They were able to brake harder as they penetrated deeper, now that they were well within the protection of the magnetic corridor. And that was well, for they had a lot of speed to lose before they reached the surface. They were only a hundred meters above the icy plain by the time they were able to cease braking and begin a wide, spiraling circle.
The lead fighter moved out from the rest, descending toward the solid ice floe. Velmeran activated his auxiliary cannon, and the big gun swung down and forward on its struts into attack position. These cannons were so powerful that they were mounted below the cockpit so that their flash would not blind the pilot, and moved a meter out from the hull to avoid searing it. In power they were comparable to the main battery of a Union battleship; a single shot from them could rip a smaller ship in half, and they could fire up to three shots a second.
Velmeran did not dare concentrate too much firepower on the ice, since power of this type could be detected. A two-second round of six shots left a steaming crater a hundred meters across. The brisk wind had carried most of the steam away by the time he circled back, and he could see that the center of the hole was more than clear enough of debris for safe access. He retracted the cannon and triggered the modified atmospheric shield for underwater travel, then dived toward the center of the pit.
Penetrating below the surface was as easy as he had hoped, although he did hear fragments of ice ring harmlessly against the hull as the shield filled with water. For now he kept his speed well down, barely a hundred kilometers, as he waited. His own pack followed as soon as they saw that he was safely installed in underwater flight, moving up in single file directly behind him until they were only ten meters apart, their overlapping shields forming a single long corridor that reduced drag for the entire group.
The other nine packs continued to dive through the steaming passage, assembling by packs beneath the ice in their own shield tunnels. These in turn lined up side by side, so that any accident that might occur in one pack was not likely to involve others. The single transport followed last of all, flying alone behind and slightly below the packs. Once they were all in place, Velmeran began to increase speed gradually, taking them up to the transport's maximum safe speed of thirty-eight hundred kilometers. The gently glowing ceiling of ice overhead began to streak past, and the packs dropped down to avoid the massive icebergs trapped over the years in the floe. To the ptiots it almost seemed as if they were flying upside down, passing over an inverted landscape.
After a few minutes they passed out from beneath the cover of the ice floe into open water. Now Velmeran had to be more cautious, watching his scanners constantly for the presence of aircraft overhead. The nature of their atmospheric shields was such that they absorbed in the tail any pressure wave formed by the forward cone. But he knew from their test runs in the seas on Alliolandh that they were leaving wide trails of dense bubbles, white trails when seen from high enough. He doubted that anyone would figure out the meaning of the trails themselves, not soon enough to matter, so long as they did not observe that fast-moving leading edge. It was a necessary risk.
Two hours of flight time brought them to the shallow coastal waters west of Vannkam. Now Velmeran relied upon the course plotted by his ship's computer, using its guidance to bring him to a point where the underwater tunnel must terminate. Submerged ridges of the coastal range made towering underwater cliffs that stretched for hundreds of miles along this shore. Reducing speed to five hundred kilometers, he began to cast about for that opening. The nine other packs fell back to follow his own in single file.
Velmeran did not need long to find the tunnel entrance, for it bore its own markers. Two red beacons pierced the murky water, below which shone the white radiance of the tunnel's lights, illuminating the striking blue of the tunnel walls. He aimed his ship toward that opening, aligning with the passage early both to insure that his shields would be centered and to have a look up the tunnel. Activating his accessory cannon, he began his run. He was committed now. If he did find the passage blocked, the cannon had better be enough to clear it. Otherwise the others would be alerted to his failure by the explosion of his ship.
His fighter shot up the tunnel like a bullet within the barrel of a rifle. Soon he could see that the passage was clear to its end, although the illumination decreased to almost total blackness near the far end so that no betraying glow would be seen from the inside. He had passed two sets of sea doors, both invitingly open. Were the Lakes so confident that this way would remain unknown that these doors were always open? Or were those doors for use only in severe weather outside, isolating the underground lake from betraying disturbances?
Velmeran's fighter shot out into the lake and he arched up sharply before he ran out of traveling room. The calm lake suddenly erupted into violence, a massive column of water rising toward the cavern ceiling as it was carried aloft in the atmospheric shield, collapsing back like a fountain as it was discharged. Velmeran followed the curve of the cavern roof, dropping his atmospheric shield altogether and bringing up his debris shield and defensive screens. Even as the column of water collapsed it leaped back up again, each time ejecting a black fighter.
At first the fighters flew high over the city as the packs reformed, then dived down in groups to dodge and dart among the buildings and avenues. For the first minute or so they might almost have been at play, slipping in and out among the suspended walkways and elevated tramways, making it plain to anyone about that Starwolves were here and they should take cover, which they did quickly, the small, early morning crowds seeming to evaporate in an instant.
Now the Starwolves went to work, turning their lesser guns on unimportant targets. Most of those packs were there just to create a diversion, darting in and out so fast that the entire city seemed overrun by thousands of wolf ships, keeping the population frightened and in hiding. Skyways and tram tracks collapsed under their assault. Wooded parks and sculptured gardens exploded in flames from the bolts of their larger cannons. The Starwolves had no complaint against the civilian population, and they destroyed nothing that could not be easily repaired.
Only the Unioners knew what they thought of the sudden plague of Starwolves inside their impenetrable city. Only a very few knew of the underwater tunnel and, with the dome still intact, there was no logical explanation for how they might have appeared. And once inside the cavern, there was nothing that could be done about them. All the planetary defenses lay outside. And Union pilots could not get their own fighters and stingships inside, even if the Starwolves had. For once they held an entire city for ransom, for as long as they dared.
The only thing that Councilor Lake could think about that morning was that it was entirely too early to be up and about, especially after spending half the night and a bottle of wine with a trade delegation. But this was the time to act on getting these new missiles installed in a number of freighters for a better test of their effectiveness. Especially since he and Donalt Trace were in complete disagreement on the effectiveness of the last test.
"I consider it a success, since it did kill a Starwolf," Trace argued. He was seated at his desk, reading the review of the incident, while his uncle stood near the window that overlooked the city.
"And I consider it a failure, since we lost the freighter," Lake countered. "Obviously our goals differ."
"Are you telling me that you would just as well abandon this entire project?"
"No, not yet," the Councilor said, turning to look out the window.
The first thing he saw was a familiar black shape streak past. He blinked, but it was already gone and he was not even sure that he had seen it. Had it been only a manifestation of his fears come to haunt him? Of the wine? His senility? But he looked again, this time more closely, and saw that his beautiful city was being overrun with wolf ships. How could an invasion force have gotten this far without his being aware? The dome shield was rigged to fail, but only after a few determined shots that he would have heard. And yet, when he glanced up, he coul
d plainly see that the dome was still intact. Suddenly he understood – only too well. He had left the door open for them.
"Don, do you remember that young Starwolf we had up for dinner?" he asked casually.
"What, Velmeran?" Trace asked without looking up from the report he was reading. "What of it?"
"Well, he seems to be paying us a return visit."
The Sector Commander glanced up, and saw at once what he had meant. It seemed that wolf ships were coming out of nowhere to fill the interior of the cavern. And he knew exactly what it meant. He leaped from his seat and was out the door before his uncle could do a thing to stop him.
"Don! Wait!" Councilor Lake called after him. "You are running into a trap. What do you think you can do about it?"
He paused, aware that it was already too late. Donalt Trace was running to meet his fate at the hands of a Starwolf he owed a life. It did not matter that he knew where to find Velmeran, for that knowledge in itself did not give him the power to stop it. Would he realize that in time to save his life?
It took less than two minutes to get all the packs inside the city. By that time the streets of Vannkam were completely deserted; if modern man was not as intelligent as his predecessors, he was also less brave. The Starwolves prowled the passages of the city that, by all appearances, was completely empty, a marked contrast to the Vannkam they knew on port leave. As long as they did not fire directly into the shops and buildings, there was little danger of hurting anyone.
The city was not completely defenseless, although it might as well have been. Scores of automated sentries began to amble out of the many buildings, alerted to the attack by their master controllers. These machines were never intended to fight; they served police duty, walking the halls of empty buddings at night or strolling dimly lit walkways. Even their biggest guns were inadequate against the defensive shields of the black fighters. Once the Starwolves realized what was firing at them, they began to use the automatons for target practice.
As soon as all of their ships were inside the cavern, three of the packs broke off from the rest to gather in loose formation above the city. The transport, the last ship to emerge from the lake, hurried to join them.
"Baress, are you ready?" Velmeran asked over ship's com. In a sense, Baress had the most important task. They could leave without the memory cell if they got into serious trouble. But they could not easily get away until he destroyed the generators that powered the dome shield and planetary defenses.
"Ready and willing," he replied, breaking away from Velmeran's pack to set himself in the lead position for the others.
Baressa and Kalgeran led their own packs as they followed him, shooting across the city. The entrance of the corridor leading to the power complex lay in the north wall of the cavern, down at street level. It was a tight fit for the fighter, but no more than the underwater tunnel. Here, however, they could expect some opposition, sentries and guards with guns, and blast doors that could be secured. Baress would go in first to lead the way, and his fighter had enough firepower to clear any obstacle except solid rock. He found the entrance and dropped down to street level, beginning his run.
The power complex lay a kilometer to the north of the city, an artificial cavern cut well back into the rock of the mountain above it. Self-contained, the complex had only this one entrance. Double sets of massive steel doors served to guard the passage at either end. The doors at this end were still open, and he made sure that they would stay open before he began his ran. He brought the big accessory cannon to bear on the walls to either side of those portals, wrecking the locking mechanism and tracks.
The next instant he was inside the passage, ignoring the steady barrage of light-energy bolts that streamed down its length as he focused his telescopic vision on the doors at the far end. After a moment he could see that they were closing, the halves moving slowly inward. He had no intention of racing them, but slowed until they were closed and securely locked. Then a hail of bolts from his accessory cannon ripped those doors apart in an instant.
The generator chamber of the power complex was a rectangular cavern, bisected by a main corridor. A second corridor ran the length of the chamber, lined on either side with a total of fifty massive generators, each adequate to serve the needs of the largest battleship. The two packs fanned out as they entered, drifting slowly through the installation as they centered their lesser cannons on the computer controls of each generator. They had to insure that the generators were safely shut down, since a damaged and malfunctioning computer could force an overload. As safe as total conversion was for general use, a forced explosion of one of these generators would rip out a large section of this range, leaving a gaping crater several kilometers across. A chain reaction of several could destroy this entire world. Once the generators were stilled, their big cannons would insure that the planetary defenses would remain down.
At the same time Velmeran led his own pack west across the city, to where the government budding stood massive and gray in the dim lighting of early morning. Their task was in truth an easy one, and Velmeran expected no trouble. The pack spread out to circle the building, while Velmeran searched the top of the building for the proper chamber. There were several such chambers in that same area, all a part of the sector museum, with very similar design and window patterns. At last he was forced to draw back and turn his ship's scanners on that area of the budding.
Centering on the indicated chamber, he drifted in slowly, hardly more than a walking pace, and cautiously pushed the nose of the fighter through the window. The glass shattered easily, falling away. He drifted on inside that opening and brought the ship to a motionless hover as he made a quick inspection of the room, then brought the fighter down to floor level. Tregloran came in through the opposite window and settled in as well. Chance had put the younger pilot on the side of the chamber where Velmeran wanted him, the guns of his ship facing down the short corridor toward the double doors that were the only entrance.
Finally the transport approached the side of the budding, hovering before a section of the wall indicated by its own scanners, the end of the short alcove branching off the main chamber. While Threl held the transport steady, Marietta made use of a special weapon, a unique combination of energy bolt and projected held. She played it across the outer wall. The wall shook, splintered and crumbled away beneath the blasts as if it were being beaten by an immense hammer. Two large slabs of polished gray marble were reduced to rubble beneath those blows and the inner wall quickly followed, leaving only a twisted steel framework. She sliced that away with an ordinary cutting laser, and the transport drifted through that rough opening.
Threl brought his ship into the main portion of the chamber and edged it over until its cargo bay was even with the memory cell. Marlena had opened the large bay doors and now extended the handling arms out to receive it. The arms took firm hold of the unit and Marlena tried to lift it from its display stand. But the unit did not rise. Instead, the transport shifted slightly, tilting dangerously off center. Marlena quickly released the pressure and Threl fought to regain control of the ship before it slipped sideways off its field drive suspensors.
"Velmeran, that thing is fastened down," Marlena said over com.
"I suspected as much," he replied. "Give me half a moment."
He brought his ship down to the floor, landing gear up so that the cockpit was tilted down. He quickly climbed out and signaled to Marlena, who threw him a light and a hand-held cutting laser. With these in hand, he walked quickly to the end of the unit and flashed the light underneath it. The memory cell had inset tracks running down all four of its long sides by which it was locked into its cradle inside the ship. The Union official who had overseen the installation of the unit had made use of the bottom set of tracks, installing mechanisms that locked it down to the dais. He quickly cut loose the two locking bolts, then crossed quickly to the other end to free those bolts. He had just finished when Tregloran interrupted him.
"Ca
ptain, we have company," the younger pilot announced casually, even amused, so that Velmeran knew that he was in no real danger. If there had been any real trouble, he would have fired at first sight.
Velmeran turned slowly. Not five meters away stood a towering figure of a man, his legs braced as he held a gun centered on the Starwolf. He might have almost been a law officer making an arrest, so sure he seemed to be that he had the situation well under control. But that was hardly the case, for Velmeran knew that the little gun could not so much as dent his armor. He stood for a moment, regarding the intruder with an appearance of mild surprise and patient tolerance, even though he was securely helmeted.
"Commander Trace," he acknowledged at last, switching on the com link that gave him contact with the world outside his suit.
"Pack Leader Velmeran," Trace answered coldly. "I knew that I would find you here."
"So?" Velmeran asked, drawing his own gun. "What do you expect to be able to do about it?"
Commander Trace hesitated as that very question occurred to him. Somehow he had thought that if he could just get here in time Velmeran would be defeated and he would win, as if those were the rules of the game. But that was not the case at all. This game went to the player with the greatest advantage, and just now Velmeran possessed every advantage. His confusion gave way to real fear, for he knew that he was facing his own death. And when the Starwolf raised his gun to take aim, he turned and fled in open terror. He knew that his one, remote chance for life depended upon getting himself out of that chamber.
Velmeran hesitated, astonished at this turn of events. Defeated and fearing for his very life, the plight of this man evoked his sympathy. For once Velmeran saw him as he was, not a personification of evil or the enemy of the Kelvessan, but a man. In spite of his prejudices, his blind hatreds and his disregard for the lives and rights of others, he also possessed rare courage and a selfless devotion to duty. For good or ill, he was human. And for the first time Velmeran understood what being human really meant, both the familiar and the alien.
The Starwolves Page 25
