The atmosphere on the bridge was still tense, but utterly professional, each man attending to his duty with a minimum of conversation or urgency.
Maybe we can hold them...
"Munro here, Captain."
"Go ahead."
"Report from the Taisgealach, sir. Captain Mac Allister reports his ship is burning. Also, the Galad reports heavy attacks on the transports."
Damn! "Acknowledge. Make to Reannruadh. Increase speed to support transports."
"Aye, sir."
"Helm! Slow a bit and let her drift to port. Let the transports come
alongside."
There was risk in the maneuver. If the transports came too close, Ihey would effectively block a large portion of the Gael Warrior's field of fire. If the squadron lost the transports, however, there would be little point in continuing the fight. TOG would have won. Kendric wondered if the fighter pilots knew what the "cargos" of those fat transports were.
The volume of space through which the squadron was moving became less and less a hard vacuum by the moment. Chunks of ice struck by stray beams and rounds, fragmenting fighters, and other chunks of debris were filling the area with a glittering fog of micron-sized particles. Atmosphere spilled from smashed-open cockpits, hydrogen sprayed from ruptured mass tanks, and clouds of fragments ranging from fist-sized bits of hull metal to microscopic flecks of paint added to the growing atmosphere of diffuse matter.
The cloud had little effect on the squadron's ships, save to set flicker shields sparkling with countless stray impacts. Laser and particle beams, however, had become visible in the pseudo-atmos-phere, lances of colored light snapping through the glowing battlefog.
Sun brilliance ignited to starboard, where a Hell warhead had detonated on a destroyer's shields. Nuclear dampers had robbed the blast of much of its effect, but light and blast must have wreaked havoc there. Kendric could hear Fairfax giving orders to the turret crews to destroy incoming missiles before they hit.
Farther starboard, the transports were moving up abeam of the Warrior. One of them showed gaping craters pocking the aft sphere and radiator assembly. The other showed massive damage in the crew module just aft of the bridge.
"Emergency signal coming through from the Taisgealach, sir." Munro said. "'Shields failing.'"
"Log it and acknowledge." There was little that could be done now. The damaged corvette was on her own until one of her larger consorts was free from the press of the battle. "All ships...concentrate on the ones after the transports!"
"Acknowledged!"
A gentle lurch signalled the firing of the Warrior's main gun. Fairfax had identified a tight-packed group of heavy fighters assembling ahead of the fleet and had fired into them to discourage an attack from that direction.
"Incoming fighter, two-nine-nine plus 20!"
The panic in the voice brought Kendric's attention around to port. At the same moment, the damaged fighter struck the Gael Warrior, smashing through her port forward shield and plowing into her bow quarter. Wreckage splashed off into space as the fighter exploded, molten gobbets of metal creating a pattern of spectacular and deadly beauty. The Warrior lurched heavily to starboard, throwing several standing officers to the deck. Kendric heard someone shouting over the comm circuits for a damage control check, but the ship continued to fight.
The tactical display showed that the attacking waves had broken down completely now. The question was whether the squadron was itself too badly damaged or disorganized to maneuver in the face of such devastating fire.
"Communications! Make to all ships! Change course to plus seven-five on my mark. Maximum acceleration. All ships to stick tight on the transports!"
"All vessels acknowledge, sir, except Taisgealach, sir. No response there."
"Very well. Transmit my command...three...two... one... execute!"
As one, the squadron ships changed course, their drives flaring white-hot plasma exhausts as they urged the lumbering vessels onto new vectors. The Gael ships were climbing up above the ring plane. Kendric had waited as long as he could for the cloud of fighters to disperse across thousands of cubic kilometers of space. By changing course now, only a small number of the attacking fighters would be in aposition to organize concerted attacks. The volume of fire striking the Warrior's shields dwindled away almost at once.
"Velocity to eight kps," Lieutenant Kirkpatrick announced from the helm. "Accelerating."
"We have incoming fighters astern," MacCandless said as if in answer. "The chase is on."
"Maneuvering! Let us fall off behind the transports. Put us between the fighters and our people!"
"Maneuvering.. .aye!"
White light filled heaven, a silent blossoming of death astern and below.
"What was that? Ops! What was that flash?"
"Taisgealach, sir. They're gone. Screens and dampers down. I think a nuke got 'em."
They were ten now, eight warships and two transports.
"Aichbheil and Abu are both reporting heavy battle damage, Captain," Munro reported. "Also Gaidheal reports damage from a nuke near-miss, and Iolaire reports collision damage."
"Acknowledge." Damn His fleet was being shot to bits around him, and there was nothing he could do but acknowledge the reports!
Kendric's fists whitened at the knuckles. His fleet was being destroyed before his eyes.
Can anybody hear me? Can anybody hear me? Imperial Spiculum falling outsystem, Gamma Sacculus, bearing one-seven-niner, plus two-one. Drives out. Auxiliaries out. Life support failing. Repeat, can anybody hear me? Damn it...can anybody hear me? Please, dear God.. .can anybody hear me?
—Radio transmission intercepted vicinity of Gamma Sacculus, 3 Nov 6830
"Fighters incoming, Captain. Astern, low, 150 klicks."
"Acknowledged, Ops. Lee, did you hear? Get on them!"
"Targeting, Skipper. Main ventral batteries firing..."
Explosions blossomed against the face of the far-off, ringed planet. From here, the rings could be seen extending clear around the planet like an immense bullseye, tilted slightly to one side. On the night side, the planet's shadow took a vast, semicircular bite out of the gold and silver of the rings.
"Navdep!"
"Navdep, aye! Ayres here. Captain!"
"Set up a problem for me. I want a blind jump into deep space."
"A...a blind jump, Captain?"
"Right. I want you to calculate aquick set of parameters that we can broadcast to the whole fleet. And it better be done in five minutes flat, or we're dead meat!" Kendric hesitated, then made a quick decision. "Make it a maximum plus tau of three days. No more."
"Right away, Captain!"
Navigation in T-space was calculated before the ship made transition, for ships could obviously not maneuver once in T-space without destroying themselves in a rather spectacular fashion. Navigational calculations could take hours, even days, depending on how far and how fast the ship was jumping.
Blind jumps, made without the necessary calculations, were possible, but never recommended. The longer the distance traveled on a blind jump, the more likely it was that the ship's T-space interface would intersect with the mass shadow of a sizeable star. The effects of such an intersection were even more spectacular than attempts to maneuver in T-space—or to overshoot the thirty-day tau limit.
That was the part that frightened Kendric most. Three days! That would take the plus tau for himself, T.C., and Jaime Douglass right up to the thirty-day limit. He closed his eyes, shuddering, remembering the death of the unknown prisoner aboard the prison transport.
"Captain? Ayres here."
"Go ahead."
"We'll have an entry speed of 150 kps in another few minutes. At that speed, I could give you one light week per day.. .three weeks for three days."
"That's it? Three light weeks!"
"Best we can do, sir. We could accelerate longer, build up more speed..."
Kendric thought a moment. More and more fighters were closing i
n from astern. The longer the squadron ran in normal space, the more damage they would take from the TOG fighters, and the greater the likelihood that one or more of the ships would not be able to make the jump to T-space at all. He wanted to make the jump as far as possible, however, for Kendric was certain that large numbers of TOG capital ships must be in the vicinity. There would be plenty of sightings of their speed and direction to allow searchers to estimate the Squadron's location.
By galactic standards, three light weeks was no distance at all, less than half a trillion kilometers. It was still an appallingly large volume of space to search. Kendric knew he had one other important advantage, too. The jump he was planning would be into empty, interstellar space, rather than aimed at a cosmic landmark, as was usual practice. Though it would be far harder for the ships of the squadron to rendezvous with one another in empty space, it would be well nigh impossible for their pursuers to guess where they might emerge from T-space. Three light weeks ought to be enough, even if the entire Imperial Grand Fleet lay right next door.
"Three light weeks'll be fine. Record the numbers and download 'em to Munro's console. I want all ships to jump together, with synchronized countdowns on their computers."
"Aye, sir."
By jumping together for a specified jump period, Kendric was minimizing the risk that the squadron would become scattered, spread across a volume of space millions of kilometers across when they emerged.
Fighters closed. The Warrior's aft batteries engaged them, transforming two into blossoming flares of light. Incoming missiles narrowly missed the Warrior as the battleship's aft point-defense lasers speared them before they could strike.
"All ships acknowledge. Message incoming from Abu, Captain."
"Go ahead."
"Message reads: T-space transit controls gone, power failing. Navigational computer destroyed. No way can make transit. Will hold them here. Good luck, Gaels. Signed, MacGorry."
Kendric closed his eyes. "Acknowledge," he said. Another one! "Add on 'We will remember you, Abu. You have lived up to your name. Signed, Fraser.'
"Yessir."
Abu was Gaelic for "war cry," the keening ululation of attacking tribesmen in times when weapons were no more complex than spears and slings, and combat was a face-to-face, personal struggle requiring courage and skill.
Seconds crawled as the TOG fighters massed for another attack. Kendric struggled with indecision. If they could hold out a little longer, build up just a bit more speed before making their transition, they would be able to jump farther.. .be safer...
No. He shook his head. No, we can't risk another massed attack. Ops estimated that the squadron had destroyed fully 30 percent of the attackers, but their own damage was severe enough that soon even the larger Gael warships would begin to feel the effects of taking such a barrage of hits. The Warrior's own hull was breached in several places, and power had failed to several forward turrets when the collision with the fighter severed power leads and control circuits. A few more like that and the Gael Warrior would not be able to keep fighting.
"Helm, Captain. We're at speed. Standing by."
"Very well. Patch the count through to the other ships...and execute."
The main viewer displayed "00:00:10:00," then began counting backward through the seconds. When the display showed all zeros, the computer engaged the ships' drives. At the same instant, the Gael Squadron vanished in light.
"They then made the transition to T-space, my Lord, and vanished from our sights. One of their vessels, a Cingulum Class corvette, remained behind to engage us."
"A decoy?"
"Possibly, my Lord. The vessel showed signs of considerable damage to its drive fairings and engineering section. We believe it may have been unable to jump toT-space and was abandoned. We destroyed it."
"I see." Gracchi said smoothly, though he cursed inwardly. If they had been able to capture the corvette, they might have been able to learn where Fraser was headed next. He could not fault the Commodore in command of the Gamma Sacculus operation, however. His orders had been to destroy the renegade fleet, not capture it. Gracchi wondered whether he should modify those standing orders in hopes of capturing Fraser. His fingers drummed on the table top before him. Possibly... possibly...
"You have the data pertaining to their jump, of course."
"Of course, my Lord. The curious factor was their extremely low speed at transit. Commodore Valdine believed their Commander feared another attack and went into T-space early in order to avoid further damage. A number of their ships had been roughly handled."
"Is that so? Well then, maybe we have them!"
"My Lord?"
"They could not have jumped for more than four or five days at the most. Their Commander has a great deal of plus tau. Any longer in T-space would mean his rather unpleasant death. And we didn't give them time to take on a full load of fuel at the gas giant. That means they may still be low on reaction mass. They won't have enough to jump in one direction, change course, then jump again in a new direction. They must be along their departure line!"
The legate's eyes lit. "I see, my Lord! At that speed and for that short a jump, they could not be more than a few light weeks or months away from Gamma Sacculus!"
"Precisely! Furthermore, it gives us what we need to trap them!" He reached out for the row of buttons set into his desk console. "Communications! Make to all ships! Rendezvous at Gamma Sacculus, Point Alpha. Ships low on reaction mass are to take on full loads at once. All commanders are to hold themselves ready for further
orders!"
"Ad tuum imperatum, Domine!" He had them! By Caesar, he had them!
Breakout!
Kendric held his hand up before his face and stifled the inward tremor of fear. His hand, centimeters from his eyes, appeared to crawl, as though he were looking at it through shimmering layers of hot desert air. Shimmerheat. Popular myth attributed the shimmer to friction from tachyons or other, equally ludicrous notions. In fact, as his body approached its tau-limit, T-space tachyons were spilling from the three-dimensional matrix of his body, their faster-than-light exit through normal space generating small amounts of Cherenkov radiation. Much more time in T-space, and his body would revert to normal space of its own accord—with the result he had seen aboard the slave transport a few months before.
He realized suddenly that he had not seen T.C. in several days—in fact, not since before their arrival at Gamma Sacculus. Perhaps, she, too, was looking at her hands and wondering.
There was a knock at his cabin door. The aged face of Greggs, his personal steward, peered in through the partly opened door. "Captain, sir? You all right? Anything I can do for you?"
He smiled. "No, Greggs. Thank you. I'm going up to the bridge."
"Not time for your watch there, sir. You spend too much time up there, Captain."
"It's my ship, Greggs. I should imagine I can do what I want aboard her!" He pressed past the servant and strode down the corridor towards the bridge. Though Gregg's nervousness had been irritating, it put things into perspective. The steward was more anxious about Kendric's condition than Kendric was. Perhaps the man had looked in, expecting to find a pile of ashes...
Kendric shuddered and steered his mind from that thought, that memory.
It was unusually quiet on the bridge. The main viewer was on visual, but the sky ahead was empty.
Gael's Bane. The thought came back to Kendric with surprising force. He'd not even thought about that peculiarity until he felt the slight chill under his heart at the sight of so much space. It was not truly empty, of course. The orientation of the ship was aimed more or less at the Sacculus Nebula, a convolute and irregular mass of dust and gas unlit by nearby stars and, therefore, black enough to look like a hole in space outlined by the more distant stars of the Milky Way. Some stars were even visible through the blackness, but they seemed very dim, and very far away.
"Let's see aft," he said, coming up beside his command chair. Lieutenant Command
er MacAllister started. The sentry had not been in his place, had not announced the formal "Fleet Captain on the Bridge."
"Captain!"
"Where's the sentry?"
"He...he got sick, sir."
"Sick?"
The First Lieutenant gestured toward the nebula on the screen. "Gael's Bane, Captain."
"Well, you don't have to look at it, do you? Let's see aft."
The view shifted. The Reannruadh hung there, a few kilometers astern. Beyond her, Gamma Sacculus was a diamond clear, blue-white beacon. The mood of what they had seen forward remained heavy on the bridge.
God! And Lee Fairfax wants to hop to Andromeda! How can we manage that if the sight of a dark nebula does this to them?
"Where is the XO?"
"It's not time for his watch yet, Captain." But the man's uncertain expression suggested that Morganen had been on the bridge, not long before.
Not Lenard, too...
"Call him. Call all the Senior Bridge Officers...and Doctor Hutchison. Have them meet me in the officer's lounge. Ten minutes." We're going to have to have this out!
"It's a combination of factors," Hutchison was saying, half an hour later.
"Such as?" Kendric prompted.
"Exhaustion, more than anything else, Captain. You know how hard the officers and crew have been driving themselves since we left Alba."
"Some of us have been driving hard since long before Alba. What
else?"
"Depression, I should think. We lost two ships at Gamma Sacculus, and one of them was deliberately left behind. Of course, there was nothing else we could do, but it is Human to feel guilt, fear, and sadness at the loss. The general depression brought on by the events of the past few days can make an individual's reaction to the condition known as 'Gael's Bane' much more severe than normal."
"What I want to know," Kendric said, looking around the table, "is how we can expect to take this squadron out to Andromeda if things go to pieces as they just did on the bridge! If we jump into an empty spot, and space ahead looks vacant, why didn't someone shut down the screen, or go to Tactical?"
William Keith Renegades Honor Page 38
