by Lance Berry
“The problem isn’t entirely what happened in your past,”
Ben told her. “It’s also the fact that you’re rushing to deny what happened, in order to be with someone you love for fear they’ll leave you otherwise. I’ve known David a long while, Mara. He’s a good man—he won’t leave.”
They talked for a while longer, and finally Ben admitted that he had to get back to duty. Mara checked the time index at the bottom corner of the vid-com: they had talked for nearly three hours straight. She thanked him profusely, and they made an appointment to talk again. They said their goodbyes, and it was only when the com shut off that she realized how tired she truly was. She climbed into bed, pulled the covers up and ordered the lights off for the evening. She quickly fell asleep, and had a wonderful dream about introducing her mother to David and the two of them hitting it off just fine.
Chapter 30
Early the next morning, seventy of the ships from the planetary holding force of 158 set out to their next target, some thirty light-years away. The Hawking was one of the ships which flew wing with the Horizon, which didn’t surprise Mara in the slightest. After their tumultuous evening, she figured David would want her nearby, even if it was on another vessel.
It took nearly eight hours to reach their destination. Upon Christenson’s order, the fleet exited hyperspace and found a rather large planetoid in close orbit of a star. There were various types of solar panels set all along its surface, feeding energy to the base, and four large dry docks extending out from the sides of the planetoid. These were apparently final graving shipyards, as there were several dozen battlecruisers and dreadnoughts of various sizes in final stages of construction.
Aboard the Horizon, David Christenson sat in his command chair within the central floor of the tri-level bridge. The viewscreen gave a clear picture of the Calvorian base, along with the dozens of battlecruisers patrolling it.
“Captain, I’m reading eighty battlecruisers of various size and design in protective formation around the central base,” the voice of Tanner Matthews, the security chief, declared via ODC.
“There’s at least seven more cruisers on the far side of the planetoid, on a type of loose rotating patrol.”
“No dreadnoughts, Tanner?”
“Only the ones under construction. Nothing else. And my board detects the fleet beginning to mobilize. Some are moving into shielding pattern of the base, the majority—fifty of them— are heading directly for us.”
“Buttlefield, give me a connection to the fleet.”
At the communications console, Lieutenant Joan Buttlefield —a lithe redhead with long pianists’ fingers and a distinctly cute little button-nose—worked the controls with practiced ease.
“You’re on, Captain.”
“This is Christenson to all ships in the fleet. The object here is to smash their graving yards but leave the base intact for us.
Captain Sittam…”
There was only a moment’s pause, and a woman’s voice answered over the com-line: “This is Sittam.”
“Your ship, the Pintoresco, will lead the charge against the graving yards, once the bulk work of getting those active cruisers out the way is done. As you take the yards, the rest of us will then secure the base. Captains, remember: their numbers are larger by only a small amount. Our cause is righteous, and our skills superior. The Hawking and Ambato will fly on my starboard and port wings, respectively. All others pair up as per attack plan Alpha. Now let’s give these bastards what-for. Christenson out.”
On the bridge of the Hawking, Captain Stubbs leaned back in his chair, gripping its arms anxiously. “Helm, you heard the man—let’s form up on that starboard side.”
“Aye, Captain.”
“Shields to full.”
“Shields up,” Mara replied from her tactics console. She recounted the amount of enemy vessel signatures once again.
The fact they outnumbered the UEF fleet, even by a smaller margin, would have been a bit daunting to her were it not for the man in charge of the attack. She had complete faith in David’s abilities.
The two fleets closed on one another. Words were briefly exchanged between the two fleet captains, and all at once the fighting began. The great ships on either side jostled and bucked as wave after wave of either pure laser beams or conjoined streams of matter and antimatter pounded against one anothers’ shields…but both fleets held true to their course, neither willing to yield space.
After minutes of this, the Horizon and Ambato finally concentrated their lasers and forward antimatter torpedo launchers on the bow of the lead Calvorian vessel. The fusillade cracked through the shielding and blasted a gaping hole in its forward hull. The forward part of the vessel was destroyed, its bridge crew dead, and the enemy ship began to drift helplessly.
Ships on the outermost edges of the Calvorian fleet began to break formation, attempting to catch the UEF fleet in a type of pincer. But Christenson saw it coming, and ordered the majority of his port and starboard flanking ships to break rank and counter the move. As the alien/human counterparts faced off, David Christenson pushed through with his fleet, determined to take the base.
The damage to ships on either side was felt heavily, as more and more vessels from both fleets began to fall by the wayside, either lifeless or very nearly so. On the Hawking’s bridge, the communications officer turned partway in his chair toward Stubbs. “The Delaware’s taken severe damage—it’s LaPlacian Lattices are beginning to misalign! The Captain’s called for the crew to abandon ship!”
Mara’s heart began to pound fearfully against her chest.
LaPlacian Lattices were special obsidian black rods somewhat similar to damping rods found in the core of a nuclear reactor, except that these helped charge the quantum engines in order to generate the artificial wormholes necessary for travel through hyperspace. If the intricate latticework were to misalign, a ship’s core would go critical and an almost incalculable radioactive blast would be the result. What’s more, the Delaware was Missy King’s ship! If the crew didn’t make it off in time—!
“How far are we from the Delaware,” Stubbs asked. “Will we catch any of the blast?”
Mara snapped out of her thoughts, aware these last questions were for her. She quickly checked her console’s readings. “We’ll catch part of the shockwave, not the blast itself. We should be fine…”
“The Delaware’s ejecting life pods,” the com officer announced.
“On screen,” Stubbs ordered. The com officer tabbed in a few commands to his board, and the image on the central viewer changed to one of the Delaware, and Mara gasped aloud. The aft section near its engines was massively damaged.
Three of its casings were shattered, one of the large quantum engines actually hanging partially off the end of the ship! It was yawing hard to its port side, gaping holes clearly visible amidships and many more aft. Escape pods began to jettison with great frequency, moving away from the vessel at just under the speed of light. Two of the Calvorian battlecruisers began to close in on the Delaware however—firing upon and destroying many of the pods before they could fully clear the ship’s perimeter.
“Message coming in from Captain Christenson,” the com officer announced. “He’s ordering the Voltaire, the Beijing and our ship to close ranks and protect the pods. Catch every single one, he says.”
There was silence from Stubbs for a moment. Mara turned to look at him, and saw a harsh frown bending his mouth downward as he seemed to be considering whether to follow the order or not. He caught Mara staring out the corner of his eye and shook his head dejectedly. “Helm, move us in. Com, signal the other two ships that we’ll scoop up the pods while they provide cover fire.”
“Aye, sir.”
On the viewscreen, the Delaware suddenly loomed much closer and one of the other Heavy Cruisers—the Beijing—moved into frame in front of its bow, laying down heavy fire at the two enemy ships. Laser fire and antimatter torpedoes also entered into the picture from th
e lower left corner of the viewer; the Voltaire was out of frame, but no less engaged in this encounter, as it made sure the Hawking had a clear path to the ejected pods.
Tamamura turned to the com officer. “Tell the launch bay to prepare for incoming and signal the pods to make their way here.” She then glanced at Mara. “How long ‘til the Delaware’s engines go critical?”
Mara’s eyes shot to her board’s readout then back to Tamamura. “Approximately two minutes, twelve seconds.”
“That is not a lot of time,” Stubbs said gravely, and Mara clenched her teeth and nodded in agreement. The misaligning of LaPlacian Lattices was a very inexact science: on the impossibly rare occasions when such a thing happened, a Lattice could very well suddenly jump an expected time-frame of achieving full misalignment and pounce right into it.
Computer estimating something so sketchy was very often a crapshoot, and even though the Hawking’s smartware estimated a two minute safety zone, it could very easily and suddenly drop to a two second countdown if only one extra Lattice rod suddenly fell out of place. Stubbs was right: there was not a lot of time.
“One hundred and seventeen escape pods launched from the
Delaware—one hundred and five successfully,” Mara announced as she studied the readout from her tactical console.
She tried desperately to keep the worry from her voice, as she wondered if Missy were aboard one of the pods that had been destroyed. “We’ve successfully retrieved sixty of the pods so far.
Others are en route to…” She paused as an odd reading announced itself via her tactical scanner. She leaned closer, scarcely daring to believe the tactical alert, but knowing nonetheless that it was true.
“Mara, what is it?” Stubbs demanded.
Mara expelled air in surprise, then caught herself. She turned her chair partway to look at her captain. “Sir, the graving yards—! I’m reading engines powering up, ship movement! Half those ships are manned by skeleton crews, but they are manned—! They’re disengaging from their docking umbilicals and making their way toward our fleet!”
Stubbs turned to her fully, and leaned forward, a feeling of abrupt numbness sweeping over him. “How many?” he asked in a fearful whisper.
“Seventy-two.”
As Stubbs and his first officer/wife shared an apprehensive look, a blaring emergency klaxon went off and the bridge lights suddenly turned a deep pulsing red. Mara swung back to her console and read the heralding of more bad news. “Proximity alert! Fifty warp exits opening up in the space aft our fleet!
Enemy ships!”
On the bridge of the Horizon, David Christenson had ordered a full view aft of his fleet upon Tanner Matthews delivering the exact news that Mara had given to Stubbs aboard the Hawking. Matthews carried out the order, and Christenson leaned back in his chair and drew in a breath at the sight: Fifty new and undamaged enemy vessels charging out of their warp exits and heading toward his own armada with renewed vigor.
And one of them, David realized, was the Necrosis, Tholin’s ship.
Buttlefield craned her neck toward the captain. “Message coming in from the Necrosis, sir.”
David sat up and straightened his uniform jacket, not wishing to look disheveled in front of his old ‘friend.’ “You know what to do, Buttlefield.”
Buttlefield said nothing…simply turned briefly back to her console and tabbed in a few commands. She turned back to watch as the face of General Tholin appeared on the central monitor. The Calvorian sat regally in his chair—he always did, as if his rank were one of born privilege, rather than the result of years spent toiling within the Alliance’s military. His greenish-yellow eyes glistened with a proud fire within, and he made a grand sweeping gesture of greeting with his arm as he said in flawless English, “David. How have you been?”
David Christenson smiled pleasantly and nodded. “Just fine, Tholin. That’s so very kind of you to ask. And you?”
“I have likewise been well. I know of your recent raid on our outpost in star-system five-seven-one. Since you did not happen upon this base by accident, I am certain you managed to infiltrate our codes, and know very well that I recently led a successful campaign on a nearby colony world.”
“Yes. I’d congratulate you, but mother told me to never be a hypocrite. And it’s the Arcturus system, by the way. We’re still using human terms for that location.”
Tholin’s eyes darkened now, and his sharpened teeth momentarily ground against one another. “Not for long.”
Christenson smiled, pleased that he had stung him. “I must say, I didn’t expect you to be so Johnny-on-the-spot with getting here today.”
“’Johnny-on-the…’” Tholin repeated, then grunted. “Oh.
Another of what you call ‘slang’ terms, which I alternately find amusing, then consternating. Another which I will have to make certain is erased from your language. I have to admit, I always thought better of you, David. It was foolish to become so taken with your temporary victory there, as to allow yourself to halve your fleet and come to us here. We’ve already dispatched a score of ships to retake that planet, and I will personally have the pleasure of crushing your ship once and for all.”
David cleared his throat and sat forward a bit, making a tsk-tsk sound as he clasped his hands together. “I think you’ve got that a little backwards, mate. You see, I was of course aware of your location. I knew you were close enough to this base in particular, that your leaders would have no choice but to send you. I also knew that halving my fleet would prove too much a temptation for them. That’s why, once your ships arrive there, they’ll find that area of space deserted…and that base is, by-the- by, too far for them to realize their mistake in time and come rescue you.”
“Deserted?” Tholin said in confusion. “Rescue—?”
“This is Operation: Pushback, my friend. We’re sending a message to the Alliance. And there’s no greater message, I think, than if today is the day we finally rid ourselves of you.”
He unclasped his hands and without looking back, pointed a finger squarely at the communications officer. “Now, Buttlefield.”
She tabbed a panel on her console. David Christenson watched with satisfaction as a proximity alert went off on Tholin’s bridge, and his first officer, Naddar, finally came into view. The younger Calvorian was hurriedly giving reports to his superior in their native tongue, and waving his arms about in disbelief. Naddar turned to the viewscreen and shouted something at Christenson in the Calvorian language—more than likely a curse, he figured. He simply smiled back at the two stunned Calvorians, as security chief Matthews stated simply via the ODC, “Two hundred and twenty warp exits opening.”
In the space immediately surrounding the two fleets, warp exits began opening—and kept opening, one after another.
David Christenson was a master tactician, and having engaged Tholin several times before, he knew his opponent and his masters well. Of course the Alliance would eventually come to reclaim the planet the humans had taken. Yet for UEF, it was really only of use for the tactical secrets it held. With that knowledge, David had managed to acquire the enemy’s current troop strength for three nearby sectors, and the location of his opponent and equal in strategizing. Leaving a small portion of his fleet behind was a ruse to give the Alliance a sense of overconfidence, but David had actually ordered that remainder to head out only an hour after them. Just enough time to make the Alliance think the planet was only lightly protected.
Just prior to putting the signal from Tholin’s ship through, Buttlefield had sent out a transpace signal to several different locations where UEF had acquired territorial footholds, as per the plan Christenson had set up with UEF Command’s blessing.
A light amount of ships from at least five different sectors had been sent out, cumulatively adding up to a larger backup force.
