Lafier sharply pivoted course, and one of the warheads met its end against an antiproton torrent. Meanwhile, Ecryua’s laser cannon spurted its rays, and consigned one of the warheads to oblivion, then another.
She’s an excellent gunner, thought Lafier.
“The Cidrogrh has fallen!” shouted Sobash.
The fellow assault ship that had been soaring to the Basrogrh’s port side now lay with its hull sliced in twain. The antimatter fuel must have leaked from the perforated section, as the Cidrogrh had been rendered a swelling lump of plasma instantaneously.
There was no surviving that. The face of Captain Béïcarh flashed through Lafier’s mind. She bit her lip. In the end, he never even survived long enough to keep worrying what people thought of his skills.
Yet she had no time to waste mourning or pitying him. The formerly sleeping warheads were still stirring to activity, one after the other.
“Ecryua, shoot anything that looks like a warhead, even if it’s not accelerating.”
“Yes,” Ecryua nodded deeply. “But my hands are full with just the ones that are accelerating.”
“I see. So that’s their ‘new weapon,’” groaned Neleth.
It was not particularly novel or revolutionary. If one searched through the catalog of weaponry from when the Star Forces battled exclusively in 3-space, they’d be almost sure to find a similar contraption. In short, after the mines got blown to fragments, they’d sleep for a fixed amount of time before resurrecting to fling themselves at nearby targets. But that was the only way they differed from normal mines. And they were largely pointless in planar space. There were multi-warhead mobile space-time mines, but even if they played dead within the limited space of a space-time bubble, they’d just be sitting ducks for enemy fire, so they posed no real advantage. However, when used in a large-scale 3-space battle, they proved a true nuisance.
“What do we do, Neleth?”
“How about some suggestions from you, Nefeh?” Even as he was trading choice words with his Chief of Staff of a twin, his brain was churning on all cylinders. “For the time being, let’s withdraw the assault ships and push forward the defense ships. Then tell the defense ships to take care of any and all objects they deem suspicious. Don’t have the assault ships withdraw too much. If and when the enemy ships arrive in force, it’ll be a nightmare for the defense ship corps this time around.”
“Got it. Yet another plan that’s perfectly average.”
“Your sweet praises are always a treat to hear. Another thing: can we consolidate the information accrued by all of our ships and uncover the records behind those enemy warheads?”
“What do you mean?” Nefeh frowned.
“We’ll look into whether each of the post-division warheads have been blown down yet. Then we’ll know that whichever ones haven’t been blown down and aren’t accelerating are in fact waiting in ambush. We can raise awareness against them. Can the flagships’ compucrystals perform that level of operation?”
“They’d end up processing vast amounts of data. It’s at least worth trying, though. I’ll confer with the officer in charge whether it’s possible. Anything else?”
“No. Please hurry.”
“Okay.” Nefeh ambled toward his subordinates, his long robe swishing in the air.
Neleth took a deep breath. He was aware how irate he was. Enough with this game of forbearance! I feel like just taking the battle to planar space for a do-or-die showdown. But Neleth shook his head. There would be no “do” — only “die.”
Neleth shuddered. Am I falling prey to the “florid madness” of the Biboth clan?
Thanks to the defense ships taking the front lines, things had gotten much less desperate.
Lafier was breathing hard; the Basrogrh had taken quite the beating. It was a miracle the propulsor engines and firearms were functioning without issue. And above all else, she thanked the stars there were no casualties among her crew.
“All ships are to retreat temporarily,” said Atosryua’s voice. “I received permission from Squadron Command.”
“Unit Commander, you can’t be serious,” Lafier objected despite herself. “My ship can still fight.”
“Deca-Commander Abliar.” Atosryua’s holographic face made a sour expression. “Please don’t speak such twaddle. If you weren’t in a condition to fight, you wouldn’t be in a condition to retreat. And your ship must be as beat up as everyone else’s. You need to withdraw for stopgap repairs. If your lust for battle isn’t sated, don’t worry. You will have to zip straight back to the field in no time at all.”
“...I understand.”
“That’s a relief. Anyone besides Deca-Commander Abliar have any complaints? No, I take it. Now then, fall back at max battlefield acceleration. Route specifications will be sent.”
Lafier steered the bow away from the zone of war. When they were quite far removed, she noticed her right hand was shaking from the nervous tension. Try as she might, she could not quell the shaking through sheer willpower.
Look at me! How pitiful! She lashed out in anger at her own weakness of mind. Half of her wanted to restrain her right hand using her left, but sadly, that hand was currently tucked inside the control gauntlet.
She couldn’t think of any other way, so she ended up biting on her right wrist.
“How’s it taste?”
Embarrassed, Lafier looked up to find Jint’s probing expression, and the glass full of peach juice he was handing her.
“I thought you’d prefer it cold during times like these, so I prepared it chilled, but... perhaps you’re more in the mood for the blood of the living.”
“What sort of creature do you think I am!?” She took the glass with her right hand, which had stopped trembling.
“I mean, I figure you hardly need to be inhuman to feel like sucking blood from time to time. Not that I’ve ever felt the urge.”
“Well I haven’t, either.”
“Gotcha. So you weren’t blood-famished.”
“No, I was not!”
“Yeesh, with the shouting. Ever heard the saying ‘the lady doth protest too much’?”
“Captain,” said Samson, rising to his feet. “Forgive my rudeness, but may I receive your permission to have the NCCs take off their pressure suits? I believe we’ve left the danger zone for the time being, and working with those suits on is on the difficult side.”
“Oh, it slipped my notice. You have my permission.”
“Thank you kindly.”
“But what ‘rudeness’ was there to forgive?”
“Oh, just that I interrupted that exchange. Looked to me you were having fun.”
Chapter 8: The Claith Sitonr (Ties That Bind)
At this rate, I think we can just make it, thought Dusanh as he regarded the tide-of-battle diagram.
The Aptic Portal was under a tight encirclement, and there was no sign they’d fall any time soon.
The right flank, taken by the fleet of Grand Commodore Cotponic, was entering through the sector between Aptic and Miskehrr. That would cut off the enemy’s rear. The left, taken by Grand Commodore Lulaimh’s fleet, was hanging over the Saudec Miscerer (Miscerec Portal) much like an umbrella, and was advancing toward the Aptic Portal this very moment.
“I believe Miskehrr is in the clear now. Tell the defensive fleet to emerge from standby at once,” he ordered Kenesh. “The moment they receive the directive, the Raicporiac Miscerer (Miskehrr Defensive Fleet) will become Byrec Ceudana Rainibr (Phantom Flame Fleet 17).”
“Roger that,” Kenesh saluted.
The main fleet, commanded directly by Dusanh, was aimed straight for the Aptic Portal, with six smaller fleets following about. Those were the ad hoc task force corps, numbered 11 through 16, and they were indispensable since their size made them ideal for enacting commands with comparatively increased flexibility. Lastly, directly behind the main fleet lay the fortified Fleet 1.
Now that they’d closed the distance on the enemy to this extent, th
eir “precursive-recon mission” had lost all meaning. In its present state, Fleet 1 was Dusanh’s elite corps, his ace in the hole.
He sat upright in his Commander-in-Chief’s Seat, but his eyes were as ever on the blip representing the Aptic Portal. Mr. Dubeus’s daughter is serving there, if I recall. I hear that young man, the Count of Hyde, is on the same ship, too. I’d like for them to survive. If they die for us here, it’ll weigh on my conscience.
A repair ship extended its retractable landing dock for the assault ship Basrogrh to touch down, and proceeded to replace its armor plating. Then, one of the battle-line ships that had been temporarily ordered to act as a propellant resupply ship refueled the Basrogrh’s bisœcec (propellant tank). All the while, the busiest of the bunch was Samson, the Inspector Supervisor.
Nearly all of the NCCs on the Basrogrh were subordinates under his direct command. That made twelve out of the twenty crew on board — more than half. The ship didn’t need that many workers to control the ship; rather, they formed a sort of supervisory department, there to perform inspections, maintenance, and repairs. And as such, they were always at their most occupied right after a battle.
Jint, as the clerk, was fairly busy himself. He had three NCCs under his command, in charge respectively of cooking, accounting, and combat medicine. The Sach Cnéïr (Chef NCC)’s work tasks hadn’t changed, and since they had happily avoided casualties, the Sach Lïalér (Medic NCC) had nothing to do. But the Sach Scérr (Accounting NCC) and their boss had to check what consumables and parts they needed to restock, in addition to the irksome clerical work on their desks. A military could never escape the laws and regulations that constituted a bureaucratic machine, and the Star Forces were no exception.
Compared to the rest, the three Flight Branch starpilots weren’t busy at all. This was especially the case for Senior Starpilot Sobash, who hadn’t even had much to do during the battle. His was the crucial task of manipulating the space-time bubble, but bubbles didn’t usually factor into 3-space battles. It was therefore quite reasonable of him to offer to momentarily handle the piloting and the issuing of commands the way that he did. He also suggested the Captain unwind; the battle clearly had her exhausted. She took his counsel, and ordered the Deputy Starpilot to likewise take a rest, as she was in all likelihood just as tired — though one couldn’t tell from her expression.
On top of having been born a royal princess of the Empire, Lafier had learned and honed skills that were the envy of those who heard tell of her prodigious talents. One of those skills was the ability to sleep anywhere, at any time. Consequently, she was currently sleeping in her quarters. Heated combat was taking place a mere 50 saidagh away, but fortunately, space battles always shifted phases in silence, so that was no obstacle to her shut-eye.
What did obstruct her sleep was not some explosion’s rumbling, but a feline’s forlorn mewling.
“Is that you, Dyaho?” Lafier lifted her head from her pillow, and looked in the sound’s direction. A cat, on the other side of the ventilator.
Usually, there was no way a cat could enter the ventilation system, but now that Samson and his people had a fair few of the vent apertures open, she could see how he’d slipped through.
“I’ll let you out right now, so wait for me there,” said Lafier, sliding off her berth. Then she removed the grate.
Dyaho gracefully leapt to the floor, and licked his face; he appeared relieved now.
“You’d best not roam so far astray,” Lafier lectured him. “If the crew ever has to evacuate, you might get left behind.”
But Dyaho made no indication he understood her kind words of warning.
“Of course, it would behoove us to avoid that situation altogether,” she continued, giving him a scratch. “Do you think I can handle this ship until this fight ends?”
Dyaho’s purr was sopping with faith in her.
“Well now,” she beamed, but the next moment, his owner cast a shadow over the cat’s face. “Somehow, I can’t trust your opinion.”
“So now we’re short on fusion warheads?” said Neleth, holding his head.
“Never thought we’d see the day we ran out of ammo,” said Nefeh nonchalantly.
The waves and waves of enemy mines were so relentless that the EM cannons of patrol ships were needed to destroy them. And because of that, the fusion warheads that were those cannons’ bullets were almost all gone before the enemy ships had even showed themselves.
“What do we do? Got any ideas?” asked Neleth, turning to look at his Chief of Staff.
“I suppose we’ll simply have to reserve the rest for later.”
“So you want to order them to hold back on their rounds? Think of the humiliation.”
“Losing patrol ships due to lack of ammo is even more humiliating, don’t you agree?”
“I know. From here on out, they are forbidden to use EM cannons against the mines.”
“That’ll put more of a burden on the defense ships.”
“There’s just no other way. Once the enemy ships enter the fray, their role here will end anyway. That’s when they can get some well-earned rest.”
“True.” Nefeh scratched the tip of his nose, by all appearances staring vacantly, but that was just him engaged in thought, in his own unique manner.
“Commander-in-Chief!” shouted the Communications Officer. “Multiple enemy ships are breaching through the portal!”
The battle was entering its next phase, but more than anything else, Neleth was relieved. “Have the defense ships retreat at once!”
“Took them long enough to run out of ammo themselves!” said Nefeh.
“Oh, they’re not out of ammo yet. They’ve still got fusion warheads aplenty.”
“I understand that, Neleth. But sometimes you just want to see the bright side. We’ve had precious little opportunity these past months and years.”
Neleth elected to ignore his brother’s reflections.
“The full-on brawl you’ve all been waiting for with bated breath is at hand!” Atosryua proclaimed. “I wager you’ve been sitting here angry, what with how we were thrown nothing but silly, tedious targets like mines and patrol ships. Well, we’ll now be fighting enemy assault ships. And if you fall behind, I’ll take it as a personal affront.”
Lafier took a deep breath to pacify her beating heart. She wondered whether the day would come where she’d be totally composed stepping into battle.
She focused her frocragh. Detritus was floating in uncountable amounts, same as before. Among the floating matter slept “dead” warheads as well, prone to spring on their prey. But using the information from the flagship, it was possible to tell which ones were the vengeful possums. Ecryua applied herself to the laser cannons, assiduously making sure they stayed dead.
Then, bigger beasts caught their attention. Several ships were approaching straight from around the Aptic Portal ahead, but these were not the enemy; they were the allied defense ships, now in retreat. The enemy came in the form of the assault ships chasing after the defense ship herds.
Assault Unit 1, currently reduced to a mere four ships, rushed between the defense ships and their pursuers. There were six vessels to contend with. No choice now but to struggle through the unfavorable two-ship gap.
“Concentrate fire on Ship 6,” came Atosryua’s command. The lead assault ship Gamrorgh’s compucrystals had given the enemy ships identifying number tags. “Ship 6” was positioned at the tip of the left flank. “Reverse course upon flyby. We’ll aim for Ship 1 next. Everyone got that?”
“Roger,” Lafier replied concisely.
The four ships of Assault Unit 1 drew so close their sides were near to touching, and they each took aim. The enemy cottoned onto their intentions, and shifted formation, packing in tightly around Ship 6 at the center.
“Fiiireee!” Atosryua cried.
Lafier pulled the trigger. Four streams of antiprotons converged on the enemy assault ship and blew it up in the blink of an eye. In its place ar
ose a dense, high-temperature clump of gas. The enemy ships then broke their huddle to avoid brushing with the clump.
But the Abh ships had no such compunctions, charging straight toward the clump’s vicinity (with the Basrogrh the first to do so).
“Hull temperature rising drastically!” said Samson. “The armor plating may melt as it rises!”
“Then do something about it!” Lafier ordered haphazardly.
“Do something, she says...” muttered Samson, shaking his head. But he was nevertheless quick to grab the onboard comms transceiver and unleash a series of commands to his subordinates.
At that moment, Lafier activated the attitude control engines full throttle to change direction. The bow of the Basrogrh was now pointed at the stern of its target opponent, which was flying further and further away. At this distance, there wasn’t much hope of hitting the bull’s-eye, but Lafier attacked without hesitation. Seconds later, the enemy about-faced.
“Ho ho! Looks like they’re up for a fight. Let’s not go losing to them, team! The target is now Ship 1!” said Atosryua.
Both parties were revving their main engines, putting the pedal to the metal toward each other, but they hadn’t yet been able to overcome their inertia from before, so they were still, at present, gaining in distance. Lafier couldn’t help but recall the game she used to play as a child. It was a two-player, microgravity-room pastime, and the rules were simple. Each player held a pole in their right hand, and their left hands were tied to each other by an elastic band. They’d bend their knees, their soles touching, and then leap with all their might. After springing in opposite directions, the elastic band would stretch before reaching the elasticity limit and snapping them back. At first, they approached each other slowly, but always picking up in velocity, and by the time they met again they would be zooming at quite the speed. Whoever, in that instant, succeeded in disarming the other by striking away the pole out of their hands won the match. For reasons Lafier had never learned, this game was called rïaic dorér (horseback jousting).
The Ties that Bind Page 14
