“No telling. No offense, that’s why I checked with the chief.” I nearly choked after recalling that I didn’t challenge Tahgs.
“Just the same, if we get boarded,” she said, “I’d like to be near you.”
I looked over toward my shotgun. “Personally,” I said, clearing my throat, “I’d like to be couched between Chief Brold with his servo-armor and one of the Colonial Marines.”
“They’re suited up in combat gear. Not powered like the chief’s but they say it’ll resist some of the Crax acid.” She held a hand to her ear. “Got to get back to engineering.”
“Engineering? Say hello to McAllister for me.”
“She’s too busy aft, working on the weapons systems. Chief Engineer Harkins is keeping ahead of Crax jamming.” She swept across the wall with her hand. “Keeping your screens up.” She turned to leave.
“If you do see McAllister, tell her I got roughed up pretty good. You’ll make her day.” Lori and Skids returned. I handed a key to Liu. “If you see a marine or the chief, give them this. In my old quarters under Benny’s bunk I have two and a half cases of old-style grenades. A lot of shotgun shells, too. Hey, any chance of getting a spare CNS device?” I pointed to the back of my neck.
“Maybe. Distribution is under way. I’m awaiting myself.”
I tapped at the console, closing the door behind Lori and Skids and let Specialist Liu depart. “Good luck and keep low.” She waved into the security camera before hustling down the corridor.
“There’s food on the desk,” I said. “Chief Brold ordered my favorite.”
“Chicken patty sandwich? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you select one,” said Lori.
I finished mine and drank some juice. “Got away from them after an incident with Senior Engineer McAllister. Got the notion I was too predictable for my own good.” Then a flash caught my eye. “The gunboats got the crippled destroyer!”
“All hands secure,” crackled Captain Tilayvaux. “Prepare for combat emergency maneuvers.”
I said, “That’s not what you expect to hear from a transport’s captain.”
“Aft engines, cut power,” ordered the captain. “Port forward maneuvering thrusters, aft starboard thrusters, emergency burn on my mark. Three...two...one...now!”
The gravitation system struggled to maintain equilibrium as the transport began its spin. “She’s bringing the aft weapons to bear,” I said.
“Risky move,” said Lori. “Exposes the main engines.”
“But if we don’t get past that destroyer, it won’t matter.”
“Computer control, adjust thruster’s to halt spin to 180 degrees.” Our bodies swayed the opposite direction.
Skids smiled, enjoying the sensation. I gripped his shoulder. “Too bad you’re here. Probably more wild near the aft main engines, and cascading up front.”
“Hold missiles,” ordered the captain. “Aft batteries, open fire.”
The Kalavar’s dual beams reached out and scored a near miss on the closing destroyer. The trailing gunboats fired long-range and went wide. The Samuel B. Roberts’s remaining dual beam succeeded with a grazing hit on a leading ventral elbow. “We’re going to have to do better than that,” said Lori.
“Fighters,” called the Roberts’s captain. “Drop back, keep the breaching pods off the Kalavar.”
“She’s letting loose,” I said, as the enemy destroyer opened up with a canister barrage. “What I wouldn’t give for a canister nuke.”
“Captain,” called a weapons engineer, “the upgraded missiles are targeting in the tubes.”
“Very good,” said the captain. “Relay targeting information to laser batteries and to the gunboats and destroyer escort.”
“Can’t get through to the gunboats, Captain, jamming. Roberts received.”
“It will do. Laser batteries, open fire. Fire at will.”
“They’re tearing into her,” I said. The scarred elbow was now blackened with gaping holes.
“Captain,” called Navigator Pidsadaki. “Incoming Crax fire. Recommend thruster burn to protect the engines.”
“Was McAllister able to rig the missiles for transmit targeting after launch?”
“Negative, sir. Too complex.”
“We need targeting to take down that destroyer.” The captain sounded incredibly calm. “Navigator, give us a three second margin of error. We’ll launch missiles, initiate spin. Calculate it.”
The Kalavar opened fire again, scoring on the same section.
“McAllister,” called the captain. “Affix coded transponder to one of the missiles. Relay vitals to Roberts.”
“Acknowledged, Captain.”
“Roberts,” called the captain. “Will have to initiate spin in fourteen seconds to protect our engines. Will lose targeting. Have affixed transponder to advanced missiles. Have your missiles chase.”
“Acknowledged, Kalavar. That’ll get ours close. Will continue to fire. Follow us through.”
“Laser battery, let’s make this last one count. One-hundred-ten percent power.”
“Acknowledged, Captain. Emergency overload.”
The Roberts’s point defense weapons began firing on the closing canisters. Denude of her reactive armor, she began to take hits.
“Dual beam lasers hit on ventral elbow. Pulse lasers opening up,” called the weapons engineer. “Aft missiles firing,”
“Initiating burn,” said the navigator. “All sections verify ready for impact, secured for hull breach.”
“We’ll see if Mer’s armor project pays dividends,” said the captain.
We hung on as the Kalavar spun 180 degrees. A patter of dull thuds sounded through the hull. “That’s the caustic canisters,” said Lori, holding her son close.
“I’ve seen the outer armor plating. It’s ugly and formidable.” I said a quick prayer.
One exterior camera still functioned. I focused it and forwarded the view to the navigator’s screen.
“Captain,” he said, “hull remains intact. Exterior armor port side sustained eighteen hits. Fourteen burn-throughs.” He paused. “Primary antigravity array damaged. Secondary antigravity network still intact.”
“Acknowledged. Initiate main engines, flank speed. Swing by the Roberts. Shuttle bay prepare to receive escape pods.”
The Samuel Roberts was dead in space, slowly tumbling with its forward momentum. “Looks like buckshot through a steel can.”
“Three of her missiles are trailing ours,” said Watts. “Four escape pods vectoring our way. Crax destroyer is opening up again, trying to disrupt escape pod retrieval.”
“She’ll do more than that,” I replied. “If those missiles don’t hit, we’re dead. They’ll be ready for any advanced equipment surprises like Howler’s missiles.”
“Navigator,” said the captain, “reduce engines to one quarter. Protect the cascading atomic engine compartment. Present starboard side.
“Initiating maneuver, Captain. Barrage strength down sixty percent. Canisters angling toward us. Point defense lasers opening fire.”
“I suspect, Lieutenant, she’s saving some for the incoming missiles. Lost some of her point defense lasers. Won’t be fooled like her sister.”
“Long-range fire from the gunboats ineffective,” replied the navigator as the shots went wide. “Missiles initiating terminal dive.”
“There they go,” I said. The Crax destroyer let loose with everything. A canister destroyed one advanced missile before it split into multiple warheads. The second split, but all were taken out. Then two large flashes. “Roberts’s missiles got through! She’s buckling along the horizontal crossbar,” I said, just before the Crax ship split in two.
“Prepare for impact,” called the navigator. A second series of dull thuds sounded.
I sent a message to the navigator.
“Hull integrity remains intact,” he reported to the captain. “Both external starboard monitors damaged or destroyed.” A second later he added, “Tracked repair bots r
eport twelve impacts, nine exterior armor breaches.”
“Return to course,” ordered the captain. “Flank speed. Now all we have are those shuttles, fighters and breeching pods. Shuttle Bay, how many escape pods from the Roberts?”
“Two, with nineteen crewmen total.”
“Good. Those that are fit, have them report to Chief Brold. Get the others to Medical.” She switched frequencies. “Fighters, recommend Finger Four Formation. Put some maneuvering distance between us. Keep them off as best you can.”
“Acknowledged, Kalavar. Out.”
“Kra,” said Watts. “One of the Primus escorts broke off. Toward us.” She finished calculating. “She’ll get in range before we reach the gate. If only we had the auxiliary rockets.”
“The gunboats won’t even slow her down,” I agreed. “Look, dock’s attack shuttles damaged the carrier. She’s disengaging!”
“I count nine attack shuttles and one fighter still in pursuit.”
“May as well,” I said. “I don’t think there’ll be a dock to return to. The Crax are in range.” The dock and monitor continued to fire all batteries. They’d scored several hits on the Primus escort. Superficial damage. “Pray the lasers penetrate when they close. The Crax troop transports are staying out of range.”
“The Crax are firing canister weapons,” said Watts. “Difficult to say who they’re targeted on. Wait, they’re firing again. Two waves.”
“They’re learning,” I said. “Take out the reactive armor on the first wave and penetrate with the second.” The Primus heavy cruiser and escort opened up. Emerald flashes scattered across the dock. “They’re targeting weapon systems.” Flashes followed by explosions reverberated across the dock. Only one dock laser battery answered when the monitor returned fire. Again, they scored several hits. “She’s too heavily armored. They’ll never penetrate the Primus armor.”
“Not before they’re destroyed.” A forty missile wave rocketed from the ZQ Dock and the Stellar Inferno. “The dock’s rotation is bringing more batteries to bear. This time she fired on a Selgum Crax destroyer. “The monitor’s combining fire.” The first wave of corrosive canisters impacted the Stellar Inferno’s hull. The reactive armor combined with defensive fire minimized penetration. Laser batteries emerged from the cloud around the monitor, tearing into the targeted destroyer.
“The Primus ships have taken out more dock lasers,” said Watts. “Pinpoint accuracy. The one chasing us will get our engines before we make the gate.”
The second wave of canisters raced into the cloud, resulting in explosions. The Stellar Inferno and Crax destroyer perished simultaneously. “They’ll take out the remaining batteries,” said Watts. “Then target the pulse defense lasers. See, the breaching pods are already launching from the troop transports.”
“Sitting duck,” I agreed. I scanned the internal monitors. The chief was speaking to the group of Roberts survivors. “You okay, Skids?” He was sitting in corner a little pale. “You going to get sick?”
He shook his head. His mother knelt next to him. “It’ll be okay. Everyone on the Kalavar is armed. If they board, we have marines.” Skids remained unconvinced. I couldn’t blame him.
“You stick with me, Skids,” I said. “I’m a survivor. So’s your mom. So are you. If it comes down to it, do what I do. Do what I say, when I say.” I patted his shoulder. “I’ve been in tougher scrapes.” He looked up with hopeful eyes. “Really,” I told him. “Ever hear of the Colonization Riots? I was there. When we get through this I’ll tell you about it.”
“You might have been a little young, Max...Michael,” his mother said.
“Then you’ll get a history lesson.”
“I like it when you teach stuff, Specialist Keesay.”
“Okay then. Remember, do what I say, when I say.” He nodded. “Now, I’m assigned to monitor the situation and keep the chief and captain up to date. Computers and R-Tech, I need your mother’s assistance.”
“Mom says you’re better at tech manipulation than you think.”
“Maybe, Skids. Now hang in there. Lori.” I pointed to the approaching Primus escort. “She’s swinging around behind. Trading closing distance for a straight shot.”
Lori Watts recalculated. “She’s delaying intercept by four minutes. We’ll have a chance to get through the gate first.”
I shook my head. “No, the Primus are too smart. Got something up their sleeve, or should I say, scales.” Some of the screens began to lose clarity. “Jamming. What’s that coming out of the Primus ships? Looks like breaching pods.”
“That’s not good,” said Watts. “They’ll be carrying elite forces. Coregar Crax.”
“Gar-Crax in battle armor.” I tried to disguise my sinking feeling. The screens continued to distort. Watts worked to retain the relay, but shook her head.
I tapped the console. “Captain, this is Security. Transmissions from the Zeta Aquarius Dock have been jammed. Switching exclusively to Kalavar feeds.”
“Acknowledged,” said the captain.
I asked Lori Watts, “When were you granted access to security systems?”
“After the attack on the systems, as a precautionary measure.”
“Your access is broader than mine?” She nodded. I shrugged.
“Captain,” reported Navigator Pidsadaki. “Our fighters have engaged the enemy fighters. They’re outmatched. Totally defensive, sir. Enemy attack shuttles slipping past. Breaching pods following.”
“Maintenance,” called the captain. “Are those maintenance-bots ready?”
“Two are, Captain.” I recognized Gudkov’s voice. “Chief Brold ordered me to get them to the tracks. At the hatch now. Estimate three minutes ’till operational.”
“Acknowledged. Navigator, how long until we reach the gate?”
“Eight minutes, fourteen seconds. Sir, the Primus escort is getting behind us.”
Cut power to starboard engine. Adjust aft thrusters to port. Increase their angle.”
“That’ll increase approach time by,” he did the calculations, “one minute, eighteen seconds. Sir, Primus appears to be altering angle of approach. She’s opening fire.”
I waited for impact. When none came I examined the screens. “Navigator, screen feed four.”
“Sir, they targeted the gate.” He paused. “Getting unstable readings.”
“Damn! All engines on line. Give me 105%. Navigator, come about. Keep our tail away from her as long as we can.”
“She’ll close. Enemy attack shuttles coming about, looks like they’re going to target engines.”
“Calling Thunder, Thunder Child,” called the captain. “Gate inoperable. Primus escort closing. Three breaching pods, on approach supported by two attack shuttles and three fighters. Our fighters eliminated. Appear to be targeting our engines. Twenty-eight minutes until our cascading atomic engine recycles.”
“Kalavar, two minutes till intercept. Unable to target lock enemy units.”
“Engage Primus escort. Keep her off our tail.”
“Acknowledged,” called one of the captains. “Thunder Child, come around behind. I-formation. Forward batteries, manual targeting. Fire on the Primus escort. Fire at will.”
“Sir, pulse lasers opening fire.” The navigator’s voice went monotone. “Verified, pursuing Primus escort has launched two breaching pods.”
“Give me aft view. Aft batteries cease fire. Port main engine, cut thrust to one-quarter.”
“Thrust cut to one-quarter.”
“Initiate fuel dump, portside auxiliary thrust rocket. Jettison portside auxiliary rocket.”
“Sir?”
“Do it now. Emergency release. Ordered sequence.”
“Fuel dump initiated,” stated the navigator. “Emergency release.” The fuel-filled rocket tumbled away.
“Good. Main engines failed to ignite it. Aft batteries, target auxiliary rocket. Fire on my order.”
I switched to the back view. “They’re swinging wide of the thrust r
ocket,” I said.
“But what would happen if those attack shuttles came near the vapor trail?” asked Watts. “Their corrosive canisters won’t ignite it.”
“Aft batteries fire!” The explosion rocked the Kalavar.
“Got one of them, sir. The second is limping away. Light damage to portside engine. Loss of ten percent thrust.”
“Good trade,” said the captain. “Bring her down to sixty percent power, then have her flame out.”
“Relaying the order, Captain.”
“Have all shuttles capable of condensed space travel energize and prepare cascading engines. Even the exploration shuttle in the cargo bay. We’ll fail to mission accomplish without taking a few more risks.”
“Sir, enemy fighters strafing forward pulse laser turret. Turret destroyed. Breaching pods on approach.”
“Navigator, random thruster fire. Keep her bouncing. Let’s not make it easy. Chief Brold, Corporal Smith, prepare to repel boarders.”
Chapter 34
Aliens consider humans an aggressive, militant species. Most aliens consider the Colonial Marines, one-on-one, among the most dangerous of combatants. The only species more greatly feared, not only for its advanced technology, but also for size, strength and sheer ferocity, is the Coregar or Gar-Crax.
A most unusual sight, Specialist Club sprinting. Her stocky frame carried her and her equipment with ease. Before entering Security she examined the door, and plucked something from the frame.
“Move over, Keesay. Company’s knocking.” She slid into the rolling chair and took command of the consoles. “Here,” she tossed.
I caught two items. The first, a miniature computer clip. The second, a thumb-sized, clay-like substance. It wasn’t C4 or a familiar explosive.
“Insert the clip electrodes,” she said. “Push in the three side buttons simultaneously. Standard timing, 4.5 seconds and you’ll have a nice blast.” She re-sequenced the monitor displays. “Chief, ready to go,” she said into her collar. “Keesay, your job is to make sure anyone who approaches Security who ain’t human doesn’t get in.”
She reached into a thigh pocket. “Before you post yourself outside,” she said, tossing a slim box to Watts, “a CNS modulator.” She followed with a small baton. “This will attune it to his nervous system. Just follow the instructions.”
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