"Are we 'involved,' Ben?" she finally asked.
"I think we could be. Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"To be honest, I'm not sure what I want. You don't sound terribly enthusiastic, or committal."
"I know the risks, and the realities."
"Suppose I'm willing to take a chance?"
"The daring of ignorance."
"You're laughing at me, you fuck!"
"Nicole, I'm a Federal Marshal, near the top of the seniority list; you're Air Force, on your novice run. As far as our careers are concerned, we couldn't be farther apart if we tried. Once this mission's complete, you'll probably be given another year or two of local long-haul duty, around the Earth or perhaps additional Wanderer flights, before you get any Belt or OutSystem assignments. You'll have no discretion over where you're sent, not for years. I can name my station. But I hate the Earth, and I can barely stand Luna. I'm a loner. I do my work in singleships. You want a relationship? Fine. I guarantee it for the length of this trip. Not because I don't care for you, and not because I can't hack permanence, but because the practical obstacles are so bloody huge I don't think our feelings for each other, whatever the hell they are, would survive very long."
There was a long silence, broken by Nicole.
"Makes sense," she said simply.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come on quite so strongly."
"I'll survive." She hit the intercom board, deliberately ending the conversation. "Hanako, what's keeping dinner?"
"Your waitress had to go to the bathroom," came the reply over the CM speakers, "while she changed, d'you mind?"
"Merely curious. And hungry."
"That's a switch. Be patient, Nicole. Suffering, they say, is good for the soul."
"My lucky day, then. Paolo, status?" she requested. "Ready to roll, boss."
She held the Rover on its cradle until Ciari and Andrei returned to their stations in pressure suits and then watched silently as the gunship rose slowly past the bow view ports. When it was clear of the Command Module, it turned towards Wolfe's Asteroid, lights flashing on Nicole's panel, confirming ignition, as its main engine fired.
"What's their ETA?" Nicole asked, squinting slightly as she tried to find the Rover's identification strobes against the starscape, muttering in annoyance when she failed. Ciari handed her a pair of electronic binoculars, but she shook her head, waving them away.
"Sixty-three minutes," Hana told her. "Cat and Paolo are taking their time." She floated up to Nicole's level, foodbox in her arms. "This is for you two; Andrei and I already took ours."
"Thanks. Soon as you're done, I want you to plot the tightest vector possible past that rock."
"In case we have to run?" Nicole nodded. "No problem."
"Andrei," Nicole called, and when he answered, calling up from the deck below rather than using the intercom, she told him, "prime the mains. I want us ready to establish full thrust at the flick of a switch."
Then, as she sipped some welcome chicken soup, Ciari unzipped a thigh pocket and pulled out a large, gleaming key. Nicole's face paled the moment she saw it—though, in truth, she was far from surprised. Without a word, she reseated her soup, replaced it in the box, and reached under her sweatshirt for an identical key, on a lanyard around her neck.
"Weapons system checklist, Nicole," Ciari told her. Without being asked, Hana moved the foodbox out of the way as Nicole activated the appropriate sequence on the computer and opened the hard-copy manual as well.
"All warsystems to primary operational mode," she began, marking each item in her book, while Ciari did the same on his scanscreen. He repeated her words, her actions, the pair of them pulling switches and pressing buttons. "On my mark," Nicole said finally, "insert command keys and execute a 180degree clockwise turn: five... four... three... two... one—mark!"
For a moment, neither of them said anything. Nicole looked at Ciari, at the console, at Ciari once more. Somehow, turning those keys made everything different. In all her years of training and drills, it was the one thing she'd never done, in a real spacecraft, in a real, potentially shooting, situation. Now, Wanderer's nuclear missiles were armed. All she had to do was lock on to a target, press a button and people would die. With nukes, there were no warning shots. Pressing that button bespoke a willingness to kill.
"Moment of truth?" she wondered, her voice barely a whisper.
"Let's hope not," Ciari reassured her. Then, to change the mood, he gave an exaggerated groan and stretched his arms as high overhead as his suit would let him. "Now, Shea," he announced, "we wait."
"Hold the fort," she told him, snapping herself free of her harness and twisting up and out of the chair, "while I change."
Before leaving the flight deck, she typed up a display of the Rover's status; thus far, Paul was flying a nominal approach. There wasn't a hint of trouble. Too good, she thought, to be true. And then mentally kicked herself for being melodramatic. She made a quick stop by Andrei and Hana's consoles, nodding in approval at the escape course Hana had set up. Both women hoped it would never be needed. The engines were ready as well.
She'd just reached the Changing Room when the alarm sounded. She was back in her chair in seconds.
The blip was right at the edge of the holo tank, its brightness indicating a large, powerful contact, and it was closing on them fast.
"Sensors have anything?" Nicole asked Hana, who frowned and shook her head.
"Still too distant for a decent reading. But if it maintains its current heading, it'll pass two of our remotes; we can query them for data."
Now it was Nicole's turn to shake her head. "Leave 'em be. Even if we use a tight-beam, pulsed transmission, there's too great a risk of that ship spotting them. The remotes are our ace in the hole; I don't want to throw them away."
"Good, Nicole." Ciari nodded approvingly. "That bogie is very large—twice our size, at least—and its straight-in approach is creating a corridor behind it that our on-board sensors can't scan. Anything could be hidden in that blind spot and, without the remotes, we wouldn't know it till it was too late."
"Nicole," Hana said, "your panel. That ship's transmitting."
Nicole plugged in her headset, switching the incoming call onto the flight deck speakers as well, so everyone could hear.
"...to unknown spacecraft, please acknowledge our transmission. I repeat, this is the USS von Braun, on Belt
patrol, calling unknown spacecraft near Wolfe's asteroid. If you do not acknowledge, we must assume you to be
hostile, and you will be fired upon........ "
"Feisty bastard," Hana growled. "Contact still closing; no deviation from previous course."
"Answer him, Marshal. Tell him who we are and flash our recognition code. I'm calling the Major.
"Deuce," she said, while Ciari responded to the challenge, "Deuce, this is Homeplate—trouble call—acknowledge, please."
Cat didn't reply, forcing Nicole to repeat her broadcast twice; when she finally did answer, her voice was broken by heavy static.
"What's up?" she asked. Nicole stroked the radio controls, wishing she had Paul's instinctive, delicate touch, and managed to smooth out a fair chunk of the interference.
"Contact—verbal eye-dee, USS von Braun. Intercept." Ciari caught her attention. "Hang on."
"Recognition signals transmitted and answered," he told her. "Everything checks out."
Nicole repeated that report to Cat. "Sounds right," she was told. "This is von Braun's sector. Tell Scotty howdy for me, and remind him of our last poker game at Copernicus."
Nicole relayed the message and heard a man laugh at the other end.
"Tell Cat that was a nice try, Wanderer, but as I recall, we were at Oberon's on Pico Station last time we played for money. Which reminds me. Babe, you still owe me a couple of Cs."
"Two hundred sixty-three, to be exact," Cat said. From her tone of voice, Nicole thought it must have been a marvelous game. "Certainly sounds like Scotty. Except for
this by-god static, I'd rate everything green board. I'm continuing my approach to Wolfe Station, Nicole. You might ask Scotty if he'll provide back-up; he can front a landing party more easily than Wanderer if I hit trouble dirtside. Otherwise, keep me posted."
"We'll be in touch, Major."
Ciari was speaking, but she wasn't paying attention and missed most of it. "Do we stand down the warsystems?" he repeated. Nicole shook her head. "What about passing along Cat's request for back-up?" Another shake. "Reason?" A shrug. "Shea, you're turning paranoid."
"And you're not?"
"I was born paranoid. That's why I'm such a good cop, and still alive."
"Which is why I'm learning to follow your example. Expect nothing, trust no one, correct?"
"Range to von Braun, three hundred thousand kilometers and closing," Hana reported as Cat began her final descent to the asteroid, "course unchanged. If he doesn't initiate retrofire, or modify his track, things could get a bit dicey. On the other hand, if he maintains present velocity, Wanderer's main sensors should be able to get a pretty detailed scan of him fairly soon."
"Anything behind him?" she asked, while thinking, a little absurdly, Jesus, Dr. Elias and his proficiency board are just going to love this; a potentially hostile situation and here I am, wearing sneaks and sweats.
"Nothing I can see. The remotes are programmed to scream if they spot anything out of the ordinary..."
Right on cue, another alarm branged and the image on the main screen dissolved, to be replaced by a computer-generated schematic of local space from the point of view of their outermost remote scanner. Just moving into view, following precisely along the trajectory established by von Braun, was another vessel. At first, it appeared as no more than an unusually bright blip, but as the remote acquired more data and transmitted it to Wanderer, the screen dissolved once again and the computer painted a silhouette diagram of the new contact.
All this occurred in five seconds; then, in the holo tank—its image still centered on Wanderer, showing the complete layout of the remotes—a brilliant flash suddenly enveloped the unit that had tagged the second ship. When the glow faded, all trace of the remote was gone. More lights burst in the tank and, again in a matter of seconds, every scanner had been destroyed.
While this was occurring, Wanderer's crew was reacting. Ciari started things off, as soon as the silhouette appeared, with a cry of recognition: "A refinery!"
"Andrei," Nicole snapped, "hit that switch—main engines, emergency ignition—now! Full thrust, maximum acceleration, along Hana's vector!"
"Laser tracks," Ciari reported, voice calm, unnervingly unconcerned. Everyone looked at the holo tank. Arrowing towards them from the other spacecraft were two streaks of color, moving almost faster than the eye could fellow.
"Shields?"
"Already up."
A second later, another screen, revealing the view aft from the Command Module along Wanderer's upper spine, showed a magnificent auroral display as the twin bolts were deflected. But the protection, Nicole knew, was as temporary as it was illusory. The lasers were a probe; the real attack would come afterwards, with conventional missiles or nukes. The shields would be useless against those.
"Deuce, Deuce," she called, "abort your landing. We got big trouble!"
She thought she heard Cat reply, but a sudden sleetstorm of static made her tear off the headset, breath hissing through teeth clenched tight against the pain. Try as she might, she couldn't clear a two-way channel through to the gunship. Rover-Two might be able to hear her transmissions, but she couldn't receive them. And because it was below Wanderer's line of flight, she couldn't use the main antennae, the way Paolo did to contact her aboard Rockhound. Fortunately, that worked in their favor as well, since Wanderer's bulk also blocked the tight-beam transmissions from being intercepted by their attacker.
Instead, she bumped the gain to the red line and prayed that would do the trick. "We've been ambushed, Major," she said. "Our contact isn't von Braun, unless it's been hijacked or gone rogue. They've too big an edge in size and firepower for us to risk a standing fight, so we're going to pick you up and rabbit the hell out of here, using Wolfe's rock for cover."
Even as she spoke, she knew whoever was commanding their attacker had to be thinking along the same lines. Wanderer simply had no other viable option. She wondered how he planned to stop them. The Command Module was beginning to vibrate as the giant primary engines slowly—too slowly, thought Nicole, not that we can do anything about it—built up thrust.
She reached out to seal the internal bulkheads and trim life support everywhere but on the flight deck, only to discover it had already been done. When she spoke, her voice was tight, too controlled, and although her hands were steady, the palms were sheened with sweat. She was reacting as she'd been trained, her mind cool, surprisingly calm, yet the fear existed, manifesting itself in shades of speech, or tiny movements of the face and hands. The "moment of truth," Ciari had said.
Now she'd learn.
"Missile signatures," he announced. "How many?"
"Four, coming fast."
"Let the computer have 'em. Electronics Counter-Measure systems to divert the missiles away from us and then our shipboard lasers and ABMs to ace 'em. I don't want them within ten thousand kilometers of us; we can't risk the ElectroMagnetic Pulse of a nuclear blast screwing up our instrumentation."
"Understood."
The computer did its job to perfection, obliterating its targets with ease. The explosions confirmed their worst suspicions, however; the raider was using nukes, with megaton yields. One direct hit—even a respectable near miss—would finish them. And as salvo followed salvo, with heat flashes and radiation filling the gap between the two spacecraft, it became increasingly hard for Wanderer's defenses to cope. At which point, the raider began throwing smaller, conventional, multiple-warhead missiles at them; while still out of range of Wanderer's anti-missile beams, the primary vehicle separated into a dozen smaller units, each pursuing its own wildly corkscrewing track. Without warning, they had a hundred targets coming their way. Since the cruiser's supply of anti-missile missiles was limited, the lasers had to bear the brunt of this new attack. That limited their effectiveness against the nukes, which allowed that barrage to come significantly closer. Wanderer shook slightly and red lights flashed on Nicole's board. They'd been hit. A hundred-kilogram blast along the main frame that cracked one spar and bent three others nearby; could be worse, Nicole thought, and probably will be. The biggest danger was one of the little buggers connecting with the Command Module; a direct hit on the windows would effectively end the duel.
"How will we dock the gunship, Nicole?" Andrei asked, as the asteroid grew in their screens and view ports.
"On the run. We cut power immediately prior to rendezvous; Cat matches velocity with us. We slide out the cradle, she drops on, we reel her in, close the hatch and crank up the motors. Start to finish, the whole maneuver shouldn't take more than two hundred seconds."
"And should something go wrong?"
Suddenly, Nicole felt very old, and weary far beyond her time. Whatever happened, she knew that, in certain, precious ways, she'd never again be as young, as carefree, as... innocent. "We leave them, Andrei."
"Welcome to the club," Ciari said, in a voice meant for her ears alone. She didn't look around, for fear he'd see the hate burning within her eyes.
"Coming up on Wolfe Station range, Nicole," Hana said, "but the Deuce isn't climbing to meet us. D'you think Cat didn't receive your message!"
"Andrei, cut the mains," Nicole snapped. "Hana, can they still achieve rendezvous?"
"Not on this side of the rock. She's too far away and even with us just coasting, she'll need too much Delta-Vee. If she loops the rock and meets us on farside, though, she has a chance. But that window's minuscule; she's got no time to waste."
"Punch me a hole through that static, Hana. Divert power from all nonessential systems to do it. I have to be able to talk to Cat,
tell her what to do."
"Goddammit."
"Ciari, what's wrong?"
"Missile signatures. Not from the raider, Shea, from the fucking rock."
She looked at the screens, too stunned to speak as fire scarred the dark surface of the asteroid. Three missiles. Probably part of Wolfe Clan's own inventory. A perfect trap, and Nicole had rushed right into it.
"Can we block them?" she asked because she had to, though she already knew the answer.
"No," Ciari replied in a flat, passionless voice. "Our defensive systems are calibrated aft, towards the raider."
The speakers crackled, and they all jumped at the sound of Cat's voice. Reception was far from ideal, but she could be understood.
"Wanderer from Rover-Two, do you copy? Wanderer..."
"There's your channel, Nicole," Hana announced with grim determination, "but talk fast; I can't guarantee how long I can keep it clear."
"We can see your situation, Wanderer," Cat continued after Nicole had acknowledged her call. "I count three missiles, is that correct?'
"Affirmative, Major. I'm sorry I fouled up."
"Later. Maintain your present vector and re-establish full thrust on the primaries. We'll run blocker for you against these bogies."
"Major, you can't!"
"Child, I have no intention of committing suicide, believe me. We'll zap the missiles, then their silos, and meet you round back. Copy?"
"Copy. Good luck."
"Gracias. Now pay attention, novice, you might learn something."
"Show off," Ciari muttered.
"She'll be cutting things real damn close, Nicole," Hana said. "Cat knows what she's doing, Hanako."
"Perhaps," Ciari said.
"You have a better way, Marshal?" Nicole snapped.
"They knew we EVA'd a gunship, they know what it can do. This can't be a surprise to them, which means there's something else in the works, has to be. Once they started shooting, they couldn't let us out alive. They'd be the target, then, no match for the starship that'd be scrambled once we got a signal through to base."
First Flight Page 12
