She pushed the comm button. “All hands look sharp, we've been spotted. All systems on.” She switched the comset to external. It was already set to the Terran emergency band; presumably the scoutship would be monitoring it. She'd spent some time in the last two months improving her command of the Hero's Tongue. One short speech had occupied much of her studies. “Kzin scoutship, this is the UNSN destroyer Excalibur. Surrender or be fired on.”
In reply the image on the display flashed several times. “Missile launch, radar lock,” called the sensor ensign. Simultaneously a cluster of flashing icons appeared beside the enemy's symbol on her combat console. That was a bit of a surprise. The Prowler class mounted no beam weapons, but at this range it would take minutes for the missiles to reach Excalibur, more than enough time to shoot them down. Typical tabby behavior: attacking seemed to be more important than winning to them. Mace keyed the intercom again. “A and B turrets, hit the kzin. C turret, take the missiles.” She felt relaxed and confident. They easily outgunned the scoutship and while it could outrun them it couldn't outrun a laser beam. She had them right where she wanted them.
Suddenly the viewscreen flared white. “Missile detonated,” called the sensor ensign. Her combat display showed an expanding sphere of orange haze, marking the area where the warhead's energetic plasma degraded Excalibur's instruments. She waited for it to dissipate as it grew but it didn't. Mace's calm evaporated. The kzin hadn't intended to hit them, he was covering himself. Another warhead went off. The red icon and its gentle orbit curve disappeared from the display, replaced by a rapidly expanding course funnel. The scoutship could be anywhere inside it. Mace swore and swung the navigation cursor around until it intersected the outsystem side of the funnel. The enemy captain would be trying use his superior acceleration to get out of Excalibur's range and Sol's gravity well at the same time. She punched execute and felt the ship surge beneath her as the gravity compensator adjusted to the new load. The viewscreen flared again and she flipped it off. On her display Excalibur's icon began to slide towards the interception point, slowly at first, then faster and faster. A second volley of missiles detonated, filling the screen with more blobs of orange blankness.
Suddenly a new icon appeared, very close, flashing red. Even before the sensor ensign called 'Missile lock-on', she had stabbed the comm button. “All turrets — ” Before she could finish, a green line flashed on her display, linking Excalibur and the missile. It flashed again and the icon disappeared.
“Good shooting, C turret,” she finished. That one was too close for comfort. She cursed herself for not expecting the tactic and hoped the tabbies didn't have any more surprises like that up their sleeves.
Minutes later they had reached the expected intercept point but had yet to locate the kzin. Large areas of the screen were now covered in orange haze, but from their position they had a clear view of the portion of the kzin's course funnel that would give most promise of a viable escape route. There was nothing there.
Hypothesis: The kzin had much more powerful drives than the assumptions punched into the combat computer. If so they were already beyond Excalibur's range and beyond capture. It might be true but since it left no options, assume not.
Hypothesis: The kzin had accelerated deeper into Sol's gravitational well. They might have escaped for the moment, but their mission was doomed. If Excalibur didn't find them the massive Earth-orbiting sensor arrays would be brought into play. Dozens of warships would be available for the hunt. That far into the singularity there would be no need for them to sneak up on their quarry. Perhaps the tabby had taken the risk, but if he had then Mace didn't need to worry about it.
Hypothesis: The kzin had reversed course when the warheads went off, his drive emissions covered by their blast. He'd simply followed his own missiles, overtaken the fog of charged particles, matched velocities and shut down again. He'd just drift back out the way Excalibur had come in. By the time the haze dissipated enough to allow Mace's sensors to work reliably the volume the kzin could occupy would be immense. Before they could search that space he would be far enough out to use his hyperdrive.
Mace stabbed an orange sphere with her finger. That had to be it. With no power emissions to track and no precomputed course to search with the telescope Excalibur would be forced to use active scanning to search out her quarry. That might work but it would also give away their position. At the short detection ranges possible in the particle haze they'd probably earn a beamrider missile in the tracking array for their trouble. Earth's facilities were no use. They were powerful enough to find the kzin through the fog, but Earth was over a light-hour away and hyperwave didn't work inside the singularity. It would take an hour to ask for help, two more for Earth to bounce a beam off the scout and another for them to tell her what they'd found. By then the kzin would be long, long gone.
Mace mentally doffed her hat to the enemy captain. He'd led her straight down the garden path to her present predicament. First he'd made her think he was attacking, then that he was fleeing and while she was preoccupied chasing shadows he'd just tiptoed out the back door. She'd like to meet that cat — not that it was very likely under the circumstances. Of course she'd try her best.
With sudden decision she keyed the intercom. “Weapons officer to the bridge.”
A few moments later he stepped through the bulkhead. Lieutenant Curzon was tall and lanky, with a face that managed to be simultaneously roguish and boyish. His movements were sure and self-confident. He had a reputation as a lady-killer, and Mace could see why. Of course any sort of personal involvement was out of the question. Not that the idea was unpleasant, but its effect on shipboard morale would be disastrous. Elizabeth was no prude, but she was Excalibur's commanding officer first and last.
Quickly she outlined the situation and her conclusions, illustrated by the combat display. “We can't track him in that soup passively, and our active scanners will be so degraded that by the time we get a lock we'll be well inside his missile range. The only way we'll find him is if he emits something, and he's not going to do that until he's ready to jump out.”
“So our job is to make him give himself away, without giving ourselves away in the process.” Whatever Curzon's reputation, he was the soul of professionalism when it came to the job at hand.
“Exactly. What I want to do is launch a spread of missiles, on these courses.” She touched a key and a fan of lines spread out from Excalibur's icon, skewering the orange cloud. “I don't want them to switch to active scanning until they enter the cloud, and I want them to go to target-track mode halfway through, whether they've acquired anything or not.”
“And make them think we've got a lock on them when we don't.” Curzon was smiling, the rogue showing through.
Mace smiled back. “How long?” she asked.
Curzon was already on his way out. “Ten minutes,” he said. “Ten minutes or you can have my next leave.” He was running when he left the control room, leaving her wondering if the ambiguity in his words was deliberate or not.
In fact it was only eight minutes before the ready lights on the launch board flicked back to Armed. Excalibur had reversed course and was coasting towards Mace's best guess at the kzin's position. The viewscreen was back on but showed only stars, their hard brilliance undiminished by the particle storm. Despite the havoc it was playing with their sensors it was little more than hard vacuum in the visible spectrum. She keyed the intercom. “All turrets stand by, missile bay sequence launch as planned.” A faint tremor came through the floor and a blue icon appeared on her display. Mace held her breath and watched intently. Even if the kzin didn't fall for the ploy there was the chance that Excalibur would pick up an echo from one of the missiles. Another tremor and another icon appeared, following a different track. There was nothing to do but wait.
“Missile detected!” Sensor Operator's voice cut through the silent control room like a knife. “No lock yet.” A wiggling line on his display showed the telltale signature of the
missile's search beam.
“It's not on an intercept course, Captain.” Sraowl-Navigator's voice was hushed, as though the Terran's sensors would register a louder tone.
“They are firing blind, hoping to make us betray ourselves. If they had located us they would use lasers.” Chraz-Captain was calm, in control. “Back plot its trajectory and give me a targeting point. Senior Gunner, soft-launch a four-spread on those parameters, passive seekers only.”
Seconds later Sraowl-Navigator had a firing solution punched through to the combat computer. The lights went down and the purr of the lifesystem stopped as Senior Gunner drew power to his launch coils. No need to risk increasing their generator output for the few extra minutes it would take to charge them on minimum power. Of course the enemy might detect the emission spike when the coils discharged but that risk had to be taken. The particle fog was thinning as it expanded, but it should still be thick enough to hide so small a pulse. Chraz-Captain didn't dwell on what would happen if it was not.
A series of thumps reverberated through the ship. Simultaneously the missiles appeared on Chraz-Captain's battle plot. With engines off they crawled along their trajectory lines with painful slowness. No matter, time was on his side and now he too had his claws extended. Let the humans give chase and he'd have their ears on his belt. He watched the plot with his own ears swiveled forward and his pupils dilated, a predator watching prey wander into striking distance.
“Missile has locked on, sir! Drive emissions changing aspect!” The line on Sensor Operator's screen was pulsing faster, the peaks higher and sharper. Chraz-Captain felt a spike of attack/panic run through his system, his ears whipped flat against his skull, fur bristling. Then self-control reasserted itself and he watched the flashing symbol. The missile had passed them before locking on. It would need to decelerate before it could start tracking them, giving him the precious seconds he needed to scent the wind. Perhaps they had been acquired, perhaps this was another primate trick to flush their quarry. The atmosphere grew thick with hunt-tension and an undertone of fear. Sraowl-Navigator's voice was a muted snarl as he gave commands to the computer. Moments later he reported. “Missile is reversing course, the new vector is not an intercept either.” The relief was evident in his voice.
Chraz-Captain relaxed, slightly. His eyes were still glued to the battle plot, watching the vector line of the searching enemy missile and the slow, silent progress of his own. His liver held but two desires, to see the symbol for the human ship appear and to see Silent Prowler slide across the frustratingly close line that marked the edge of Sol's singularity. At full acceleration they could cross the gap in minutes, but the destroyer would detect their drive spoor and her lasers would not miss. Had he more of the kzreeoowtz-fog-throwers he could escape behind a redensified haze screen. The monkeys would be left stalking shadows. He abandoned that line of thought. One might wish for one's tree to grow meat, but it was better to watch for prey. Silent Prowler's sensors were extensive and powerful, her mission demanded it. They were a small target while the destroyer was large and Advanced Sensor Operator was thoroughly familiar with the dynamics of the particle haze where the man-monkeys had to grope blindly for the band gaps where the interference was less intense. If the humans crept too close he would surely spot them first. Then, with their target's speed and trajectory known for certain and the range so short…
“Missile detected and locked on!” Sensor Operator yelled, clearly taken by surprise. “We're in its search cone.” The air-plant, running on minimum, had barely cleared the fight/fear scent from the control room. Now the atmosphere thickened again. Sraowl-Navigator's screens danced as he calculated the weapon's acceleration vector. “It's got us.” His voice was clipped, in control, but his pheromones told another story.
Chraz-Captain screamed a curse and yelled. “Get us out of here, emergency speed, full evasive action. Senior Gunner, target that missile and launch! Command-detonate the current spread, and as soon as that destroyer shows herself, launch another!”
He felt his weight build up as Chief Engineer pushed the gravity polarizers past the point where they could compensate. The deck thumped and the lights dimmed as Senior Gunner fired. The missile streaked away under full acceleration. White spheres blossomed on his plot board as the other spread went off. The cover they gave would last for seconds at most. Perhaps that would be enough. The lights flickered briefly before going down again as the distant whine of the power plant rose to a scream. Chief Engineer was pouring every last erg into the drive coils. Inexorably his weight increased. A ship symbol appeared on the plot and the deck thumped again as Senior Gunner punched out his last three missiles. Without warning a series of massive hammerblows struck the ship. Alarm klaxons sounded and half the lights on the damage-control panel came on but the crushing acceleration continued so Chraz-Captain ignored them, his attention focused on the plot board, his hand poised over the Jump button. Ever faster Silent Prowler sped towards freedom. His very weight stole his breath but still he screamed for more speed. The pain was immense, his vision dimmed and brightened in pulses. The line was very close now, just a few more seconds.
The universe roared and flared searing white, then faded to silent darkness. On Chraz-Captain's plot board Silent Prowler's symbol slid over the singularity line. Then it too flickered and went out.
The scoutship tumbled end over end, spinning slowly about its long axis. It was a mess. Blast pitting marred her prow, though Excalibur had gotten no missile hits. The kzin captain must have ridden right through the shock pulse of his first covering salvo. The destroyer's lasers had cut massive gouges through the ablative armor and in many places had melted the hullmetal underneath. A major penetration, probably the fatal one, had occurred in the drive section and a secondary explosion had blown most of it off. The sensor dome was ruptured, spilling cables and electronics into space like entrails. Reports from the boarding party told a similar story. Three kzinti dead on the bridge, their combat armor riddled with metal droplets sprayed from the hull by a beam that didn't quite get through. Another crushed by a failed support beam in the weapons bay. The realities of victory were sobering. Mace could feel no hatred for her enemies, only a sense of loss. Flatlander propaganda pictured the kzinti as soulless predators but she felt more kinship with her victims than Earth's teeming, ground-bound billions. They too had known the soul-searing grandeur of the void, the ultimate emptiness which made fragile life so much more precious. They had undertaken a dangerous mission and when it went wrong they had fought well against long odds rather than surrender. She only hoped she would go down as bravely when her time came.
The commlink jolted her out of her reverie. “Commander, we've got a survivor.”
The fleet support ship Andromeda was immense, dwarfing even the massive attack carrier that floated beneath her, swaddled in scaffolding. On Excalibur's bridge Elizabeth Mace held absolute authority, backed by traditions extending through captains of space and air and sea to before recorded history. Waiting in a debriefing room aboard Andromeda she was just another cog in the military machine. Perhaps some people could acknowledge the difference and ignore it, but Elizabeth found it oppressive. The same initiative and spirit that had driven her to command made her uncomfortable in the armed forces bureaucracy. Taking orders from officers with Ph.D.s in systems analysis and no combat experience was annoying. Of course they too served a purpose, but it was hard to respect a superior who had been promoted for exceptional logistics planning while she was out getting shot at.
The door slid open and Admiral Tskala came in, followed by a ground-force major wearing intelligence insignia. Mace rose and saluted crisply. Tskala was no paper pusher. His first command was the depressurized bridge of the cruiser Hermes as the sole surviving officer. He had brought her through the battle with three quarters of the crew dead or disabled. Now he commanded the defense of the entire solar system. His position gave him enormous power, military and political, and the responsibilities to go with it, b
ut he still kept in close contact with his line officers. She had no difficulty respecting him.
He returned her salute and offered his hand. “Congratulations, Captain,” he said as she shook it. He handed her a small box containing the badges of her new rank, smiling at her surprised expression. “There'll be an official notice soon enough, but I wanted to be the first to tell you.” He noted the concern in her eyes and added, “Don't worry, we won't hide you behind a desk.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, pleased and relieved at the same time.
Tskala gestured to the intelligence officer. “This is Major Long,” he said. “He'll be interrogating your prisoner, but first he has some questions for you. When you're done here let me know and we'll get the paperwork out of the way. In the meantime I'll leave you in his capable hands.” He waved her into her seat before she could salute, thumbed the door and left. Long sat down opposite her, putting a vocoder on the table and switching it on.
“What can I help you with, Major?” Mace smiled. The intelligence officer stood in stark contrast to Tskala's energy and authority. There were no service stars on his uniform and his manner lacked the blend of caution and confidence that marked the veteran. He was clearly a civilian pressed into service as a fleet staffer. Andromeda's debriefing rooms were probably the closest he'd ever been to combat. On the other hand he didn't have the air of defensive self-importance that most of the rear-echelon specialists seemed to develop. She decided to reserve judgment and see how he performed.
Long adjusted the vocoder before starting. “I have your official report, Captain, but I'd like to hear your thoughts on the engagement.” His tone was relaxed and unhurried.
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