William Keith Renegades Honor

by Renegade's Honor

  Hits were getting through anyway. Scattered cheers greeted the bright flash and gouting flame that marked a hit aft of the enemy's bridge. They'd felt that nudge, by God!

  Kendric snapped out more orders. Missiles slid from turret hard-points, weaving green traceries across the ship's tacsit screens. Nuclear fire blossomed, beautiful and deadly. Radiation overloaded key circuits, overcame damper relays, smashed through failsafe back-ups.

  "Shield's failing, skipper..." Ops reported.

  Kendric's next order flew on the heels of the report. "Main gun... Fire!"

  Fairfax echoed the command, and the main gun fired again. The Iulio's starboard aft shield faded, stabilized, began to build. Before it had fully stabilized, however, another mass of ultra-dense metal arrived, traveling at thousands of kilometers per second. The shot pierced the cruiser's hull, shredding armor like tissue. Explosions gutted three decks and vaporized the main converter assemblies. Fire raged in her Number Two storage hold, melting through the struts that supported the deck above. A leak developed, and hydrogen fuel at ultra-cold temperatures gushed from cracked cryostorage spheres into hot air and flame.

  The second explosion following so close on the heels of the first crippled the Iulio. Her drive failed, then the auxiliary power supplies. Lights, gravity, life support, weapons, and power reserves failed in the same instant. On her tower decks, crew shrieked mindlessly or grappled for emergency helmets as air gushed explosively into space. Though a few managed to don their helmets in time, most did not.

  Elsewhere, the fighting had stopped. One light cruiser was a drifting, crumpled wreck. Their shields down, their weapons useless, the surviving light cruiser, together with the heavy, signalled surrender.

  "All ships, this is Fraser!" Kendric said over the ship-to-ship channel. He was unaware of the tears on his face as he took in the terrible damage done to the Galad, now visible as the battleship swung close alongside the battered destroyer.

  "Cease acceleration and regroup!" He blinked burning eyes. "We've won!"

  In the name of Caesar, your vessel is commandeered for the duration of this emergency.

  —Transmission from Alba Port Control Authority to independent freighter Hyperion, Alba Port, 19 Oct 6830

  The frigate Abu and the destroyer Galad were the most badly damaged of the squadron's nine ships. All of the Gael ships had taken some degree of damage, but only the lolaire and the Teachdair had suffered no casualties. It was a grim prelude to a deadly undertaking.

  Kendric gave the weary ship crews no time to think about casualties, however. As soon as the worst of damage control had been completed, he directed each ship captain to canvas his men. Those who did not want to accompany the squadron in such an uncertain venture were free to remain behind. Damage control parties from the Gael Warrior had already helped the TOG crew aboard the Iulio bring fires and air leaks under control. There would be room aboard that Mars Class cruiser for those wishing to stay in the Argrian system.

  Nearly three hundred men decided to stay behind, and these were transported to the heavy cruiser as quickly as possible. To fill out the vacancies on some vessels, some further reshuffling of crews was necessary. Kendric remained on the bridge for the entire time, outwardly calm, inwardly seething. TOG reinforcements were certain to arrive insystem at almost any time, and he did not want to be caught here when they arrived.

  At last, however, all was ready. Crews had been transferred and redistributed as well as possible on such short notice, and they had managed to repair the worst of the damage to all ships. When Kendric gave the order to accelerate, the whole fleet moved out as one, their prows aligned with an invisible point that their navigational computers had picked out in the heavens.

  When their velocities were finally great enough and their navigational computations were complete, the order came down, and all nine ships slipped into the milkiness of T-space together. On the Warrior's bridge, Kendric slumped back in his command chair in relief.

  The run to Greshem took eight days. Kendric had drawn a new perscomp from the Warrior's stores and programmed it with his own tau-time. The fourteen days up-tau of the voyage from Narbon to Alba, minus a day of down-tau at Alba Port, plus eight days more en route to Greshem would leave him at 21 days plus tau once they reached their destination. That would limit how far they could travel afterward, unless they could enter T-space at high velocity, indeed. That couldn't be helped, however—not if they wanted a chance at rescuing the Gaels aboard those two transports.

  Of greater importance was just where the transports would be located when the squadron entered the Greshem system. There was no way of knowing for sure, but Kendric had the makings of a good guess. The Warrior had tracked the transports' flight from Alba, and so he knew what their velocity had been at the time of T-space transition. The Aldebaran Class was not built for high acceleration or fast runs, in or out of T-space. The Nav officer computed that the transports would take twelve days to travel the 10,000 light years between the Gael Cluster and Greshem's sun. In other words, they would have arrived in the red dwarf's system something less than twenty-four hours before the arrival of the Gael Squadron.

  What could not be known or guessed was exactly where those transports might be within the system. The War/w might emerge from T-space to find both transports already grounded, theircargos of frozen slaves already unloaded. Or the transports might yet be maneuvering slowly toward the system's quake-wracked inner planet.

  "All stations and departments report ready for breakout," Morganen reported from the auxiliary bridge.

  "Excellent." Kendric took a deep breath, fighting down rising anxiety and dread. Suppose they had guessed wrong, after all? Suppose it had been a trap, designed by Gracchi to lure them to this system? Suppose... "Captain to fighter group. All set down there, Jaime?"

  "Set and ready to go, Skipper," Douglass replied.

  "We'll feed you our tac data as soon as we get it. Don't hold your breath, though. I hope we won't need you at all."

  "Spoilsport. Uh, spoilsport, sir. We're ready when you give the word, Captain."

  He shifted channels. "Fraser here. All weapons ready, Lee?"

  "All weapons armed, charged, and ready, Captain. Main weapon ready."

  "I trust we won't need that." The transports would not be targets for the Gael Warrior's spinal-mounted weapon. One hit from the large mass driver would shred a transport—and kill every one of her frozen, unwilling passengers. They had to be ready anyway. Just in case.

  "Twenty seconds to breakout, Captain," Lieutenant Commander Campbell announced. The seconds were already flickering away on the main screen. The mass shadow of Greshem's sun was visible as a small, pale darkness against white glow, dead ahead, growing moment by moment.

  Then Campbell was counting down. "Three...two... one.. .breakout!"

  The ship dropped, and Kendric's hands clenched convulsively on his armrests. The white was swallowed in darkness. A sullen red star whose surface had a mottled, granular texture hung in space less than half an AU away.

  Anxious seconds followed. On the tac display, computer graphic symbols showed the other eight ships of the squadron close by and rocks and debris at greater distances, as the ships' radars reached out to touch them seconds later. The Greshem system was rich in asteroids and cometary material. Kendric could see the ghost-pale smudges of a pair of comets on the screen, not far from the sun. They were tinted red, reflecting the light of the system's dwarf star.

  "Captain! Ops here! We've got them!"

  "Where, Kelly?"

  "Inner planet. We've got one strong reading in orbit. Sensors are giving us a mass reading consistent with mAldebaran Class transport, and we're getting neutrino flux from his reactor. We've got other sources on the planet."

  "How many?"

  "Hard to pick them out. Most appear to be atmosphere plants, though there's a powerful neutrino source in the twilight zone that is probably their main base. There's another neutrino reading close by, whic
h is probably the other transport, sir."

  "Any other ships insystem?"

  A pause. "Negative, Skipper. We've got two transports, one in orbit, the other grounded.. .and multiple power sources on the planet. That's all."

  "Then we've got them." It was disquieting, though. One transport on the ground. Had they already unloaded their cargo? And the one in orbit. Had it already completed unloading and entered orbit to wait for the other? Or was it still waiting to land?

  The squadron accelerated sunward at flank speed. Allowing time for deceleration to their destination, the trip would take less than forty minutes.

  Jaime Douglass watched the developing tac display on his console screen. Rocks... debris... the system was lousy with junk. He watched with intent interest as numbers and words patterned themselves across the screen, cataloguing flashing symbols marking power sources and radar returns. One transport in orbit, definitely. Other symbols were scattered across the planet. He queried the ship's computer and learned that Greshem had been an airless cinder when first discovered, but fusion-powered outgassing systems had been in operation for a number of years now. The atmosphere was breathable, for short periods, with no exertion.

  And they expect slaves to work in that stuff, digging out the mines? Jaime shuddered.

  A red light flashed on his console. "Stand by, Jaime." The Captain's voice sounded in his helmet phones. "I'm switching you over to the IFCO."

  "Right. What's up, Skipper?"

  "Ops is picking up indications that the transport in orbit may be about to break and run for it."

  "Maybe they already dropped our people off."

  "Maybe. Maybe not. I want your people to deploy to head them off, just in case."

  Jaime was already running his eyes across his console displays, checking that all systems were green and ready. "Give the word, Skipper."

  "Stand by."

  Douglass used the tense minutes to check the two other Flight Leaders in his command. Since Trothas, he had been the Warrior's Group Leader. Flights and squadrons had been shuffled around to offer a better tactical mix. Gold Squadron, Alpha Flight, was his old squadron, but they were in Spiculums now, instead of the older, slower

  Pilums.

  Lieutenant Bill Kimball would head Beta Flight, while Lieutenant Roger MacKennie shepherded Gamma. There had been other changes since Trothas. The entire battleship Interceptor group was a tightly knit family now. Gone was the feeling that the old Gyrfalcons were outsiders. They were Gyrfalcons no longer—but Warriors.

  All fighters checked out ready for launch.

  "There they go!" someone called onto the radio net. On his screen, Jaime could see the two symbols representing the transports curving away from the planet. Numbers showed their acceleration—slow and sluggish. Nevertheless, it would not take them long to reach minimum transition velocity.

  "IFCO to all fighters. Stand by for immediate launch."

  "This is Group Leader, IFCO," Jaime replied. "All fighters, standing by."

  The bay doors were swinging open. Douglass could see the red sun directly ahead, the planet a slender crescent to one side.

  "Alpha Flight, launch when ready."

  "Alpha Flight. ..launch!"

  The familiar surge of acceleration momentarily penetrating his internal fields pressed him back in his seat. The Gael Warrior's hull flashed past, a gray blur meters above his head. Then he was alone, surrounded by stars and blackness, the ship a toy dwindling astern.

  "Group Leader, this is IFCO. We are downloading intercept data to all interceptors." Numbers and letters cascaded across his screen. He used his gravs to nudge his Spiculum into a different course, one that would intercept the fleeing transport. He decided to play this one cautiously, covering all possibilities. Beta and Gamma Flights would orbit the planet, watching for traps, serving as reserves, and keeping an eye on the grounded transport. Douglass's Alpha Flight would close with the transport, each of four squadrons spreading out to close with the fleeing ship from slightly different angles. If the transport suddenly tried to change course, someone would be in position to block him. Douglass's own Gold Squadron closed in from dead astern. At 7 Gs, they gained rapidly on the ponderous transport.

  "Aldebaran Class transport, this is Gold Squadron," Douglass called over the general ship-to-ship channel. "Cease acceleration, or we will fire on you."

  "Fire away, Renegade," a voice answered seconds later. "Go ahead and shoot if you want to murder all your own people!"

  The transport filled his cockpit screen forward. Its gray, bloated, whale shape was huge for the size of the single, burning exhaust flare aft. The bridge was a mere platform with a tiny, lighted tower on the ventral side of the hull, far forward.

  "Hey, Renegade!" the voice called again. "I understand freezies pop when you dump 'em in vacuum! You want to try and find out?"

  Douglass ignored the taunt, but knew that he was running out of time. A general attack could do exactly what the taunting voice was suggesting, destroy the transport and kill everyone aboard, either from vacuum or by power failure in the cargo freezer units. Yet the transport was already traveling better than eight kilometers per second. At almost any moment, its pilot might throw the ship into T-space. By the time Warrior calculated the ship's trajectory, transition velocity, and probable destination, the transport would be long gone.

  Jaime opened a line to his wingman. "Flank him to starboard, Dav! I'm moving in tight!"

  He urged his fighter closer to the transport, passing close under its flaring plasma exhaust. The bridge was visible ahead, gaudily painted in blue and white stripes that contrasted sharply with the gray main hull.

  Laser light flared, the burn-off from Jaime's forward shield leaving dazzle spots in front of his eyes. The Aldebaran mounted only a single, small 5/5 laser turret tucked in under its bridge, but it was enough to keep him cautious.

  Jaime took his time with his target, bringing it into his HUD crosshairs and locking in with his Spiculum's fire control computer. When a flashing red light indicated a positive lock, he held his breath and squeezed the firing control set onto his attitude stick.

  Paired 7.5/4 cm lasers on either wing flashed green light, the reflection from the freighter's belly stark and close. One bolt flared off the transport's shields, but the other struck home in light and fury. Air spilled into space, glittering as water droplets turned to starfields of ice. In the sun's red light, it looked like gouting blood.

  The Spiculum flashed under the transport's bleeding nose, maneuvering gravs pounding as he slowed and turned for another pass. "Transport!" Douglass called. "This is Gold Squadron Leader! I have just taken out your turret! My next shot will land directly on your bridge! After that, I'll carve your reaction mass tanks until your ship stops accelerating for lack of fuel. Will you surrender?"

  When no answer came, Jaime began lining up his next shot. Even in an age when the powerful weapons of battleships and heavy cruisers often decided the course of ship-to-ship combat, Interceptors still had a vital role. Only they were capable of the pinpoint accuracy necessary to pick out one, tiny target on an enemy vessel. Douglass had promised to burn out the freighter's bridge, and that was a promise he could keep 1 without risking the lives of the ship's helpless passengers.

  "Don't shoot, Gold Leader!" the voice answered again, its taunting | edge gone now. "We give up!"

  The transport's drive flickered and died a moment later. Then the ship began the ponderous maneuvers necessary to flip it end for end so that it could return to Greshem, under close fighter escort.

  The cheering had gone on for a long time before Kendric finally ordered silence and attention to duty. The Gaels kidnapped from Alba I had been rescued and were safe, but much work and a number of vital j decisions still remained.

  The transport on the ground had been in the process of unloading its cargo when the Gael Squadron arrived. Kendric had dispatched landing parties from the Warrior and the Reannruadh to the surface to supervise the loa
ding of the captive Gaels, who for the time being, would remain in cold storage. While in cryogenic suspension, they would not worry about their destination, nor would they need to eat or drink. It was doubtful that Kendric could find room for nearly 3,000 people aboard the two transports if they had been awake. The best, simplest solution was to let them remain asleep until the squadron arrived at its destination.

  That, ironically, became the Squadron's second, even more major problem. Just where were they to go now? As Overlord Gracchi had said, there was no place in the Galaxy where the Renegade Gaels could flee, nowhere where TOG would not hunt them down sooner or later. Kendric had decided to call a staff conference for some advice. He wanted to get T.C.'s counsel as well, for she could answer some of his questions about the Commonwealth again.

  Meanwhile, the TOG crews from the transports were unloaded at the fledgling mining colony on Greshem. This strained the fleet's resources even further to provide fifteen men to run each transport and monitor the freezer life-support machinery. When the ground parties found nearly six hundred more slaves already at the facility, Kendric decided to give them the choice of staying on Greshem or being frozen and taken out aboard the transports.

  Most of them wanted to come with the fleet, for which Kendric could not blame them. It took nearly six hours for these new passengers to file aboard the grounded transport and enter the freezing tubes, then another two hours to bring down the transport already in space and freeze the refugees who had not been able to squeeze aboard the first

  ship. Another shuffle of personnel transferred the civilians who had boarded the Gael Warrior at VLCA Alba throughout the squadron. Most of them were electronics and communications specialists, men and women with skills vital to the fleet. Kendric's—and the captains of the other ships—initial fears about integrating women into the crews proved groundless. The male members of each crew took a solicitous and sometimes overbearing interest in the well-being of the women. After several days, there were no reports of the jealousies or problems that some officers had predicted.