Wasp Hand

by Jonathan Moeller

  “I think so,” said March, remembering the way that Elizabeth had stared in fascination at the quantum beacon.

  “That’s a hell of a gamble,” said Adelaide. “It’s almost impossible to calculate hyperspace jumps to that degree of accuracy, if only because of the relativistic drift in locations during transit. It’s easier just to have the hyperspace tunnel collapse when you hit a gravity well and then navigate the rest of the way on sublight engines.”

  “I know,” said March, amused despite the seriousness of the situation. She did like to explain things he already knew to him. Even when upset, it seemed.

  “Do you think Caird can do it?” said Adelaide.

  “Yes,” said March. “He can calculate a hyperspace jump to that degree of precision. I’ve seen him do it.”

  “Then he’s not just an elite pilot, is he?” said Adelaide. “He’s been…modified in some way?”

  There was an understatement.

  “That’s even more classified than the relics in the strong room,” said March. “It’s not something you want to witness firsthand.”

  Her eyes met his. “But you do think he can do it?”

  “Yes.”

  Adelaide nodded. “Then let’s do it.”

  March hesitated. “I...think you should wait on the Roncesvalles.”

  She frowned again. “You’ll need a co-pilot. It’s more efficient to have a co-pilot working on the firing solutions.”

  “I know,” said March. “But if this goes bad, at least you’ll be safe here…”

  She took his hands. “No. I started this with you, and I want to see it to the end.” She took a deep breath, her fingers warm against his right hand. “And…I’ve got a responsibility too, Jack. I’m an operative of the Order, and Censor ordered us to help Stormreel. And, God, all those people on Vesper’s World are going to die if we don’t win. Maybe if you can fire a half-second faster because you have a co-pilot, that will make the difference. Maybe the plan will work, and we can save all those people.”

  March said nothing, contradicting emotions warring in his mind. He remembered the first time he had kissed her. Or, rather, the first time she had kissed him since he had decided he would not let anything start between them. (That hadn’t worked out.) He remembered how frightened she had looked when she had shown him her scar, but she had done it anyway. Stormreel’s warning and Caird’s conversation played in his mind. Stormreel had been right, hadn’t he? March was in the middle of a life-and-death mission, and he was thinking about Adelaide Taren.

  He realized that the thought of never seeing her again disturbed him only slightly less than the thought of her being hurt or killed.

  Maybe she felt the same way about him.

  “Hell,” muttered March.

  Adelaide blinked.

  “All right,” said March. “We’ll do it together. We’ll either complete our mission and come back together, or we won’t.”

  “Good,” said Adelaide, squeezing his hand of flesh and blood. She leaned up and kissed him. “Then we’ll win together.”

  “We’d better not keep Cameron waiting,” said March.

  Adelaide grinned. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want him thinking privateers are late and sloppy.”

  March snorted. “He’s probably more concerned about going into battle with an archaeologist.”

  She laughed at that.

  They climbed up to the flight cabin, and March took the pilot’s acceleration chair and Adelaide the co-pilot’s station. The Tiger was still on standby, so March went through the expedited preflight checklist. He got Adelaide and Vigil started on a hyperspace calculation that would take them to the edge of the Vesper system, just beyond the orbit of the star’s last gas giant. As he worked, he saw the Phalanx starfighters rising and exiting the hangar.

  All systems reported green, and March called Flight Control. The officer gave him permission to launch, and March fired up the antigravs, eased the Tiger through the hangar entrance and into space, and powered up the fusion drive.

  Sixteen Phalanx-class heavy starfighters moved into escort position around the Tiger.

  “Red Leader calling Tiger,” came Major Cameron’s voice.

  “Tiger here,” said March.

  “We’re linking you into our squadron network and channel,” said Cameron. Fresh information flashed over the tactical display, listing the status of each of the sixteen fighters of Red Squadron. “Hope you have some hyperspace calculations for us, Tiger. Else it’s a long flight to Vesper system from here.”

  “We’re ready,” said March. “Sending you the calculations now.”

  “We’ll sync our hyperdrives to yours,” said Cameron.

  “Good,” said March, looking at the engine readouts as he sent the jump data to Red Squadron. The dark matter reactor was ready, the hyperdrive was charged with dark energy, and the resonator was functioning at an acceptable level. “Then let’s do this. Three…two…one…now.”

  He gripped the power levers and sent the Tiger hurtling into hyperspace.

  Chapter 9: Devour

  The hyperspace flight from interstellar space to the edge of the Vesper system took about six and a half minutes. March pulled back the power levers, and the Tiger exited hyperspace and returned to normal space.

  “Red Leader here,” said Cameron. “All pilots check in.”

  March listened with half an ear as the pilots of Red Squadron checked in. He sent full power to the sensors, sweeping space around them for any foes. The ship detected the Phalanxes at once, but there were no Wasp starships or starfighters in the immediate area. March reached for the dark energy sensors and searched for Eumenidae ships.

  He found them at once.

  The number of Wasp starships in the system had not changed. The nestship continued its steady vector towards Vesper’s World.

  “Get Vigil going on a hyperspace calculation to the nestship,” said March. “As close as can be safely managed.”

  “The nestship’s probably big enough that we can use its gravity well as a stopping point,” said Adelaide, “but we’ll still be a good distance out. Probably ten thousand kilometers or so.”

  “Tiger,” said Cameron, “we all made the hyperspace jump. You see the nestship?”

  “We do,” said March. “It hasn’t changed course or vector. We’re calculating a hyperjump that will get us as close to it as we can manage. Then we’ll have to use the fusion drive to get within one hundred kilometers.”

  “I expect getting within a hundred kilometers will be easy,” said Cameron. “Staying there without getting blown up will be the hard part. Still, the nestship is so damn big that we probably won’t have to worry about much in the way of point defense so long as we stay away from essential areas.”

  “No,” said March. “It’s the fighters we’ll have to worry about.”

  “When it rains it goddamn pours,” said Cameron. “Think they’ve figured out we’re here?”

  “Probably,” said March. “They’re so sensitive to dark energy they might have detected the radiation surge when we exited hyperspace. I doubt we’re big enough for them to consider a threat yet.”

  “Well,” said Cameron. “Reckon that we’re going to have to change their minds.”

  The hyperdrive display turned green. Vigil had finished the jump calculation.

  “Looks like the closest we can get is twelve thousand kilometers away from the nestship,” said Adelaide.

  “That will have to do,” said March. “Red Leader, I’m sending you the jump calculations now. Looks like the jump will take ninety seconds.”

  “Got them,” said Cameron. “Weapons and shields are ready.”

  “We’ll be ready to bring up our weapons and shields as soon as we exit hyperspace,” said Adelaide.

  “Okay,” said March. Green lights appeared on the hyperdrive status screen. “Your drives are synced to the Tiger’s. We’ll be entering hyperspace in three, two, one…now.”

  He yanked the power le
vers again, and the Tiger surged into hyperspace. March glanced at the sensor display, but there was nothing to see. Normal radar and ladar and other sensors did not function in hyperspace, and the dark energy detectors registered nothing but enormous surges of dark energy around them. Taking a hyperjump with so many craft close together carried the risk of collision, but it was negligible. Given the vastness of space, it was possible that two ships would exit hyperspace at the same point and destroy one another, but it was improbable.

  No, it was more likely that the Wasps would simply blast them out of the sky.

  March watched the timer count down. He glanced at Adelaide and saw her sitting motionless, her hands poised and waiting over the shield controls. She stared unblinkingly at her screens, and he saw the pulse throbbing in her temple, a droplet of sweat sliding down her neck and disappearing beneath her collar. She felt the strain, just as he did, but she didn’t let it show.

  A warrior. Yes. Stormreel had been right about that.

  Then the timer flashed to zero, and March yanked the hyperdrive power levers back.

  The hyperspace tunnel collapsed, and the Tiger returned to normal space, the Phalanx fighters arrayed around the ship.

  The Eumenidae nestship floated right in front of them.

  They were close enough that the radar and ladar updated instantaneously. The nestship was twelve thousand eleven hundred nineteen kilometers in front of them. The thing was huge and twisted and misshapen, forty-seven kilometers long from bow to stern. It was the size of an asteroid, but it didn’t look anything like one. It looked to March like a cross between an enormous stinging insect, some sort of armored carrion eater, and a giant slug. The grayish-green hull was gnarled and twisted and dotted with countless strange growths, and random patterns of harsh red light glowed across its surface.

  It absolutely radiated dark energy.

  “All craft, this is Red Leader,” said Cameron. “Check in.”

  “Tiger here,” said March.

  “Red Two here,” said the squadron’s second-in-command.

  One by one the other fighters checked in.

  “So, is that thing going to shoot at us?” said Red Three.

  “Doubt it,” said Cameron. “The Lord Admiral says the nestships aren’t warships. If we make enough trouble, the scoutships will jump here and blow us up. Like bees coming back to defend the hive. But it will be hard for us to make that kind of trouble for the nestship. We’re not carrying any torpedoes. No, our mission is to get the Tiger to within one hundred kilometers of that floating tumor, and then to keep the Tiger alive for five minutes. We’ll have to shoot our way through any fighters, though. Tiger, you picking up anything? The sensors on your ship are better than anything we have.”

  “Yeah,” said March. “There are a couple dozen radar and dark energy contacts orbiting the nestship.” The nestship had the gravity of a small asteroid, and likely the fighters had simply settled into orbit around it to save on whatever organic technology they used to power their ships. “Once they figure out we’re here, they’ll come after…wait.” He looked at the tactical display, watching the icons and the readings change position. “Here they come. A dozen fighters. Probably interceptors, but they might be some of the double-hulled fighter-bombers we’ve seen elsewhere.”

  “I see them too,” said Cameron. “All right, Red Squadron, it’s time to earn our paychecks. Echelon-X formation around the Tiger. Blow up anything that tries to shoot down the Tiger, and keep going until you get to the nestship.”

  “We’ll set our laser turrets to point defense to shoot down any missiles that get through,” said March. “We also have flak launchers.”

  “That’ll help,” said Cameron. “Pity you don’t have missile launchers on that thing. All craft, be ready to break formation when I give the word.”

  The Tiger and the fighters accelerated towards the nestship, the huge craft growing bigger and bigger in the visual feeds. As they drew closer, the sensors got better resolution on the incoming fighters. There were sixteen of them, twelve of the interceptors and four of the larger fighter-bombers.

  “Looks like we’ll hit them about six thousand kilometers out from the nestship,” said March. “And…there are more appearing. I’m not sure, but it looks like the nestship is growing new fighters.”

  “Growing?” said Cameron.

  “I’ll send you an image,” said Adelaide. “I spotted something.” One of March’s displays changed to show a zoomed image of the nestship’s flank. Up close, the nestship’s hull looked even more organic, twisted and knotted almost like the bark of an ancient tree. A half-dozen translucent sacs of gel bulged from the side of the hull, and within the greenish gel, March saw the unmistakable shapes of half-grown Wasp interceptors.

  He idly wondered again if the fighters had pilots, or if the entire ship was a living, sapient creature. Perhaps with the Wasps, there was no difference between craft and pilot.

  “That’s just disgusting,” said Red Seven. “My dad’s a farmer on Calaskar. That looks like a baby calf still in the amniotic sac.”

  “If your dad’s calves look like that,” said Red Two, “then your dad’s livestock is weird as hell.”

  “The point is that they’ll be able to grow as many fighters as they want,” said March. “We have to punch through to one hundred kilometers as soon as possible.”

  “Acknowledged,” said Cameron. “All right, gentlemen, cut the chit-chat, the enemy’s just about here. Make sure your missiles are ready and scatter on my mark.”

  They were now only eight thousand kilometers from the nestship, and the interceptors were coming closer with every second. None of the fighters were targeting the Tiger, but the ship did detect multiple missile locks on the Phalanxes. Behind the interceptors came the four double-hulled fighters.

  “Red Leader,” said March. “After we’ve broken formation, I’m going to focus on the fighter-bombers. My railgun packs more punch than anything you’ve got, and I’ll have a better shot at bringing them down.”

  “Do it,” said Cameron. “Red Squadron – on my mark, fire missiles and scatter. Three…two…one. Scatter! Light those shitheads up!”

  The sixteen Phalanxes fired a volley of missiles and scattered, shooting off in random evasive directions as they dumped flak and chaff to confuse the Wasp missiles. The Wasp interceptors did the same, each craft shooting two missiles and then breaking formation. The fighter-bombers kept coming, their double hulls flickering with light as they built up plasma charge to fire.

  “Firing solutions,” said March.

  “Already on it,” said Adelaide.

  March fed power to the drive and sent the Tiger hurtling towards the fighter-bombers. None of the missiles had been targeted at the Tiger, and the ship’s turrets spun and rotated on computer-controlled autofire, the laser beams slashing through missile after missile. The turrets disposed of a dozen missiles in short order, and freed from their missile locks, several Phalanxes went on the offensive, plasma cannons and chain guns blazing.

  Then the Tiger was through the scattering interceptors, and the fighter-bombers drew closer.

  March targeted the nearest one and locked on, loading one of Adelaide’s firing solutions. The big fighter started to turn towards him, but March’s fingers tightened against the triggers on the flight yoke. A volley of plasma bolts slammed into the fighter’s gravitic shield, disrupting it enough for the tungsten railgun round to pierce both the double hulls at once. The fighter-bomber ripped apart under the weight of its own momentum, organic debris tumbling into the void.

  March spun the Tiger as the remaining three fighter-bombers closed around the ship. He lined up on a second Wasp ship and fired, the plasma bolts and the railgun round tearing to craft to pieces. The surviving two fighter-bombers opened up with their own plasma cannons, and several bolts hit the Tiger’s radiation shield. March cursed and sent the Tiger into an evasive spiral, setting the laser turrets to target the two fighter-bombers. None of the
bolts had hit the hull armor, but the radiation shield had taken a pounding.

  “Recharging the shield!” said Adelaide.

  March brought the Tiger ought of its evasive spiral, lined up on another fighter-bomber, and started shooting. The craft tried to jerk out of the way, but while the fighter-bomber’s plasma cannons packed a powerful punch, the Tiger was more maneuverable. The Tiger’s plasma cannons collapsed the gravitic shield, and the railgun round cut the fighter-bomber in half, its twin pieces spinning away into the darkness.

  The final fighter-bomber fired on the Tiger, and March sent the ship evasive again. One plasma bolt splashed off the dorsal shielding, but the radiation shield held. The Tiger came out of its spiral, and March fired the weapons. Four plasma bolts hit the Wasp fighter, and the alien ship dodged. But the plasma fire weakened the gravitic shield enough that both of the Tiger’s laser turrets sliced into the Wasp fighter’s hull. The fighter-bomber shuddered and broke apart as the lasers cut deep into the ship’s innards.

  “We’d better help the Phalanxes,” said Adelaide.

  “Right,” said March. “Get that radiation shield back up and make sure we still have power to the weapons.”

  “Working on it,” said Adelaide.

  March turned the Tiger towards the struggling Phalanxes and interceptors. Briefly, he wondered if he ought to leave Red Squadron to its battle and head for the nestship. But that would be suicidal. He would be able to reach the nestship alone, but he had to stay within one hundred kilometers of it for three to five minutes. There was no way the Tiger would survive alone against that many enemy fighters for that long.

  No, either they would win together, or not at all.

  March accelerated, locked onto the nearest interceptor, and opened fire. The interceptor was dueling Red Five, and the Wasp ship didn’t notice the Tiger’s presence until it was too late. The Tiger’s plasma cannons punched through its weakened gravitic defenses and burned through the hull. The interceptor spun away, dead and out of control, and March sought another target nearby.