Ijima’s voice snapped sharply over comm. “Take her up, Mish. We got her!”
The cables tightened. The Artifact rose for the first time in how many billion years? On the rocky ground below, not a trace remained of her long vigil.
Despite herself, Connie shivered, as if the premonition of a holocaust to come exuded from that featureless egg shape.
“Speaker!” Bryana called. “Arpeggians are accelerating past first moon. Hunter is to the rear.”
“Weapons!” Connie called, swiveling in Sol’s command chair.
“We’re ready, Speaker.” Fujiki’s face glowed with anticipation.
Connie glared at the dots marking approaching Arpeggians on the screen. She turned. “Attention, diplomatic personnel. We’re most likely going to engage in combat. I suggest that this is a good time to stow loose items and enter your high g environments.”
Art looked up from where he bent over the sensors. “Sellers will be on us like a fly on manure. I don’t see how he could miss all those concentric circles. Even our long-range scanning of the moon’s surface would have shown them,” Art muttered. “Like a ... a damn target bull’s-eye.”
Connie leaned back in the command chair. “You can only see the circles when you exit the tunnel at precisely midnight or noon, First Officer. In fact, my father first saw it through his telescope one night.” She smiled and raised a hand. “Please! Don’t ask me why. I don’t know.
“The site is guarded by some very complex technology. We tried to come back again after the first time we’d been here. No circles. We had to come back when the tunnel was open—or not at all. Unless we came through the tunnel, the rings were invisible—along with the Artifact. Father took a shuttle up through the tunnel once and I went around. I was in contact with him the whole time. I could see his shuttle ... but I couldn’t get to it. It was like it wasn’t really there.” She could see his skepticism. “I know that’s impossible. The Artifact is a lot of impossible things. So are the quantum laws we live with when you get to thinking about them.”
“Alien craft stowed.” Misha called. “Uh, I’m going to leave the cables on this thing. I can’t tie it down with any of the regular cargo locks, Speaker. I guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
“Weapons?” Connie glanced around. “Cal, keep an armed guard outside that alien ship. No one, I repeat, no one but myself or Captain Carrasco must be allowed close to it. Is that understood?”
Cal nodded, dark eyes expressionless, “Yes, Speaker.”
Bryana, attention on her weapons targeting, added. “Five minutes until the Arpeggians arrive, Cap . . . uh, Speaker.”
“Get us some maneuvering room.” Connie called. “Take her to port, twenty degrees.” Maybe they could sneak over the horizon before accelerating away. Connie shook her head, seeing the upper surface of Boaz mottling like that of the moon, shadows, rocks and craters picture perfect.
Violent streaks of light shot out as Hunter slowed, keeping high while the rest of Sellers’ ships dropped toward the planetoid, moon probing.
Boaz announced, “They’re sounding the surface.”
“Looking for another hidden tunnel,” Connie mused. “Sellers is pretty sharp. He doesn’t waste much time. Boaz, power down any systems which might betray our presence. Zero g, shut the grav plates down. Attention, all personnel, zero g alert! Stow all loose items!”
She felt her stomach jump into her throat. Bryana threw her a measuring glance, and bit her lip as she looked away. “Yes, First Officer?” Connie asked. “Did I miss something?”
“No, ma’am.” Bryana answered crisply. “I just should have thought of it first.”
A sensor raked their position and the surface erupted three hundred meters from Boaz, debris arching high over the ship.
“Blessed nova! Should I give the shields full power?” Art worked his lips soundlessly, expression anxious as he swallowed hard and watched the monitors.
“Not unless you want to be a target,” Connie warned. “This close to the surface, we’d create a ground roil. From above we’ll be at the apex of a large V. All the Hound has to do then is pinpoint his blasters . . . and it’s all over.”
Art nodded slowly, green eyes worried as he stared at the positions of the searching ships.
A strain had appeared in Bryana’s expression as she glanced at the screens. The command chair creaked under her as she shifted. Seconds grew longer, eating away at hope. Around her, even the hum of the ship seemed louder, frequency on gain.
They waited under the hammer, Boat drifting toward eternity.
Connie stared nervously at the screen.
He’s up there, those cold eyes glued to monitors like these. And if he gets me? What then? Rape—as brutal and painful as he can make it, of course—and, yes, pain . . . lots of pain. I’d be his until he warped my soul, trashed my brain and body. Oh, he’s very good. I can imagine those frigid eyes—lit by excitement as he imagines the next way to shred what’s left. Mutiliation? I wouldn ‘t doubt it. Maybe impregnate me? Make me bear his child before he ruined me forever?
She shivered, a gibbering horror scurrying through her mind. “Better death.”
“Pardon?” Bryana looked up, on the edge of fear.
“Nothing, First Officer.”
The nerve-wracking wait continued. Seconds hung in the air, lingered a slow death, and turned into minutes. A sheen of sweat pasted Art’s brown hair to his brow, the edges of his mustache quivering like a stunned mouse’s vibrissae.
Connie watched a black shape glide overhead against the star-speckled darkness. “As soon as he’s over the horizon, I want everything we can take. Can you give me full thrust with instant grav plate reaction so we don’t turn ourselves into crushed mush?”
“Affirmative. I’m powering up. You’ve got forty gs on command, Speaker.” He swallowed hard. “Assuming the grav plates hold.”
“We won’t feel a thing if they don’t Art,” Bryana growled from the side of her mouth.
“Boaz, give me that acceleration the very second he’s over the hill. All hands, prepare for high g acceleration. Strap down, people.”
“Acknowledged,” Boaz intoned, bridge lights flickering to yellow and back to green one by one.
The black shape slipped away in silence so thick even breathing could be heard. The predator and the prey . . . acting their roles in deadly silence.
The weight of the universe smashed Connie back into the control chair as Boaz threw forty gravities of acceleration against the surface of the moon. They rose to meet the stars.
“Bogey clearing the horizon!” Boaz warned.
“Shields full!” Connie struggled to catch her breath as what felt like six gravities continued to punch her into the chair. Even the bones in her chest seemed to creak.
Art worked over his board, speaking softly to Happy in Engineering. Blaster fire lanced out, trying to interpret their ballistics.
“First Officer Bryana,” Connie called. “You are authorized to return fire at will. Good luck, and good shooting.”
“Acknowledged!” Bryana rapped, narrowing her eyes as she concentrated into her headset, the unit glowing around her skull.
Cal’s brilliant blasters arced back, flaring shields as Bryana and Boaz computed their acceleration against that of the surprised Arpeggian. The black ship veered off, dumping everything into shields and acceleration.
“And here comes Hunter.” Connie grimaced. She turned to comm. “Get me a line to Captain Mason, Star’s Rest Fleet. Claude? This is the Speaker. Where are you?”
Mason’s face filled the screen. “We’re coming down from high orbit, Speaker. We’ve seen fighting and assume it’s Boaz.”
“We’re running, Claude.” Connie looked up. “Just a minute until we can dial in directional.” She saw the signal narrow. “See if you can break up some of the pressure they’re putting on us. From tech specs, Boaz ought to be good enough to handle up to four of them at once. But try to whittle
away at the odds a little. Tell the crews it’s for the old man. We owe him that.”
“Aye, Conn . . . Speaker, that we do. A lot of us, well, we’re still stunned.” He hesitated. “We’re on the way, Connie, but in the meantime, take care of yourself, huh? One loss like that is enough for an old man like me to bear.”
She winked at him. “Take care yourself, Uncle Claude. Guess we’ll see what you really managed to beat into my thick skull.”
She canceled the connection, staring thoughtfully at the monitors.
The chase was on. Boaz, with superior acceleration, sought to get the edge on the Arpeggians, who held a better tactical position. The Arpeggians, with velocity and altitude advantages, slowly closed the gap while Boaz, streaking ahead of her reaction, strained grav plates against inertia to protect her fragile human cargo.
Connie leaned back and somehow managed to extract her coffee cup from her space pouch. “Well, kids, from now on it’s a matter of time. Either Boaz outruns them; or we kill enough of them to survive; or they take us and that’s that.”
The screen showed the pursuers, lining out. Connie tasted the coffee. It seemed acid and flat. From the flares of the ships trying to cut them off, it became apparent that Sellers was putting his men through terrible stress. Even combat suited, it must have been agony.
Connie chuckled. “Well, for a first deep space hop, you sure picked a dull one.”
Art turned to shoot her a quick grin. Bryana kept her eyes on the screens.
“Ready to re-up?” Connie asked. “If you don’t want duty on Boaz, I always have a need for trained officers in my fleet.”
Bryana shook her head slowly. “Speaker, if we make it home alive, I’m not sure I wouldn’t be interested in sitting in a station someplace, enjoying point two gravities—and getting fat!”
Connie chuckled. “Oh, I don’t know, Bryana. Considering Sol told me you just graduated, I think you’re outstanding—both of you. Every deep space jump isn’t like this one—but from what I’ve seen of your personalities, you’d be bored stiff in that station.”
“I said if we make it home,” Bryana reminded her.
Connie nodded and turned her attention back to the screens. Another minute dragged by and then another; the lights were converging. She whispered, “Boaz, prognosis?”
“We are going to be within range in approximately five and a half minutes, Speaker. We will remain within their range for seven minutes. In that time we will sustain the combined firepower of six Arpeggian cruisers.”
“Estimation of our chances?” Connie asked, feeling defeat begin to sift through her brain.
“At this time—five percent,” the ship replied. “Keep in mind that combat always defies statistics.”
Connie closed her eyes, struggling to think. Boaz hardly penetrated her concentration as option after option passed through her thoughts.
“Speaker, the Captain would like some of your time.”
Connie opened her eyes to see Bryana, white-faced. Art continued chewing his mustache short, fingers playing over the console absently as he thought into his headset.
“Put him on.” She looked up. “Hi, Sol. It doesn’t look good.”
His face was pale and drawn, eyes partly glazed as he stared out of the med unit. “No,” he managed softly. “It looks like they’re using a closing hex. Allow them to get into position. Keep Cal’s blasters at one-third power . . . shields at maximum. One of them will want to get in closer since their shields will have a long way to go before overload. Let him in, Connie. When he’s close enough to really hurt us, let Cal boost his fire while you change vector and dive at him. If you blow a hole through him, you’ve got your out.”
She thought about it, studying his glassy eyes. Drugged? If not, pain had to be eating him alive. How far could she trust his judgment, not knowing how Boaz had impaired his brain?
“Carrasco always brings his people back,” Art muttered under his breath.
“We’ll do it, Sol.” Connie decided, knowing it sounded like suicide. She gave him a brave smile and the screen flicked off.
“It’s crazy!” she muttered as the first fingers of blaster fire licked at Boaz’s shields.
Cal shrugged on screen, black eyes intent on his weapon control boards. “Cap says it’ll work.”
“Boaz? Projected success?”
“Thirty to forty-seven percent, depending upon which variables are employed.”
“Beats five,” Art grunted.
Bryana triggered her blasters. Hunter waited, still the farthest out. “That one,” Connie decided, pointing to the ship opposite the Hound’s. “He’s been boosting at almost thirty-five g. He seems the most anxious. We’ll bait him, hoping Sellers won’t see through the ruse.”
“Just like Carrasco did off Arpeggio!” Bryana chuckled as Cal’s reduced blaster fire shimmered the victim’s shields. True to Carrasco’s words, the black ship edged in—eager to win the honor of putting Boaz out of commission. So confident was the Arpeggian that he began centering his fire on Boaz’s reaction tubes, hoping to cripple her mobility.
How close?
Art glanced at the stats, saying evenly, “Shields reaching maximum, Speaker. We have maybe thirty seconds left before a critical fluctuation.”
“Thirty seconds to full power, Cal!” Connie clenched a fist. “Bryana, keep your targeting accurate. He’s moving.”
“I think I have his pattern worked out. Would have been tougher if they’d left it under comm control since there’d be random movement to avoid our fire. I’m keeping our guns a little off, Speaker. I hope he’ll consider it a glitch in our fire control.”
“Excellent!” Connie watched the shield condition climb into the red. “Boaz! Take him!” she shouted as the alert condition on the shields glared the color of a bloody ruby.
G attempted to pull them in two as Boaz threw everything she had into a vector change, heading right for the Arpeggian. Cal’s blasters lanced brilliant searing violet as the Arpeggian panicked, trying to veer off, shields flaring. The white flash glared, blinding as the screens failed to compensate. Boaz’s shields peaked and buckled—holding in the last seconds before the hull could be exposed—and they were free.
“Evasive action!” Connie shouted. “They’re trying to pin us.”
Boaz rolled and twisted, able to maneuver now and catch bolt after bolt on fresh shields, spinning to de-energize them on the off side before she had to absorb more.
“Hunter’s turning . . . attempting to reform,” Art called as Bryana settled her guns on another target and lanced violet fire in that direction.
“Damage report, Boaz?”
“Hull damage is restricted to ablative coating and occasional pitting—no serious breaches, Speaker.”
“Estimated time within Arpeggian range?” She bit her lip, seeing the Arpeggian formation expanding as they threw out lateral acceleration to trap Boaz.
“Assuming constant vector, eight minutes.”
“And our chances in those eight minutes?” Connie rapped out.
“Forty percent, depending on the permutations of a new Arpeggian attack formation.”
Connie worried it. With each course change they lengthened the, time under Arpeggian fire. Slowly the shields climbed toward critical overload as Boaz spun faster and faster to spread the absorption over her shielding. Behind them, space glowed and radiated as particles were thrown off the shields by acceleration, leaving an aurora of color fading into the blackness.
“Bryana, pick one target,” Connie decided. “Take the closest, back him off as far as you can. Perhaps you can even kill him.”
Promptly the blasters pinpointed a ship and shields glowed as the Arpeggian veered off, slowing, falling behind. At the same time, the others, shields cooling, poured more energy into their weapons. Boat’s shields were climbing toward critical.
“One thing,” Art gritted, sweat starting down his face. “We taught them to keep their distance! We didn’t go alone!”
“Don your helmets, people.” Connie ordered. “We have four minutes left.”
“We won’t make it,” Art’s voice came through the helmet comm. “Under their combined fire, we’re heating up past capability. Shields are beginning to buckle.”
Connie nodded. “Maybe we’ll still make it.”
But they weren’t going to. She could see it as the shields flared, Bryana still driving the Arpeggians back as they closed for the kill. So close! What else could she have done? She unlocked the dead-man’s switch, the toggle which would blow the antimatter free in the event of a reactor overload.
She could imagine Sellers’ face, grinning, laughing as he raped her. She’d be his. She pictured Sabot standing before the Artifact, face lit with pleasure as the green-brown knob rested under his hand. Drained of emotion, she calmly closed and locked the dead-man’s box. If they were to die, better to hope the failed containment would take them all—including the alien Artifact—in one final burst of matter/antimatter reaction. And who knew, the resultant explosion might kill an Arpeggian or two along the way.
“That’s it!” Art cried as the shields began to buckle under the combined power of the Arpeggians.
How many seconds now before the hull breached and Boaz died? “Farewell, good ship!” Connie called. “If Sol’s still conscious, tell him I love him.”
“Save it!” Boaz responded. “The Arpeggians are backing off. Hunter and two other ships are under fire. Our shields are rebuilding. Arpeggians are breaking formation, assuming evasive tactics.”
Connie looked up at the screens to see the Arpeggians lancing blaster fire ahead and above. Streaks of purple light crisscrossed the stars as the Arpeggians struggled to change their formation into a defensive position, losing V at the same time as Boaz shot ahead.
Art let out a whoop. “It’s your Captain Mason, Speaker. We ‘re saved!”
The Speaker’s fleet streaked by at a thirty degree angle. Connie hailed the flagship, Dancer, on comra. “Good to see you, Claude! Things were a little hot here.”
W Michael Gear Page 47
