Silent Order: Wraith Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Yes,” said March, eyes on the tactical display. Warnings flared on the screen as the interceptors began to acquire missile locks on the Tiger. “I’m already calculating hyperspace jumps out of here. We’ll have to dump the lifeboat and flee at once, so get ready to move in a hurry and take any supplies with you. How many do you have on board?”

  “Seven,” said Caird. “Myself and six others.”

  The chime of the missile lock alert filled the flight cabin.

  “Get ready,” said March, and he ended the call. “Flak launchers ready?”

  “Flak launchers are ready to fire, and firing solutions have been calculated,” announced Vigil.

  “Good,” said March, and he gripped the yoke, fingers resting on the firing switches.

  The Tiger was close enough for the sensors to bring visual images of the interceptors. Like the Machinist capital ships, the black fighters looked ugly, almost like insects with cybernetic enhancements. Nonetheless, the missiles mounted on the fighters' hardpoints were sleek and deadly. Based on the warhead size, two hits from the missiles would be enough to collapse the Tiger’s kinetic shielding, and two or three more hits would be enough to destroy the freighter.

  And the four interceptors between them had sixteen missiles.

  “The fighters are launching missiles,” said Vigil, a shrill alarm going through the flight cabin.

  March saw it before she finished speaking. Each interceptor had fired two missiles. The tactical display reported that all eight missiles were standard fighter-to-fighter fragmentation missiles. The tactical board lit up with firing solutions, and March selected one and increased the power to the fusion drive, pushing the Tiger to greater speed. The missiles homed in on the ship, and the Tiger’s laser turrets came to life. The ship had a ventral turret and a dorsal turret armed with dual high-wattage lasers, and the lasers began firing. The turrets sent their invisible beams at the missiles, melting through their ion thrusters. It did not take too much damage to destroy the missiles’ maneuverability, and March began to weave and bob the Tiger as it hurtled across the void. The damaged missiles were unable to compensate, their vectors set to carry them deep into interstellar space.

  The laser turrets disabled two missiles, then three. Another notification flashed on the tactical display. There were still thousands of kilometers to go before the starfighters and the Tiger were within range of their plasma cannons, but they had entered the range of the Tiger’s most powerful weapon, the keel-mounted railgun. The railgun’s coils fired five-meter long tungsten rods at a significant fraction of the speed of light. That generated a tremendous amount of kinetic energy over a small space, usually enough to collapse the kinetic shields of a small craft like a starfighter.

  March squeezed the trigger. A faint shudder went through the Tiger, the lights flickering a little as the railgun sucked up a tremendous percentage of the ship’s available power, and the railgun spat tungsten rods at the approaching interceptors every two and a half seconds. None of the rods hit at first, but the stream of fire forced the interceptors to take evasive maneuvers, keeping them from establishing a new missile lock on the Tiger. Meanwhile, the laser turrets continued their barrage, disabling more of the missiles. One of the interceptors made a mistake and blundered into a rod, and the impact collapsed its kinetic shields. March seized the opportunity and fired at once, and the next tungsten rod punched through the fighter, ripping it apart.

  One down, three to go.

  Then it was March’s turn to take evasive action.

  He put the Tiger into a steep portside turn, banking away as the remaining missiles turned to track him, ion thrusters flaring. The Tiger’s laser turrets turned with the movement, and the beams disabled another missile, but three surviving missiles homed in on the ship.

  “Impact imminent,” announced Vigil.

  “Firing flak,” said March, and he hit another switch on the tactical board.

  The Tiger shuddered as the twin tubes mounted above the nozzles of the fusion drive sprayed out a cloud of jagged sensor-reflecting particles. The debris was designed to confuse missile locks, and it worked well. Two of the missiles hit the chaff cloud and exploded. Some of their fragments bounced off the Tiger’s kinetic deflector, draining its power.

  The final missile slammed into the ship.

  The Tiger heaved, and March was thrown forward, the straps of the acceleration chair digging into his shoulders and chest. An alarm blared as the kinetic deflector collapsed, and the screech of strained metal hit his ears as some of the missile fragments slammed into the hull. Damage reports lit up some of the displays, but March could take no time to look at them. The weapons were still functional, and the Tiger’s radiation shield was still up. A few volleys from the remaining three fighters’ plasma cannons would collapse that shield, so he needed to move now.

  He pushed the yoke and spun the Tiger around, and squeezed the firing triggers as the ship hurtled towards the interceptors. Plasma bolts volleyed from the four cannons. Some of the bolts missed, but most of them found their target, and the volley punched through the nearest interceptor’s radiation shields and chewed into the fighter’s armor plating. The engine nozzles went dark, and the fighter ripped apart as the plasma devoured it.

  The remaining two fighters circled around the Tiger, trying to line up for a clear shot. They were more maneuverable than the freighter, but unlike the interceptors, the Tiger had turrets. The dorsal laser turret remained fixed on one of the interceptors, the beam eroding its radiation shield, and March came out of his turn and fired another volley from the plasma cannons. The bolts punched through the weakened shield and drilled through the pilot’s canopy. The pilotless interceptor spiraled away into deep space.

  The final interceptor turned to flee towards the Machinist carrier, but March anticipated the maneuver, following the interceptor’s vector and firing the railgun. The first tungsten rod collapsed the fighter’s kinetic deflector, and the second shot right through the heart of the interceptor. The starfighter broke apart in a spray of debris.

  March leaned back in the acceleration chair, catching his breath. He didn’t dare hesitate, though. The battle wasn’t over, and he had only a few minutes to act. First, he had to match vectors with the lifeboat and pick up the survivors.

  Multiple alerts scrolled across his displays. The first was that the Machinist carrier had launched six more interceptors, and they were heading right towards the Tiger. The second was a damage report. Several of the missile fragments had penetrated the hull and reached the engines. The fusion drive and the ion thrusters were unaffected, but the dark matter reactor that powered the Tiger’s hyperdrive had been hit. Diagnostics were ongoing, and Vigil had not yet determined the extent of the damage.

  There were other alerts. The Tiger’s sensors had detected a massive surge of dark energy near the Machinist ships. That kind of surge of dark energy usually indicated an impending hyperspace jump. At first, March thought the Machinist ships were about to jump away, but that didn’t make sense. They hadn’t even finished off the Covenant or collected all the lifeboats yet, and they wouldn’t have launched a half-squadron of interceptors at March if they intended to leave.

  Machinist reinforcements had to be inbound.

  “Hell,” muttered March, hitting the communications switch. “Commander Caird, you there?”

  “We are,” said Caird. “What’s your status, Tiger? We saw you take a hit.”

  “Missile got through my defenses,” said March. “Not sure what kind of damage we took, but diagnostics are underway. I’m heading for you now.” He glanced at one of the holographic images. “We’ve got about eleven minutes before those interceptors get into missile range. We need to have you aboard by then. My ship’s calculating a hyperspace jump, and if all goes well, we’ll be gone before they shoot us down.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Caird. “We’re…”

  An alarm trilled in the flight cabin, and March heard the same alarm in Caird�
�s lifeboat over the communications channel.

  “Multiple craft inbound from hyperspace,” said Vigil.

  March looked at the sensor displays, expecting to see more Machinist capital ships arriving.

  But they weren’t Machinist starships.

  The Machinist ships were insect-like assemblages of black metal. These new ships looked like stylized claws, their armored hulls the color of human blood. The sensors reported five capital starships – a carrier, a heavy cruiser, and three destroyers. Vigil completed her analysis, and tactical data flashed across the displays, but March recognized the ships before the analysis finished.

  “Ninevehk,” he said.

  “Correct,” said Vigil.

  There were hundreds of alien races scattered around the tens of thousands of solar systems known to the Kingdom of Calaskar. Some were completely indifferent to humanity and rarely interacted with any of the starfaring human nations. A race that breathed sulfur dioxide, for instance, had no reason to fight with humans – their biology was incompatible, and they wanted different planets than humans. There were creatures the size of small asteroids that lived in the upper atmosphere layers of gas giants and had no interest whatsoever in humans.

  Other races, though, breathed oxygen and needed the same kind of worlds that supported human life. Sometimes the human nations fought wars with those races, and sometimes they traded.

  The Ninevehk were one such race. The Ninevehk Empire ruled several systems on the outer edges of the Kingdom of Calaskar and several other starfaring nations, and they were a warlike race. They had apparently descended from predatory saurian creatures and kept their aggressive and territorial instincts in their spaceward expansion. Like most predators, they respected only strength and took whatever they could from those unable to defend themselves. They had subjugated (and eaten) several other races, and the Kingdom of Calaskar had fought a few wars with them.

  March had no idea what they were doing here. Bad luck? Maybe it was just coincidence.

  On the other hand, given that he had a dangerous mind-control device in the hold, maybe it wasn’t just coincidence.

  “Human vessels,” rasped a gravelly, mewling voice over the speakers as the Ninevehk carrier began broadcasting. “This is Hunt Lord Trezmalzak commanding the NIS Pride Of Victory. All human vessels are required to surrender themselves and submit to inspection. Both unaltered humans and cybernetic-augmented humans must surrender. If you fail to submit, we shall destroy your ships.”

  March grunted, scowling at the displays. The intentions of the Ninevehk didn’t concern him. Already the Machinist force was turning to face the Ninevehk, leaving the burning wreck of the Covenant to its fate. By the time the Machinists and the Ninevehk finished slugging it out, the Tiger would be long gone.

  Assuming, of course, the hyperdrive still worked.

  “Captain March.” Caird’s voice came over the speakers again. “Are you getting that?”

  “I am,” said March. “I think we’ll be gone by the time the Ninevehk can get to us.”

  “Unless I’m very mistaken,” said Caird, “I think they might be here for your ship.”

  “My ship?” said March, baffled, and then he saw it. The Ninevehk had arrayed themselves for battle, a stream of heavy fighters and bombers ranging themselves before the capital ships, while the destroyers and the cruiser fell back to flank the carrier and cover the fighters with their point-defense guns. Yet the carrier had also launched a squadron of interceptors and three attack shuttles, and those ships were headed right for the Tiger.

  The Ninevehk wanted to board and capture March’s ship.

  Or, more likely, they wanted the Machinist device in the hold.

  “Your ship,” said Caird. “I doubt they’re here to capture us.”

  “No,” said March. Briefly, he wondered if he could use the distraction of the Ninevehk to rescue more lifeboats from the Machinists, but that would have been suicidal. There was no way the Tiger could take on a dozen Ninevehk interceptors and survive, and for all he knew the Machinists would win against the alien ships. No, this mission had gone bad. Better to rescue whomever he could and escape before it was too late. Dying alongside the survivors of the Covenant would achieve nothing at all. “I’m matching velocity. Those interceptors are seven minutes away yet, but I should reach you in two. As soon as we get your men and all your gear off the lifeboat, we’re getting the hell out of here.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Caird. “We’ll hold our vector until you arrive.”

  March nodded and kept the Tiger on course to reach the lifeboat. He drew close enough for the sensors to pick up the image of the lifeboat, a boxy little gray craft with one small fusion drive and a bank of ion thrusters for maneuvering. As Caird had said, the sensors picked up seven human life signatures on the lifeboat.

  The Tiger’s engine display flashed red.

  “Diagnostic completed,” said Vigil. “Preliminary assessment indicates damage to the dark matter reactor.”

  March looked at the display and let out a sulfurous curse.

  The missile impact had done moderate damage to the hull armor, and some of the fragments had penetrated to the actual hull itself. That had caused a power surge into the dark matter reactor, and the reaction chamber itself had cracked. The resonator and the hyperdrive themselves were intact, but without the dark matter reactor, they couldn’t be recharged.

  And that meant the Tiger had enough power left for exactly one hyperspace jump.

  That was very bad. Tamlin’s World was in the middle of nowhere, far from any properly inhabited system, and on the periphery of a dozen great starfaring powers. March’s original plan had been to do a short hyperjump into deep space to escape, and then to jump to another star system once Vigil had time to work out the navigational calculations.

  But if the hyperdrive only had enough charge for one more jump, he had to make that jump count.

  March scanned the navigational data as he maneuvered the Tiger towards the lifeboat. From this position in the Tamlin system, he could jump to nearly twenty nearby systems, but most of them were uninhabited or had only a light presence. Few of those systems would not have the means to repair a cracked dark matter reaction chamber, nor would he be likely to find a ship capable of giving the Tiger a lift to Calaskaran space.

  Of all the available options, the only one that was even remotely viable was…

  “Damn it,” muttered March. “Vigil, start calculating a hyperjump to the Eschaton system.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Vigil. “Be advised that the Eschaton system is known to be highly dangerous.”

  “Yup,” said March. The proximity alert sounded as he drew the Tiger close to the lifeboat. “Start the automated docking procedure. Ventral cargo hatch, use the airlock attachment.” He flipped a series of switches, firing up the dark energy resonator and hyperdrive. “As soon as I get our guests on board, we’re leaving for the Eschaton system.”

  “Docking procedure underway,” said Vigil.

  March let the pseudointelligence take control of the ship, unstrapped from his acceleration chair, and sprinted down the dorsal corridor. At the end was a ladder leading to the Tiger’s cargo hold, and he slid down it, the metal squealing in his grasp. The hold was currently empty, which annoyed March since he had hoped to pick up a paying cargo at Rustbelt Station, but he had much larger problems just now.

  A clanging noise came from the cargo hatch as the lifeboat connected. March paused long enough to check the door to the cargo hold’s strong room. The Machinist device he had taken from Simon Lorre was secured in the strong room, and he didn’t want the men from the lifeboat getting their hands on it. Tampering with the device might be harmless.

  Or tampering with the device might blow up the ship.

  Either way, March didn’t want to find out.

  He crossed to the cargo hatch and authorized the airlock to release. More clanging sounds came to his ears, and then the doors cycled open, and the
survivors came into the hold.

  “Move!” shouted March. “We need to be in hyperspace in another ninety seconds!”

  The survivors obliged.

  The first man through was in his middle thirties, wearing the blue uniform of the Calaskaran Royal Navy with the gold oak leaf of a lieutenant commander on his collar. He had sharp features, cold blue eyes, and thick black hair already going gray at the temples. The man looked so much like the popular image of a heroic pilot that March wondered at his competence.

  “Commander Malcolm Caird?” said March.

  “I am,” said Caird. “Captain March?”

  “Yes,” said March. “Get your men and gear into the cargo hold, and then dump the lifeboat. We’re almost out of time.”

  “You heard the captain,” called Caird back into the lifeboat. “Let’s go!”

  March heard the faint whine of servos, and six Calaskaran Royal Marines in full battle armor clambered into the cargo hold, carrying metal cases of supplies. The battle armor had been painted blue, the heavy suits making the Marines look like broad humanoid robots. March had both worn such suits and fought against men wearing battle armor like that in its past, and he knew the suits would give their owners augmented strength, an array of sensors, and an arsenal of built-in weaponry.

  “All right,” said March. “Can you handle getting the lifeboat undocked? We need to enter hyperspace.”

  “Yes,” said Caird. “Then we had better figure out what we’re going to do next.” He offered March a tight smile. “See, I knew about our real mission, and I think your ship was the one that was making the delivery, wasn’t it?”

  “We can talk about it once we’re in hyperspace,” said March, turning towards the ladder. “It…”

  He froze.

  A woman emerged from the lifeboat and walked to Caird’s side. She was pretty, somewhere in her twenties, and wore the uniform of the Calaskaran Royal Navy, though with no insignia of rank. The woman stopped next to Caird and considered March, her head tilted to the side. March blinked in surprise and looked at the Marines stacking the supply cases. The Tiger had detected seven humans on the lifeboat. Caird and the six marines made seven.