by J. L. Doty
The tech didn’t argue. There was a short delay, then Berkma appeared on York’s screen. “Are you alone?” York asked.
“Yes,” Berkma said, obviously unhappy with York’s abruptness. “Why?”
“Because this ship is locked up tight. No access codes, and without access we can’t do anything. You have the ring-zero access code, don’t you?”
Berkma frowned. “Yes. I’ll program access as soon as I get up there.”
“And how long from now will that be? An hour? Two?” York looked at the readout on his console. “It’s been thirty-seven minutes since I left the Yard. I don’t know how things stand down there, but I’ll guess you’ve got one load of marines and sent the shuttles back to the saloon for the rest.” He could see in Berkma’s eyes he was right. He looked again at the scan summary. There were now six feddie warships in a group confronting Telyekev and his three ships, both sides starting to take long-range shots with their transition batteries. Another feddie had transited in at the edge of the system, and soon there’d be more.
Berkma’s eyes were filled with indecision.
York continued relentlessly. “You know the situation with Invaradin, Nostran, and Irriahm. By the time you get those marines into the embassy, then make four, maybe five, shuttle trips up here—long before then this ship’ll be vapor and there’ll be a big hole where the embassy used to be. Our only chance is for me bring this ship from cold stop to combat status in a matter of minutes, then set this ship down somewhere on the surface near you. And to do that I have to override every fail-safe procedure in the operating system. And I can’t do that without ring-two access. That’s captain’s access or better. But you haven’t programmed those access codes.”
Berkma started shaking her head. “But ring-zero is Fleet Command level. I can’t give you that. It’s against regulations.”
York shrugged. “Then we’re all dead. The choice is yours.”
Berkma shook her head for a moment, suddenly stiffened. “All right,” she said. In the same instant she stood and disappeared from the screen.
She reappeared a few seconds later, sat down in front of the pickup with a file in front of her. She broke a seal on it, opened it and read for a moment, then looked unhappily at York and hesitated. She spoke carefully, “Three C Two Nine One Nine Alpha.”
“Got it,” York said. “Is there a large, open space nearby, a place to land? These ships don’t like atmosphere and I’m going to need a lot of room.”
Berkma spoke mechanically. “There’s a park here in the embassy compound.”
“Good. Tell Palevi this is a heavy cruiser. He’ll tell you if your park’s large enough. Tell him to clear it. And have him put one of our marines on your com. I need a landing beacon, but I don’t want it switched on until I give the word, because it’ll also make a nice homing signal for a feddie warhead. And get everyone ready to move fast.”
York cut Berkma out of the circuit, cleared the com, locked out all external signals, activated vocal programming, then leaned back and tried to compose himself for a moment. He rubbed his temples, then spoke slowly.
“Computer.”
Acknowledge, it replied.
“Log on. Access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha.”
The computer hesitated for an interminable second. Please confirm access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha.
“Access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha confirmed.”
Again the computer hesitated. Access Three Charlie Two Niner One Niner Alpha granted. Access priority is ring-zero.
York almost jumped out of his seat. He leaned forward, called up the emergency flags at ring-zero, had to dig for a few minutes to find the override for emergency ignition, found it, activated it, called down to the engineering section and told his recalcitrant CPO, “You’re cleared. Five minutes. Do it! Now!”
“Do we engage?” Ducan Soe asked.
Jewel Thaaline shook her head, though it was a useless gesture in the cramped confines of the Pride’s bridge. “No. We sit tight. We’re a lot closer than anyone else, and they don’t know we’re here. This is developing into something weird, and I don’t know what our real target is yet so I’m—”
She hesitated. Something new appeared on the near scan report. She demanded, “What’s that?”
Innay answered. “A ship. Must have been in static orbit around Dumark, completely shut down, otherwise we’d have spotted it earlier. Not big enough to be a freighter, but showing a lot of power coming up fast, dangerously fast.”
Jewel nodded to herself. “I think we might have found our target. Maybe everyone’s target.”
York activated Cinesstar’s alert status since many of her systems operated differently otherwise. And just for himself, because he too operated differently otherwise, he let the alert klaxon blare in his ears while he started setting up access codes all over the ship, filling in random numbers and logging them into a file for later recall by whoever took command. That done, he killed the alert klaxon, then one-by-one activated each of the consoles, slaved each into the helm so he’d have limited control of all ship’s functions from there. Then he sat down at the helm, adjusted the couch, and lowered the helm cluster.
It was an eerie feeling, having his senses completely cut off by the all-encompassing helm. It had been years since he’d actually piloted a real ship, and he’d forgotten how easy it was to succumb to the hallucination that he was the ship, especially when he was loaded on combat drugs.
The default programming for the helm cluster showed detailed scan reports both near, far, and system wide; engineering details on power demand, shield status and drive load. But he wouldn’t have a commanding officer evaluating the combat situation and firing orders at him, so he replaced the system scan report with the combat summary coming off the System Command Grid. He’d have to do his own evaluations and make his own decisions.
Cappik’s five minutes were up; York could feel the hum of the power plant in the hull and it gave him an odd sense of security. He placed a call down to engineering. Cappik answered, had to shout above the noise down there. “We just got the starboard chamber up to full status,” he yelled. “Port and centerline are almost there, but I think the ignition pile’s going sour on us. Might go into meltdown.”
York shouted back, “Jettison it if you have to. Can I get full drive?”
“Ya,” Cappik shouted, “but you don’t have enough power yet for that and shields.”
“How long for shields?”
“Another minute, maybe two.”
“Good,” York shouted. “Hold this line open and stand by. We’re going down.”
He opened a com channel to the embassy, barked, “Who’ve I got down there on com?”
“This is Elkiss, Cap’em. Sarge said to tell you the park here at the embassy wasn’t big enough, but we’ve got a large construction site nearby that’ll work. Ground’s just been cleared, nothing yet built.”
York felt a pin prick in his neck. The helm cluster had determined that something in him needed adjusting. “I’m coming down, Elkiss. Give me that landing beacon just before I hit atmosphere, but kill it as soon as I hit dirt. ETA less than two minutes.”
“Yes, sir.”
York launched the drones so he’d have full scan capability, then spun the ship and firewalled the sublight drive. No carefully calculated navigational sequence. He was thirty-five thousand kilometers off the planet’s surface. Accelerate at maximum sublight drive—ten thousand gravities—to the halfway point, forty-four seconds. Then flip her over and decelerate at full drive down to the planet’s surface. And remember to err a little on the side of caution so he didn’t slam into the planet like an oversized meteorite.
It was close. York got the shields up just before he slammed into Dumark’s atmosphere, but he still came in at over mach one hundred. Cinesstar burnt a monstrous ionization trail through the stratosphere, would have disintegrated without her shields. As it was he had to cut the drive a
nd divert all power into the shields and structural support to hold the ship together, actually redlining the power plant for a few moments. The drones followed standard programming and went into simple low orbits evenly spaced around the planet.
At fifty kilometers he had enough reserve to bring the drive back up, though he didn’t drop below mach one until he was only three hundred meters from the surface. In atmosphere Cinesstar was like a beached whale, no maneuverability to speak of, vulnerable, out of her element. York followed the landing beacon and managed to set her down reasonably well.
He cut the drive back to idle, killed internal gravity, had the helm cluster rising up off him even before Cinesstar had settled fully on her rarely used landing supports. He stopped for a moment by the engineering console, opened all the access bays on Hangar Deck and keyed his implants. “Palevi move ‘em out. On the double. No time for niceties. We’re a target now. Bring some pilots up in your first load and get Cinesstar’s boats into the act.”
He glanced quickly at the power plant drain. Cinesstar wasn’t designed to operate in a gravity well, so a lot of power was diverted into structural support that would normally be available for drive and weapons and shields.
He sat down at the fire control console, crammed on a headset since he couldn’t key his implants into the console, activated Cinesstar’s defensive batteries and brought up a combat summary on one of his screens. With six drones orbiting and feeding him detailed information, he had an excellent chance of intercepting anything incoming.
The feddies and Telyekev’s three ships were fully into it now, and a few of the Syndonese were in close enough to take long shots at the planet. York watched a feddie spit a warhead into transition; it covered several million kilometers in the blink of an eye, then dropped into sublight and detonated about ten thousand kilometers to one side of Dumark; a clean miss, its transition vector perturbed by the planet’s gravitational field.
York activated several cameras on Cinesstar’s hull, started flipping through their views. Palevi was using the shuttles from the Yard like elevators, cramming as many people into them as possible, then lifting them the forty odd meters to the level of Hangar Deck and hovering at one of the open bays while they booted the civilians into Cinesstar.
The fire control console beeped at York, a warhead transiting in, no miss this time, though it would miss Cinesstar cleanly so he let it go. A large incandescent cloud blossomed on the horizon. Atmospheric detonation, the computer said. Range: two hundred kilometers. Estimated yield strength: one megatonne.
Outside everyone hesitated for a moment, looked toward the terrible light on the horizon. York switched on allship, growled into his pickup, “Don’t waste time looking at it. There’s more headed our way so get moving, god damn it.”
The fire control console beeped at him again, another warhead. Atmospheric detonation. Range: fifty-one kilometers. Estimated yield strength: fifteen megatonnes. Minimal shock wave expected. Two more warheads followed in rapid succession, big ones, but still off the mark.
Palevi had gotten Cinesstar’s three gunboats into the act along with the Yard’s two shuttles. With warheads blossoming around them the civilians were getting frantic as the five boats dropped for another lift. “This should do it, sir.”
The fire control console screamed a loud, angry note at York, a big warhead arcing in directly overhead. He shifted into an odd detached calm as he did a half-dozen things at once. He allocated the warhead as a high priority target to Cinesstar’s main transition battery, shouted over allship, “Incoming. Hit the deck,” then he confirmed target acquisition, fired an interceptor shot. The atmosphere above Cinesstar exploded with a bright red ionization trail from Cinesstar’s main batteries, and a new sun blossomed overhead. Atmospheric detonation. Range: twelve kilometers. Altitude: thirty-one kilometers. Estimated yield strength: fifty-three megatonnes. Stand by for shock.
York shouted over allship, “Brace yourselves. Shock wave incoming.”
The marine pilots knew what to do. A civilian might have tried to ground his boat, but with no time to tie it down their best chance was to lift, get up into the atmosphere rather than be crushed against the ground. Unfortunately they spilled a few unlucky passengers as they lifted, and one of the shuttles was only a few meters off the ground when the shock wave hit.
Cinesstar shook, groaned under the impact, her power plant redlining as she diverted power to her structural supports. When it was over one shuttle was down, nose crumpled and half buried in a giant divot of earth, badly injured people strewn about like dolls dropped by a petulant child. York’s screen showed a dozen more warheads pounding into the planet, some so far off they were on the other side of the globe. The feddies had realized the other three imperial ships were trying to protect Cinesstar, were now making wild, desperate transition jumps, trying to get in close enough for an accurate shot.
York switched to the marine command frequency. “Palevi we’re out of time. Load ‘em up. Now! Do whatever you have to.”
They landed a gunboat next to the crashed shuttle, started throwing bodies on the gunboat without checking to see if they were dead or injured. The marines on the other boats started herding the civilians like cattle, shoving anyone who hesitated, harsher treatment for anyone who resisted. Invaradin, Nostran, and Irriahm had retreated in closer to the planet, were now each operating independently, trying to intercept any warheads they could and defend themselves at the same time.
“We’re sealed up, Cap’em,” York’s headset shouted in Palevi’s voice. “Let’s get the fuck out’a here.”
“I need help up here,” York shouted. “Any of line-officers down there send them up on the double.”
He put the fire control console on full automatic, all weapons and horizon-to-horizon saturation. It would target on anything that moved. He tore off his headset, vaulted around the fire control console, dropped into the helm couch, and even before the cluster was fully down he powered up the shields, slammed on internal gravity and firewalled the drive. He heard the fire control console go into action before they were out of Dumark’s atmosphere, but he was to busy to pay attention and he had to trust it could do the job without his help.
Once clear of Dumark’s atmosphere the drones took up circulating orbits around Cinesstar. The feddies, because of their wild transition jumps, had scattered themselves all around the planet. He couldn’t head in toward the empire without becoming an easy target, his only escape a vector running parallel to the front with a heavy slant toward an enemy quadrant.
A hand touched his shoulder, startled him out of his wits, and at the same time his headset spoke in Maggie’s voice. “I’m in the alternate helm cluster, York. I’m relieving you . . . now.”
York let go, deactivated his cluster and as it started lifting off him he rolled out of the couch, saw uniforms all around him sitting down at Cinesstar’s consoles. He dropped down behind the captain’s console, pulled on a headset and plugged it in, started barking orders. Frank was at fire control, Maggie at helm, Paris at com, Dak at engineering, Anda at scan. He was still barking orders when Olin Rame stepped onto the bridge, and he continued to bark orders as their eyes met. Rame nodded, a silent acknowledgement that York was in command, then sat down calmly at navigation.
“Commander Rame,” York said. “We need transition, any way, anywhere, anyhow.”
Rame glanced at his console as his hands danced across the keys. “It’s going to be sloppy. We’re barely twenty million kliks from Dumark. There’ll be serious nearspace error.”
“We’ll take what we can get,” York said, beginning to hope they might escape unscathed.
“Ballin.” York flinched at the sound of Sierka’s voice. “I’m taking command.”
Sierka stood beside York next to the captain’s console, Senator Andow standing behind him hunched uncomfortably beneath the overhang of an instrument cluster, and behind the instrument cluster stood the empress. “You can’t,” York said without thinking,
realizing as he did so it was a mistake.
“I can’t?” Sierka demanded, glancing toward Andow. “And why can’t I?”
York couldn’t give Sierka command. He hadn’t gone to all this trouble only to let an incompetent idiot get them all killed. “But you don’t know how. You don’t have—”
“Don’t know how, Lieutenant?” Sierka leaned forward angrily. “Are you questioning my authority? In combat? Under alert status?”
Andow leaned into the light from York’s console. “It would be best if you did what he said, Lieutenant.”
“I ah . . .” York didn’t know what to say. He kept his mouth shut as he unplugged his headset and rose carefully from the captain’s console, stepped aside. Sierka sat down, rubbed the edge of the console proudly and gave a contented nod.
York asked, “What station would you like me to take, sir?”
Sierka looked at him and grinned. “None. Just get off my bridge.”
“But, sir, I—”
“Don’t argue with me,” Sierka screamed. “Off the bridge. Now!”
The captain’s console beeped, and since Sierka didn’t have a headset plugged in, Cappik’s voice and the noise from engineering came out over a speaker. “Captain, I need to jettison the ignition pile. Now!”
Sierka touched a switch on the console. “Belay that.”
“But, Captain, it’s going—”
“Silence,” Sierka screamed into the pickup. “Is everyone here insubordinate? Doesn’t anyone obey orders?”
A telltale started blinking on the engineering console, then suddenly it flashed bright red and a horn blared. The computer barked, “Hazard warning! Low-level contamination; Engineering Section. Critical contamination in—”
York leaned over Temerek’s shoulder, plugged his headset into the engineering console. “Cappik, jettison the ignition pile. Now! That’s an order.”
York felt a tickle of premonition crawl up the back of his spine, as if he sensed a transition somewhere else, a warhead up-transiting. But that was impossible.
