” Pirbazari pointed at the screen. “See the ID they’ve attached to the last missile in line? It’s a Pax Hellfire missile. Subnuclear warhead, extreme armor penetration, heavy electromagnetic scrambling. If it hits, the catapult will be gone. Along with the rest of the ship.”
“Then why doesn’t it get out of there?” someone else croaked. “Why the hell doesn’t it get out of there?”
“Shut up,” Forsythe ordered. “Can’t you see it’s trying?”
Number Four’s drive had come to full power, driving it onto a vector perpendicular to the path of the incoming Pax missiles. Forsythe found himself holding his breath again as the catapult ship picked up speed. If the ship’s electronic search-dampers worked—if the Pax missiles missed the fact that their target had moved out of their path—
“No,” Pirbazari said suddenly. “No!”
“What?” Forsythe asked, his eyes searching the screen for a new threat. But there was nothing he could see. “What?”
“It’s out of position,” Pirbazari said, pointing. Somewhere along the way, he’d put his phone away. Now, abruptly, he was hauling it out again. “Don’t you see? By moving away, it’s now dragged the catapult focal ellipse completely out of the net area.”
A cold hand closed around Forsythe’s heart. “Which means if something comes in—”
“They can’t throw it out again,” Pirbazari said viciously as he jammed the phone to his ear. “Come on—answer. Answer.”
But once again, it was too late. Even as the next enemy missile in line was destroyed, a Pax warship appeared in the center of the net region.
But not just any warship. This thing was huge; bigger than any spacecraft the Empyrean had ever dreamed of creating. Bigger even than the original colony ships that had brought their ancestors to these worlds. A long, dark, monstrosity of a ship, bristling with weapons, everything about it resonating with arrogance and power and death.
The Komitadji had arrived.
Someone gasped a strangled curse, his voice stunned and awed and terrified. The big warship was already on the move, putting more distance between itself and the catapult focus as it lumbered toward the Harmonic and the EmDef destroyers surrounding it.
And, of course, toward the Number Two catapult ship.
The destroyers saw the danger, of course. But even as they scrambled away from the liner to turn to this new threat Forsythe saw that, for one last time, EmDef had been out-thought and outmaneuvered. For the next few minutes, until the destroyers could get back in position, there would be nothing but Number Two’s own defenses and shielding between it and the Komitadji.
The Komitadji didn’t need even that long. Ten seconds later, a dozen high-power lasers flashed simultaneously from the warship’s bow, all of them focused with surgical precision on the catapult end of the ship. With a roiling mass of vaporized metal and a flare of blue-white fire, the catapult equipment was gone.
And with it, the catapult.
“That’s it, then,” Pirbazari murmured. “The Komitadji’s here to stay.”
“We have to stop it,” Forsythe said, his heart thudding in his ears. “
We have to attack. Slow it down, get more catapult ships into position—”
He broke off, staring at the screen in disbelief. Instead of attacking, the EmDef ships were turning away from the Komitadji. Not just the catapult ships, but the destroyers, too. All of them were turning away.
Turning away and running.
“What’s going on?” Forsythe demanded. “Where are they going?”
“They’re retreating,” Pirbazari said. “The order just came in to—”
“Order?” Forsythe echoed. “What order? Give me that phone.”
“Sir—”
Forsythe snatched the phone out of his hand. “This is High Senator Forsythe,” he bit out. “What’s going on?”
“The EmDef forces are withdrawing, High Senator,” a young-sounding female voice answered.
“I can see that,” Forsythe snapped. “Turn them around. All of them.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me,” Forsythe said. “Turn them around and attack.”
No one replied. “Soldier?” Forsythe said. “Did you hear me? Soldier?”
“High Senator, this is General Roshmanov,” a new voice came on. “Is there a problem?”
“Yes, there’s a problem,” Forsythe ground out. “Why are your forces withdrawing in the face of the enemy?”
“Sir, there’s no way those destroyers can stand up against something that size,” Roshmanov said. “It would be nothing less than suicide.”
“It would be war,” Forsythe insisted. “Isn’t that the reason EmDef exists? To risk and possibly give their lives in the defense of the Empyrean?”
‘To give their lives in battle, yes, High Senator,” Roshmanov said. “But not to throw them away for nothing.”
“And how do you know it would be for nothing?” Forsythe countered. Vaguely, he was aware that his voice was rising, but at the moment he didn’t give a single damn. “How do you know until you try?”
“Sir, if you would just take a look at the size of that—”
“So it’s big,” Forsythe snarled. “So what? Do you always give up and surrender without a fight just because you’re not sure you can win?”
