“The Drexalis is launching starfighters,” Aurora said.
“They're really doing it?” Starfighters weren't common in fleet combat during his, admittedly short lifetime. “What are they, Max?”
The pretense of a simplistic viewport vanished and it came alive with displays. One zoomed in on a single starfighter.
“Dymaxion manufacture. Screwdriver 12s. The 13s have only been out a few years, so don't take these lightly.” The Drexalis's bays continued to burst forth. “Two full squadrons. I estimate standard ratio; two drone AIs for every pilot.”
“Dard says Aventicia Defense has grown fat and untested. They're so not ready for an atypical attack like this.” Starfighters bolted from the Trade Union flotilla zeroing in on the exposed and unorganized flank of Aventicia's escort fleet. “Pops,” Jordahk transmitted. “Pops! We've got to get him out of there.”
“I don't think anything's getting through,” Aurora said.
The Screwdrivers reconfigured too. Their wendell engines extended and wings reshaped. The huge weapon slung underneath came to life. Charged particles randomly pushed out from its maw. The starfighters broke into four attack gruppes and ripped into the Aventicia formation.
“This is gonna get ugly,” Max said.
Aventicia ships broke in every direction. At best it was a disorganized attempt to group into some sort of unified defense. The first two gruppes swooped on the perimeter ships, filling space with their deadly red teleforce beams. Two destroyers nearly collided in the fracas.
The dotted line of a starfighter's pulsed T-beam packed more KT punch than the solid pinkish versions fired from ships. But the drawback was limited range. Only starfighters had the nimbleness to dance that close and come out unscathed.
The remaining two gruppes dove at an isolated frigate. It could not produce adequate anti-fighter fire on its own. The boxy frigate was pounded in its aft quarter. Plasma gyrated off it in corkscrew shapes as shield controllers tried in vain to hold it in place. One thruster began to sputter. The starfighters continued on, regrouping at the far end of the Aventicia formation.
Aventicia fleet comm lit up.
“Cease fire, cease fire!”
“Why's the Jetty firing? What are our orders?”
“Pull back! Close up the formation.”
“Watch your drakking spacing! Don't override!”
“This is frigate Maynard's Strike. We have uncontrolled plasma leaks. Request immediate assistance.”
“They're coming back,” Max said of the starfighters. “We're gettin' a little too close for my tastes. It's war over there.”
“Pops!” No response came to Jordahk's plea. “He always finds a way.”
“Maybe it's not us this time,” Max offered.
“Don't be a fool,” Zoraida said. “This engagement isn't for us.”
The starfighters chose to focus on the wounded frigate, and their AIs began juking around intercept gun fire. One gruppe peeled off, strafing the edge of the Aventicia formation to keep them disorganized. The other three, one after another, bombarded the frigate with accuracy only possible at close range. The frigate couldn't turn its wound away from the fire.
Effective shielding was soon lost in the damaged section and the remaining starfighter's pulsed T-beams penetrated deep into the ship. Its thrusters spewed a gout of uncontrolled plasma causing the ship to tumble. It launched two boats before exploding in a consuming ball of energy. The light was like a slap in the face to the Aventicia fleet. The comms went silent for a few bewildered seconds.
This was no longer a political game, it was for real. And for none more than the crew of Maynard's Strike.
“I don't know if her shields even made it to full hot,” Max said.
Jordahk felt more hobbled than ever in the Aurora's disguise configuration. “Arc us out to my father's squadron.” He had to off-load Zoraida ASAP.
Behind them the chaos continued. The four starfighter gruppes separated again to harass targets of opportunity. The Aventicia forces were all too eager to clump into close formations for fighter protection.
“That will buy them a little time,” Jordahk noted.
“Yeah, but the Jetty has stopped firing,” Max said.
Without the Jetty's repelling heavy fire, the Trade Union flotilla would close on the Aventicia escorts.
“Max, quick. Bring up the Trade Union's heavies.” Three cruiser-sized ships filled the viewport. But none were a regular cruiser. One had sweeping curves highlighted by glowing golden lines. A mammoth, sleek ring surrounded its rear third. “A mystic cruiser. Where did they find these ships? Aur— Moon Weaver, do you recognize it?”
“The class served during the Sojourners' Crusade, but this example isn't an exact match for any. Perhaps it's been restored from multiple ships.”
The other two Jordahk did recognize, thanks to his father's inculcation. But the knowledge brought only dread.
“Scientum ray cruisers...”
Entire cruisers devoid of any hyperguns. No need for ammunition resupply. No massive, maneuver-slogging magazines filled with rocks. From what he'd heard, they'd become the most prestigious of the cruiser appointments, eclipsing even the larger command cruiser.
“So the Trade Union has some heavy T-beam firepower of their own,” Max said.
“Magnificent,” Zoraida said.
“Maybe, if you're not on the receiving end,” Jordahk said. “And it's about to rain down on Aventicia defense. A non-firing Jetty and a single galleon won't stop them.”
“I don't think it'll even slow them,” Max remarked.
“I believe they've begun a beat of battle,” Aurora said.
As if on cue the entirety of the flotilla let loose a coordinated salvo. Hypergun rocks blurred forth with glowing particles swishing in their wake. A fraction of a second later the T-beams streaked along the same paths. The column of force smashed into a swath of Aventicia Defense.
It made the Trade Union tactics clear. Herd the enemy into tight groups for fighter defense, then blast them with fleet fire. Ship-to-ship combat required maneuvering room. But leaving the safety of the group made you target practice for the starfighters.
The Trade Union's salvo was successful, hitting more ships than a beat normally would. Two destroyers in front of Aventicia's lone galleon took a terrific pummeling. They struggled to stay in formation and angle away their damaged shields.
“This isn't looking good for the locals,” Jordahk said.
“It's not looking good for us either,” Max said. “We've picked up some friends.”
Indicators flashed on the tac VAD. Six small ships were catching up to them from behind.
“...starfighters. Can we outrun them?” Jordahk asked.
“No,” Aurora said. Then she link-said to Jordahk, “Not in this configuration.”
“Okay. Rig for combat as is.”
“Combat?” Gasket appeared on the viewport. “Ah, we really aren't all we can be right now.”
“Just do what you can,” Jordahk answered. Then he sub-whispered to Aurora. “Let Max take a quick look at your systems. I need to know if you've been tampered with.”
“I'm not allowed to interface with Wixom,” Aurora link-said.
“I'll watch Wixom. Trust me.”
“Alright, Johr-Dahk.”
Jordahk closed his eyes and reached out. He'd become accustomed to the mystic super-compy on his wrist, at least as much as one could to one of the Bitlord's opaque creations. He was confident that he and Max could monitor a short once-over.
“Wixom,” Jordahk sub-whispered, “I'll be watching. This is no time for a showdown. Nor will me locking you away in a trammel snare help you accomplish your master's goals. Do we understand each other?”
“So brash, Quext,” Wixom's smooth voice answered in his link. “I wouldn't want to ruin the suspense. So please proceed and see what you can sense.”
The unfathomable AI could be infuriating. It was exhibit “A” why AIs were not made th
is way. Jordahk was tempted to trammel snare the AI anyway, but Max's aid was too valuable to lose. In a flash he was flying over the cool-colored landscape of Aurora's mind. It was far more vast than he imagined.
“Do it quick, Max.”
Aurora was leaving herself open and not impeding them. Bright lines checking her systems flashed out from either side of their presence as they moved. There was a subtle surge behind him. A pressure that may have gone unnoticed had he not become so hyper-aware. He turned, at first seeing nothing. But after concentrating he spied a red tendril moving up in his wake. Wixom.
“It's him,” Max link-said.
A lightning bolt formed in the hand of Jordahk's virtual presence. Fueled by a spike of anger, realization that he could make it ten times more powerful, if he chose, dawned.
Wixom chuckled. “So you noticed that. Just a little test, Quext. You passed.”
Jordahk hurled the lightning bolt anyway. It ripped down the length of the tendril, shattering it. The bolt receded from sight, and he could feel a small shock at his wrist. It was satisfying, putting Wixom in his place. Another lightning bolt formed in his virtual hand, more powerful than the last and still growing.
“She's clear,” Max said.
It was time to pull out, but the lightning desired to be wielded. And Wixom deserved some real damage. It would feel good to pay him back a little. The bolt crackled with far more energy than necessary.
“I think you've made your point, Quext. You didn't want a confrontation, is that right? There's a war going on out here.”
The lightning suddenly triggered a memory. Judicum wreaking terrible havoc upon a compy core. His desire for payback faded along with the lightning bolt. He let dissipate. In a flash they were all back on the bridge and he opened his eyes.
Power corrupts so fast! What was I thinking?
“What are you doing?” Zoraida asked.
Jordahk shook his head. “A minor lapse. Gasket, see if you can get that Jhapa guy to help.” The man was as validated as they could determine under the circumstances. Jordahk had asked Aurora for her trust, now he too had to trust. “He's in it with us now too, like it or not.”
“You're supposed to deliver me to the Verdant,” Zoraida said.
“I'm working on it. Strap in.”
“Strap in?” She took the left officer's station.
“This is a corvette, not a cruiser.”
The silken auto-restraints held them in an unobtrusive embrace. Ahead, his father's course offered no safer haven. Alpha squadron was setting to engage the First Cruiser and the Perigeum contingent. What was he thinking? And Mason's Beta squadron prospects looked even grimmer. Under-gunned against the Svals? Starmadas didn't even want to face them on even footing. What strategic concerns were forcing such tactics?
“Here they come!” Max said.
The starfighters let loose their built up charges at maximum effective range, analyzing their prey on the first pass. Pulsed T-beams raked the Aurora's shields as only they could. Jordahk actually felt vibration though the grav weaves.
“Being a target of opportunity sucks hydrogen.”
▪ ▫ ▪
Everything aboard a galleon was big. The corridors were wide, the hatches oversized, and the bridge was something off a war-era battleship. It was impressive, for a scientum craft. Of course one could indulge in such designs if everything could be run off powerful fusion reactors and no accommodation needed to be made for starkeel and manifold space.
“I managed to appropriate five seconds of outside visuals,” Barrister said.
The expansive viewport lit with an unexpected sight. Heavy T-beams streaked away toward the Trade Union.
“We've got control back?” Capt Benziger asked?
“Unfortunately, no,” Aristahl said.
The captain wrestled with sporadic internal comms until a man with dark hair and a severe widow's peak appeared.
“Commander Schapp, have we declared hostilities with the Trade Union?”
The visuals were besieged by distortion. “I have not captain. It's this damned virus.”
The almost panicked activity at the Jetty's command center wasn't inspiring.
“Perhaps we should consider evacuating non-essential personnel?”
“Mind your place, captain. I don't want to hear from you again unless you somehow get that norge moving.” The comm VAD thinned to a vertical line and disappeared.
“He's a charmer,” Torious said.
The captain could only shake his head. “The Drattehorn is the oldest galleon, and well past her prime...”
“But no captain wants to hear his ship referred to as a norge,” Aristahl said.
It was slang for an old piece of equipment that had run its course and ready for disposal.
“Yes...” The captain winced and looked afar off. “What happened to Aventicia?”
“Perhaps you are familiar with this old cliché: When markets are free, the rich can become powerful. When markets are controlled, the powerful become rich.”
The Drattehorn appeared well maintained. Even the luxurious and unnecessary real wood trim on her bridge was polished. But deeper system-wide maintenance and upgrades cost coin and staryard time. Coin that was apparently not being spent here, and perhaps not even on defense.
“Link established with data rider station,” Barrister said.
“The bitsmiths are supposed to be coming to try in person,” Benziger said, “but the Drattehorn isn't exactly at the front of the line. Besides, they've had little luck on other galleons.”
Aristahl sat at the station and VADs of information appeared around him.
“Yes, I see. Where does it fail, Barrister?”
“At ninety-nine percent exactly. Every time. The virus strikes and prevents initialization.”
“Somebody with a lot of talent is toying with those bitsmiths. But it is also good news.”
“Good?” Benziger asked.
“Yes. Holding at ninety nine percent, we can launch as soon as it is eradicated.”
“Why the rush to launch? The Trade Union's firepower can't crack the Jetty's shields.”
Aristahl paged through screens of information. “Someone has control of this station's weapons and probably the shields as well. They may drop at a most inopportune time. And even if they stay up, an Artemis is out there. No scientum shield in-system can withstand it. Maneuverability is your only defense.”
The captain puckered as if on something ill-tasting. “I've heard stories of Artemis cannons. My father fought in the war.”
Aristahl chuckled to himself. “So did mine. On what side did yours fight?”
“Oh, we're an Asterfraeo family. I emigrated to the Banking Confederation world Fiducia. Thought I would go into finance. It didn't really work out and I somehow ended up in defense. When a captaincy opened up here at Aventicia, I just took it.”
“The virus has fortressed in every major system,” Barrister said, “both on ship and station. The core is far removed. Getting there will be problematic.”
“Push out,” Aristahl said. “Find us a path.”
“On whose side did your father fight?” Benziger asked.
“His own.” Aristahl looked away from the VADs. “But in battle we mostly opposed the Perigeum, and occasionally ourselves.”
“I wonder if Defense is my way of continuing my father's legacy.”
Aristahl nodded. “I also find myself asking similar questions from time to time.”
“This virus is clever work,” Barrister said. It was rare praise. “I have been monitoring their bitsmiths. They are trying every conventional approach, but it is well beyond such remedies. They cannot penetrate deep enough, and are steered into endless loops. However each time they fail and reset I can obtain a few seconds of outside visuals. Here is another snippet.”
Ships dotted space above the rim of the planet. Barrister highlighted groups including Kord's Alpha squadron. The image zoomed to a distant point. Enhancemen
t resolved the target into clarity. Glowing blue lines lit the image.
“The First Cruiser?” Benziger said. “So you were indeed right. Its demise was...”
“A ruse,” Aristahl said. “And it brought hybrid escorts this time.”
“They are heading this way,” Barrister said. “Kord is moving to intercept.”
“Brash, brave, and foolish.” Aristahl shook his head. “It appears the forces pulling off this planetary heist have brought out their big guns, literally. Time is short. We will have to dive in, Barrister.”
“Surely you are not considering a thresh, sir.”
“You have a better idea? The galleons must be freed. The six will at least offer a chance to turn the tide.”
“Given enough tries, I can—”
“Come now, Barrister. This is not something you can brute force in a timeframe that will help us. We are dealing with guile, and it must be matched with guile.”
“Out of what planet are you registered as an imprimatur, if I may ask?” Benziger inquired.
“Demeter.”
“Demeter?” Benziger paused in thought. “Demeter...”
“In the Far Worlds.”
“You say that as if it explains everything. Look, I can't grant the kind of authorization you need if you're talking about a deep dive into the Jetty's core systems.”
Aristahl looked the man in the eye. “Will you trust an old hand at this?”
Chapter Twenty Nine
“It's broken,” Gasket said. A clank and loud hissing accompanied his comm from below decks.
“Broken? But the shielding—” Jordahk said from the bridge.
“Is not at a strength it could be. You know what I mean.”
A port-side thruster, in a cluster behind the hypergun nacelle, was out of commission. That entire nacelle was normally extended out, but not in boxy disguise mode. Flashing red was already accumulating on the ship's schematics.
Tethered Worlds: Star in Bankruptcy Page 34
