Ruins of Empire: Blood on the Stars III

by Jay Allan

  “Dolph,” she said into the comm unit, “are you and the others ready?”

  “We’re ready to go, Andi.” A short pause. “I don’t think the Marines are very happy to have us here, but they can go…”

  “That’ll do, Dolph.” She sighed softly. “Let’s at least try to get along with them, okay?” She’d had an argument with Hargraves about her people joining the assault, and Dolph Messer was clearly still pissed about it. Hargraves had been insistent that her entire crew stay on Pegasus and leave the boarding action to his Marines. She’d listened to everything he’d said, every reason he’d offered her why his way was the only one possible. Then she’d stared right into his cold eyes and told him that one of her people was on that frigate, and unless he was going to have his Marines turn their guns on her crew and blow them to bloody chunks, they were going. She’d taken Hargraves by surprise—and she fancied she’d even won some small token of respect from the grizzled warrior—but that hadn’t been the end of it. The two had continued their battle…until they’d reached a compromise. Lafarge would hold her people back until the Marines got aboard…then she would wait while they secured the landing area before sending her crew in.

  She’d lied a bit, seeing it as the only way to get the giant Marine to shut the hell up. She’d let his heavily armed and armored forces board first…that only made good sense. But her people would be right on their heels, and she had no intention of holding them back behind the Marines. Hargraves’s mission priorities were different from her own. He was there to secure the ship, and she was there to save her friend. The Marines would rescue Merrick if they found him, of course, but they wouldn’t make it a priority. Lafarge understood that, especially considering the overall situation, but none of it mattered to her. She would do everything she could to save one of her people.

  “We’re beginning out final approach, Andi. Still no sign of energy spikes or any indication of imminent fire.”

  Lafarge nodded. “That’s good news, Rina. But let’s get docked as quickly as possible. The sooner those Marines are in charge over there, the better I’ll feel.”

  “Closing now…”

  Pegasus shook, Lafarge gripping the edges of her chair, holding herself in place. Then she heard the sound of the hydraulics, Pegasus’s boarding tube moving into place. There was a high-pitched whine, the laser drills burning through the frigate’s hull. Her ship’s “tube” was leading edge, and it cut through the skins of most ships like a knife through butter. But Pegasus hadn’t faced military grade targets before, and now she was taking on a Union combat vessel.

  She glanced down at the display, at the readings of the drills’ progress. Faster than with that ancient ship, at least…

  The artifact had almost stopped both her laser and crystal-tipped drilling units, requiring her to overload her circuits and pour every bit of energy she could scrape up into the effort. The frigate’s skin was tough, but it was giving way far more easily than the ancient vessel’s had.

  The red light on her workstation turned yellow, and then green an instant later, signifying that the boarding tube had established a spacetight seal. “You’re clear to go, Sergeant,” she said into the comm unit. “Good luck.”

  “Understood, Captain,” Hargraves snapped back perfunctorily. Then she heard the metal on metal sound of the main hatch opening…and footsteps clanking forward toward the enemy ship.

  Hang on, Vig…help is on the way.

  But she sighed almost immediately. She was a realist, and she knew there was a good chance the Union spacers had already killed Merrick.

  She shook her head, and then she slapped her hand against her thigh, leaping out of her chair and reaching for the pistol belt hanging over the back of the seat.

  “You’ve got Pegasus, Rina…I’m going in with the boarding forces.”

  “But…” Strand turned with a panicked look on her face, clearly ready to argue. But Lafarge was gone already, her friend’s stillborn protest barely a sound in the background as she raced down the small corridor that bisected Pegasus.

  She was going in. Period.

  * * *

  “Chief, I need those fighters refit and launched in record time. Do you hear me?” Travis’s voice was raw, cold. She wasn’t angry with Chief Evans, but she suspected it sounded like she was. Travis’s blood ran cold in her veins, but even she had a point where the stress, the odds…the sheer hopelessness…overwhelmed her ability to cope. And she was close to that point now.

  “Commander, there’s just no…”

  “Do it, Chief!” If there had been any doubt about the sheer rage in her first command, she knew the second would clear that up.

  “Yes, Commander…we’ll do everything we can.”

  “Do that, Chief.” She slammed her balled fist down hard on the comm unit. She had always deeply respected Tyler Barron, for his abilities, and for the qualities that made him the man he was. But now she felt something different, a true appreciation for the crushing burdens of this chair she occupied in his place.

  How did he get through the battle out at Santis? Or the race to the enemy supply base? How could he endure this stress hour after hour? Day after day?

  Dauntless was facing four enemy battleships…and at least half a dozen escort vessels. Travis had watched them transit into the system, and her spirits had sunk lower with each one. Two ships, she thought she just might handle, though at a cost. Three was too many…there was just no way. But it wasn’t until she saw the fourth one pop onto her scanners that she truly lost hope. The cluster of frigates following behind was nothing more than insult added to injury. The enemy had far more than it needed to destroy Dauntless, and they were closing hard despite her best efforts to stay clear, to pull one of the enemy ships from the group and fight it before the others could intervene.

  One ship, at least, appeared to be less of a threat. She hadn’t had the time to stay and finish the first vessel Dauntless had engaged. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind she could have blasted the stricken vessel to atoms given a little more time, but she’d had to make a choice…pull out, then and there, or stand and fight all the enemy ships as they emerged from the transwarp link. That had been no choice at all, and the price she’d have paid for the destruction of one enemy vessel would have been the loss of Dauntless with all hands…and an open route left behind to the artifact.

  She knew what she had to do, hopeless or not. She had to hold back the enemy any way she could, make the fight last as long as possible…and hope beyond hope that Confederation reinforcements would arrive in time.

  She looked over at the display. Blue and Scarlet Eagle squadrons were down in the bays now. The Reds and the Yellows, outfitted as interceptors, and the Greens, once again armed with plasma torpedoes, had already launched. She needed every bit of force she could get, but a second’s glance at the approaching waves of enemy craft told her all she needed to know. Her people faced a nightmare. The Reds would struggle to stop the enemy bombing waves, one squadron against perhaps eight times their number…and her Greens, with only the battered remnants of Yellow squadron for cover, would do their best to close and launch their weapons.

  Dauntless was pulling back, putting as much distance as possible between itself and the enemy fighters. If Federov and her veteran Reds could hold the strike off for a while, buy some time, maybe Dauntless could get far enough back to force the enemy fighters to break off and return to base to refuel. But even that was a longshot. If the enemy battleships moved forward, it would extend the range of the bombers. Even now, she was picking up energy readings, as the new arrivals prepared to accelerate toward her ship.

  “Commander, we’re getting a report from Captain Lafarge.”

  Not now…I don’t have time for this bullshit…

  “Put her on.” Her voice was tight with impatience.

  “Commander Travis, your Marines have taken control of the Union frigate.”

  That was good news, at least, if largely irrelevant at this
point.

  “Thank you for the update, Captain.” Then, a few seconds later. “Is it possible to get the enemy ship operational?”

  “I have no idea, Commander, but I can dispatch my engineer to investigate.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. Is it possible to fit all of the Marines and prisoners onto your vessel?” Then, a few seconds later: “Actually, Captain…please do send your engineer in and report what he’s able to manage.” Her first impulse had been to disregard the offer of help from the smugglers, but then she realized she needed any break she could get. She didn’t really believe the technician from a ship full of ragtag adventurers would be able to get a Union warship functioning when the vessel’s own crew had been unable to do it. But she didn’t have anything to lose either.

  “Consider it done, Commander. Lafarge out.”

  “Commander, Lieutenant Federov’s people are engaging the enemy’s lead fighters now. The Yellow and Greens are on a wide arc, trying to get around the main Union force.”

  “I’m so sorry, Olya…” Travis’s words were soft, not meant to be heard by anyone else. She’d sent Federov’s people on a near-suicide mission, and it tore at her insides to think about it. She knew Barron had been in situations like this before, and she had been at his side, recommending many of the desperate measures. But it really was different now that hers was the last word. She’d never realized how much psychic comfort she’d derived from the cover Barron had given her, the way she’d clung to the knowledge that, whatever advice she might have given, it had never been her call in the end. Now it was. She did what had to be done, just as she knew Barron would have…but she struggled with it.

  She watched as the Reds blasted forward, into a massive cloud of enemy fighters. They were outflanked on all sides, and even as they tore into their enemy, digging great chunks out of the line with their missiles, the Union forces wrapped around, closed from all sides.

  Federov’s people were clearly more skilled than their adversaries, and they cut down one Union fighter after another. A dozen. Two dozen. More. But they began to take losses too. One fighter destroyed. Then another disabled, its pilot ejecting in time, but to what purpose? The chance of any kind of rescue was beyond remote.

  Travis’s eyes moved to the side, watching as a group of enemy fighters broke away from the central melee, chasing her bombers and their scant screen of escorts. The Yellows moved out from the strike force, positioning themselves to intercept. They were outnumbered almost as badly as the Reds, but they appeared just as determined to sell their lives dearly. Then she saw it.

  Her eyes snapped back to the main display. One of the enemy battleships was moving to the flank, the distance between it and its fellows increasing. She wasn’t sure if it was arrogance, carelessness…or just some poorly conceived tactic to support the Union fighter wings. But whatever it was, she saw her chance.

  “Lieutenant, I want the engine room ready for full thrust on my command.”

  “Yes, Commander.” Darrow sounded surprised, perhaps a little confused. Dauntless had been falling back, hoping to pull the enemy bombers too far from their mother ships and compel them to break off. That had been Travis’s plan, but now the hunter in her was awakened again. Falling on one of the enemy ships would let her fight on something like equal terms, and if she could defeat the Union battleship before the other two functional ones could react…she just might cut the odds. It was desperation in its purest form. But it was all she had.

  “Engine room ready for full thrust, Commander.”

  “Very well,” she said, her voice distracted. Her eyes were locked on the display, her mind racing with calculations. Yes…yes, we just might have time…

  “Set a course for 302.111.098, Lieutenant.” Her eyes zeroed in on the target, and cold resolve took her. “Full thrust…and I do mean everything Lieutenant Billings and his people can coax from the engines. Now.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Inside Abandoned Spacecraft

  System Z-111 (Chrysallis)

  Deep Inside the Quarantined Zone (“The Badlands”)

  309 AC

  “It could be the difference in the fight. We have to move quickly, before Dauntless is overtaken and destroyed. But I’m sure it could work.”

  “I’m not following you, Fritzie. I appreciate there are myriad uses for antimatter, but how is it any more feasible to harness than it is to get the engines operational? We don’t have time for months of research. Or years.”

  Barron stood in the large room, facing Anya Fritz. She’d been all over the ancient ship looking for some way—any way—to get it moving. Finally, she’d come back and told Barron it was a hopeless task. She’d managed to find what she believed was one of the engine rooms, but the discovery had only confirmed her earlier assertion that it would take years and an army of engineers and scientists to get any of it back in working order…or to even figure out how it functioned. Her best suggestion had been to tow the thing, a job she estimated was doable by three, or perhaps four, battleships…at a maximum acceleration that suggested a trip of several weeks just to the transwarp link in the system, and perhaps two years to get back to Dannith. But she’d also suggested with a new idea, a way to hold out in the system until reinforcements arrived.

  “Don’t you see, sir? These canisters are massive bombs, just as they sit here. All it would take to detonate them is to crack open the container. Not even…just damage it enough so the magnetic field fails…for even a nanosecond.”

  “But we don’t have any delivery vehicles, Fritzie, no way to hit those vessels. Those are Union battleships, a few near misses in space aren’t going to take them out.”

  “I don’t think you understand the magnitude of what I’m talking about, Captain.” Fritz’s tone was cool, but Barron could hear the excitement behind her words. She really seemed to believe her plan could work. And he had long ago learned never to discount anything from his gifted chief engineer.

  “What are you talking about, Fritzie?”

  “We seed the space around this thing with those canisters, each of them equipped with a small charge, enough to crack open the shell. I might even be able to rig up some kind of proximity fuse, so that any enemy ship moving within, say, ten or twenty kilometers triggers a detonation.”

  “But we’ve tried to use nuclear weapons in space before…it’s just too hard to get close enough to cause real damage.”

  “For nuclear weapons. We’re talking about an entirely different order of magnitude here, Captain.”

  “How different?”

  Fritz looked down at the cylinder laying on the floor to the side. “My best guess is that one of those containers contains enough antimatter to generate an eight or nine teraton blast.”

  “Teraton?” Barron stared back at his engineer, his expression one of shock.

  “Yes, sir. Assuming total annihilation. And while the near-vacuum of space might present some problems for a pure cache of antimatter finding enough matter with which to annihilate, the outer structure of the canister itself would provide more than enough in this case.”

  Barron looked down at the long rows of cylinders stacked up in the storage area. “That is why these things are still here, functioning after all these years. But they would have had to develop containment like that, or they could never have carried all of this inside their ship.”

  “That’s true, sir. Any one of these containers failing for a fraction of a second would have reduced even this enormous vessel to plasma. The failure likelihood would have to zero out at least thirty decimals to make antimatter power feasible. To our science, such a level of reliability and durability is a fantasy. But these people—our ancestors—mastered that, and much more.” She paused for an instant. “We know so much was lost in the Cataclysm, but to see something like this…”

  “I know, Fritzie. What must their information tech have been, their medicine? But we don’t have time for any of that now. If you tell me you can make me weapons out
of those things, I need you to do it. Now. Dauntless doesn’t have much time left.”

  “I can make you bombs, sir…but I can’t get the enemy to come to them. And it would take far too long to rig up missiles, even if I could manage to put something together that had a chance of getting through their point defense.”

  “Don’t waste time playing around trying to build missiles, Fritzie…just make me a minefield. And don’t worry about getting the enemy here. Leave that to me.”

  * * *

  “He’s not going to make it. I doubt he’ll last the rest of the day.” Stu Weldon was staring across Dauntless’s sickbay, toward the eerily coffin-like structure that had been keeping Jake Stockton alive for weeks now. The unit’s status panel was blinking red, signaling imminent life systems failure. “Unless I do the regen procedure here.”

  The tall slender woman standing next to him looked up with surprise on her face. “How? We don’t have the facilities on Dauntless, Stu.”

  Weldon returned her gaze. Jane Silla was a gifted surgeon, the second ranking medical officer on Dauntless, and as educated a human being as he’d ever met, but she was far more beholden to orthodoxy than he was. Weldon had always been a bit of a rebel, and most of all, he hated to lose any patient he could save. Could even try to save.

  “He’s going to die, Jane. If we don’t do something.” He paused, his eyes darting back toward the life support pod. “We might lose him, but I’ll be damned if I’m just going to stand here and watch him die. We’re both familiar with the regen procedure. There’s no reason we can’t do it here with what we have on Dauntless.”

  “In theory, Stu. But in practice there are…”

  “What’s the alternative? Do nothing, and watch him die?” Weldon regretted the bluntness of his statement, but it was nothing but the truth. They could try to perform the necessary procedures, violating normal medical procedures to do it…or they could stand by and watch a man die.