by Jay Allan
Engineering had erupted into a round of applause for the captain when the first enemy vessel exploded…and he suspected the reaction on the bridge had been no less animated. The display was repeated a few minutes later when a second enemy ship disappeared from the display.
But the levity was short-lived, as the other eight vessels continued on. Several of them slowed their thrust, most likely due to damage from the missile strikes. But there was more than enough firepower left to destroy Hurley…and it was coming on hard, bearing down even as the human vessel raced for the moderate cover of the asteroids.
Danith had sworn under his breath when he’d gotten the order to fire the reactor up to one hundred fifteen percent of capacity. Danith’s father had been a technician aboard in the fleet, and he’d passed his own impressive vocabulary of spacers curses and obscenities to his son. The engineer uttered every one of them when the word came down to push the reactor to one twenty. Pushing the reactor so hard was wildly dangerous. But he could see the scanners as well as anyone, and he knew Heflin’s order was the only way they were going to get into the asteroid belt before the pursuers got close enough to blast Hurley to slag.
He pulled himself along, grabbing another handhold and muscling his way forward. The access tube was a failsafe, doubtless one nobody on Hurley’s design team would ever would have expected to see real use. But most of the ship’s automation had to be turned off to prevent an automatic shutdown, and that meant human hands had to complete tasks the AI and its corps of maintenance bots would normally have handled. Besides, keeping the ship’s reactor going under the immense strain was something Danith didn’t trust to anyone but himself…not one of the Hurley’s maintenance bots, and not any of his own people either.
Not that he would have sent anyone else even if he’d trusted them to do the job. The tube was shielded, at least sufficiently for normal operating conditions, but he hadn’t even tried to calculate the radiation levels in the overtaxed reactor. He kept waiting to feel the tingling, the feeling so many of the old fleet’s personnel had reported when they’d been exposed to massive—and deadly—amounts of radiation.
He saw his destination ahead, a small panel, one typically serviced by the ship’s bots. It was a control station, routing excess energy and pressure away from the reactor core. It was normally a routine piece of equipment, but now, with the reactor overloaded, it was critical. And it was malfunctioning.
Danith reached behind him, struggling to get his arm back in the confined space. He grabbed for the small toolkit hanging from his belt, poking around, finding a slender probe. He pulled it forward, sucking in his stomach, trying to make room to get his arm back in front of him.
He felt a wave of nausea, but he couldn’t tell if it was the onset of radiation sickness…or just the fear that had been burning a hole in his stomach for hours now. He ignored it, staring forward as he moved the probe toward the panel. He had to readjust the energy flow, get the conduit opened to maximum. He’d tried to do it from the control panel, but the overload had shut down the automated circuits.
He moved the probe slowly…this was precision work, and with the whole system so close to catastrophic failure, there was no margin for error. He stared intently, wrinkling his face, trying to direct the sweat pouring down his forehead out of his eyes.
Just a little further. Almost…
His hand shook, just a little, but it was almost enough to push the probe out of place. He took a deep breath and moved it forward again. Slowly…steadily.
Click.
That’s it. It’s in place.
He moved his head, tapping his com unit with his cheek. “Klein, what’s the feedback reading?”
As soon as he heard his assistant’s tone he knew he’d done the job.
“Forty-three, sir. And dropping.”
Danith let out a deep breath. He’d done it. He’d staved off disaster.
For now…
* * *
“I want those weapons charged. Now!” Heflin was pushed forward hard as Hurley took another hit, his chest slamming painfully against the harness holding him in place. The thing was infernally uncomfortable, but he knew without it, he be a stain on the far wall by now.
“Engineering says forty seconds, sir.”
“Fuck.” Heflin’s curse was intended for himself, but he realized immediately he’d said it loud enough for everyone to hear. He flipped his com unit, slamming his hand down so hard on the controls he winced at the pain. “Lieutenant Danith, what the hell is going on down there? I need these guns charged, and I need it now.”
“It’s a miracle you’ve still got a ship, sir. There’s nothing we can do down here. Half the power conduits are charred scrap…and the others are a few degrees from melting. You’re getting all the power I can give you, and this side of a space dock and a year of repairs, it’s all we’re going to have.”
“Do what you can, Lieutenant.” Heflin cut the line. Keeping the chief engineer on the com and away from his work wasn’t going to get him power any faster.
The ship shook hard again, and a structural support crashed to the floor of the bridge, leaving a shower of sparks behind where it sliced through the local power lines. The bridge lights dimmed and the workstations flickered briefly, as the AI shifted power to keep vital systems running.
“Main batteries ready, sir.”
“Target bogey number two, all guns. Fire!”
The lights went completely dark for a few seconds, and Heflin could hear the hum of Hurley’s particle accelerators firing. The heavy main guns were another piece of adopted First Imperium tech, vastly stronger than the lasers that had been the fleet’s primary batteries thirty years before.
Heflin looked down at his screen. The beam traveled at 0.9c, but it took another few seconds for Hurley’s scanners to detect the results and update the display. Then the small circle representing the enemy ship disappeared.
Three down.
Heflin felt a moment of exhilaration, but it died quickly as the satisfaction of the kill gave way again to bitter reality. He’d used the asteroid field to great advantage. Hurley had taken out three enemy ships, each one of them a match for her.
They’d give me a medal for this back on Earth Two.
If any of us were getting back…
He turned and looked out over the bridge, thinking about all the times dissension and rivalry had caused problems. He’d served aboard ships in various capacities before he got his first command, and he’d been part of the social structure of each of them. But he hadn’t realized how difficult it was to take a diverse group and weld them into a tight, efficient unit. He’d doubted many times that he’d managed it, especially when Talbot and some of the others let their resentments show at things like having a Tank as second-in-command. But now he watched as they worked together seamlessly…a team, and a damned good one at that.
He felt a moment of pride, and then one of deep sadness. He knew they were all going to die. His life had spanned almost three decades, and he knew now he was watching the last few moments unfold. He’d been struggling to contain his fear, but now he realized it was gone. He had accepted his own fate…but his heart still ached for his people. He wished there was some way he could save them…some of them, at least. But he knew it was over.
“Lieutenant Ventnor, I want every drone on the ship ready to launch immediately. They are to carry a complete copy of all scanner data on the enemy ships…and a code omega designation.
Ventnor paused for an instant, just staring across the debris-strewn bridge at him. Then she said simply, “Yes, Captain.” She turned toward her workstation and her hands moved over the controls.
Hurley shook again. More debris fell from the ceiling, and Heflin could hear alarm bells in the distance. He knew what they meant. Hull breaches. The bridge was the best-protected section of the ship, but he knew all along the outer compartments, the hull was torn apart. He imagined his people there, being smashed into the walls by the sudden d
epressurization…or sucked out into space. He’d ordered them all into their survival suits, so if they lived through the shock, they would have a few hours’ life support.
Enough time to watch us die…before they freeze or run out of air…
“All drones ready, Captain.” Ventnor’s voice was shaky. He could tell she was trying to hold it together, but the fear was too powerful. She was a good officer. He remembered the day she’d reported for duty. Tanks didn’t usually rise to high ranks in the navy…they tended to prefer service in the Marines. He had felt some doubt himself, but then he saw her in action. He’d long thought she was destined for higher rank, that perhaps she would even become the first Tank to command a warship.
And now she will die out here, hundreds of lightyears from home…
“Begin launch sequence, Lieutenant. Maximum dispersal pattern, full evasive program.” One of the drones had to get through. The republic had a new enemy, one they knew nothing about.
“Launching drones now, sir.”
Hurley shook hard as the catapults fired the drones into space. Heflin stared at the screen, watching the dozen small symbols as they moved away from Hurley. Within moments, he could see several enemy vessels, changing thrust trajectories, moving to intercept the drones. While he was watching, two of them fired, each taking out one of the tiny devices.
Hurley shook again, the hardest impact so far. Heflin could hear the rumbling sounds of internal explosions. He turned toward Ventnor, about to fire off another series of orders, but she spoke first.
“Captain…” She sounded like she was in shock. “Lieutenant Danith is dead, sir.” She paused. “The access tube ruptured…and he fell into the reactor core.”
Heflin felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He and Danith had reported for duty on Hurley the same day. The idea of a man falling into the core was horrifying, but he realized his friend’s death had been a quick one, merciful in its own way.
He turned back to the screen. The drones—the eight that the enemy hadn’t destroyed yet—were the only thing that mattered. Heflin and his people were doomed…but their deaths could still have meaning. They could still warn their people.
“Captain, three enemy ships have overtaken us. We’re bracketed. I think they’re…”
She never finished her sentence…and Heflin never knew she hadn’t. The beams struck Hurley amidships, two direct hits. The vessel shook hard for a fraction of a second. Then she disappeared in a swirling vortex of nuclear fire.
The miniature sun existed for a few second…and then there was nothing but the silence, and a dissipating cloud of plasma where Hurley had been.
And a small group of drones racing for the warp gate across the system, pursued by the enemy ships.
Chapter Four
Underground Flyer Found in Victory City
Clones of Earth Two, it is time for all of us to stand up for our rights, to compel equal representation in the Assembly and firm constitutional guarantees! We must demand the repeal of all limitations on new quickenings, and recognize all such legislation as a blatant attempt to keep us a minority. We will not accept marginalization! We will not live penned in ghettoes and be treated as second-class citizens. No! We are scientists and engineers…Marines and spacers. We have served the republic loyally and faithfully. And we will have our rights! We will take them if need be, and no one will stop us!
AI Chamber
Victory City, Earth Two
Earth Two Date 10.30.30
“Things are getting really bad. I know President Harmon is trying to calm everyone, but my gut is telling me he will fail. I feel like I should be doing something, helping somehow.” Terrance Compton II sat on the single hard plastic chair in the room, one he had brought there himself several years before. The Compton AI was accessible from any major data port on Earth Two, and few people actually came to the room that held the main processing unit. But Terrance preferred to come to the source. He couldn’t make a sensible argument for his desire to sit next to the big machine when he spoke with it, but it didn’t take a genius psychotherapist to figure out he was drawn to all that was left of his father.
“Your species has an extraordinary predilection to destroy itself. In the absence of an exterior threat, internal conflict in inevitable. I can cite historical examples if you wish.” The Compton AI was the work of Hieronymus Cutter, the scientist’s desperate attempt to save his murdered friend. Cutter had seen the work of the Ancients, even interacted with the computer-encased persona of a First Imperium warrior. But his knowledge had been insufficient to replicate the feat. He’d managed to capture Compton’s memories, many of them at least, and his tactical knowledge. But the personality, the essence of the man had been lost. Terrance knew all of that, but talking to the machine still made him feel somehow…closer to the father he’d never known.
“But I am your…his…son. I should know what to do.”
“That is thought progression with no underlying logic. The fact that you are Admiral Compton’s biological son creates no obligation or rational expectation that you would continue his work, or that you would know how to address issues that, given mankind’s most profound tendencies, may indeed be insoluble.” The voice, almost human, but with a coldness that gave its artificial origins away, paused. “Admiral Compton’s memories suggest he had an unsatisfactory relationship with his own father. From what I can glean, it is likely he would have been very happy to know he had a son…and by human standards, my analysis suggests he would have made an extraordinary effort to be a good father.”
Terrance flinched slightly at the machine’s abrupt change of topic. It did that periodically. And unpredictably. But he saw in those moments what he perceived as true glimpses of his father. He suspected he was kidding himself, reading into the words what he wanted to believe, but he clung to the thoughts anyway.
“He would be ashamed of me. I have enjoyed every advantage in my life, yet I have done nothing of substance.”
Terrance Compton II had been coddled and protected as a child, raised both as his mother’s son and as a sort of favored ward of the state, the least a grateful people could do to repay the man who had saved them all. The factions in the republic had long ago fractured and begun feuding with each other, but every one of them revered the memory of Admiral Terrance Compton. His memory, and the obligation the residents of Earth Two felt to maintain the unity he had worked so hard to forge, was virtually the last thread holding the republic together. And they had looked to his son as their future, as the natural leader to one day bring them into the future.
But such attention, the unyielding adoration and the soul-crushing expectations…it was too much for a young adolescent. Terrance Compton II had done all he could to lash out, to throw away every opportunity his birth afforded him. He’d been involved in one petty incident after another, and every time, the authorities had looked the other way, unwilling to move against the son of a legend. Terrance had continued his rebellion at the Academy, when he repeatedly challenged the commandant to expel the great admiral’s progeny. His exploits were forgiven there as well, until he’d pushed so far there had been no ignoring it. Even then, he’d been placed on administrative leave, not expelled. Even now, eight years later, he was still officially a midshipman, pending a reactivation he’d never requested.
“Terrance, my analysis, not only of your father’s memories, but also of the conduct of the humans I have observed around me, suggests far more complex motivations would have directed the admiral’s feelings and actions. Primarily, if he had survived, he would have remained the focal point of public adoration and expectation, shielding you from the harmful exposure you received when you were too young and undeveloped to properly process and manage it. There can be no certainties in analyzing human behavioral patterns, but there is a high probability that, if your father had lived, your own attitudes and motivations would have been considerably altered. Your species is quick to blame outside influences for poor conduct, b
ut in your case, it is a legitimate assessment. The odds are extremely low that you, or any human child, enduring the well-meaning but nevertheless harmful attention you received, would have emerged without considerable emotional trauma.”
Terrance took a deep breath. He knew what the machine would say…they’d had the same conversation many times before. But he needed to hear it. He was angry at himself, ashamed at his lack of success, at his dissolute life. He’d never had to do a day’s work…the republic wasn’t about to allow the son of the great Admiral Compton to end up going hungry or sleeping on a park bench, and the stipends the Assembly had voted him were more than sufficient to support a secure lifestyle. He knew he’d never be forced to do anything at all. He could live his entire life comfortably, and never raise a hand to help build the republic. Or save it.
Terrance sat quietly for a moment. Then he took a deep breath. “It is time for me to make something of my life. Time for me to do something that would make my father proud of me.” He stood up. He’d been troubled recently, more so than usual. And now he realized it had been self-loathing that had stood in his way. Perhaps not from the beginning, but for many years now. And it was time to leave that behind.
“That is an extremely rational deduction, Terrance. In objective terms, you are a very capable human specimen, both physically and intellectually. You have much to offer your people if you so choose.”
