by Isaac Hooke
"I don't know..."
"I want you to tell Robert about the baby as soon as the Callaway is out of danger," Jonathan said.
"And that brings up another issue I have," Bridgette said. "If you and Robert are right about these ships, that they are alien, the United Systems could be locked into a decades-long war. And even if the attackers prove to be SKs... well, same thing. We're heading toward war. I won't have my child living on some warship, her life constantly hanging by a thread."
"But the nurseries have direct passages to the lifepods," Jonathan argued.
"That's not good enough," Bridgette said.
"Well, can the baby stay with relatives? Or a colonial nursery somewhere?"
Bridgette sighed. "Yes. But then I'd never see her."
"So you'd rather abort the child, murder her, than give her a chance at life. Just because you don't want to let the baby grow up on a ship or a colonial nursery."
"That's a little harsh," she crossed her arms below her breasts. "It's only a fetus at this point. Its stem cells haven't even differentiated into specialized organs yet."
"It? Only a moment ago you referred to the baby as her."
Bridgette's chin quivered. "I honestly don't know what I'm going to do."
"Come here." Jonathan gave her a hug. "No one really knows what to do when confronted by the big decisions life throws our way. We make our choices as best we can, with the best information available to us, and then we live with the consequences. It's called life, Bridgette. Something you are about to give to another human being. I urge you not to take that life away. Allow her to experience the joys and sorrows of being human."
Jonathan's mind drifted to the enemy ships that were bearing down upon them at that very moment.
"Allow her to fight," he finished, knowing that humanity might need every last man, woman and child in the dark days to come.
seventeen
Robert studied the tactical display. The members of Task Unit Two had assumed defense pattern delta: The lightly-armored Marley, Selene, and Grimm resided at the center of the imaginary arrowhead formed by the Callaway, Aurelia, Maelstrom, Dagger, and Linea. The former trio was stacked vertically, each vessel a hundred kilometers apart. The latter defenders were spaced at intervals of roughly five hundred kilometers, with the Callaway at the center, and the other four taking up different positions to the port, starboard, dorsal, and ventral quarters.
Robert didn't care so much about the survival of the Selene, but the Grimm might be needed to scrounge geronium from the gas giants, while the Marley was required to build the return Gate. That latter ship must survive at all costs.
Task Unit One was escorting the Fortitude and Hurricane four hundred thousand kilometers behind them. Ahead, the enemy vessels were nine hundred thousand kilometers away and closing.
Robert pinged Lieutenant Harv Boroker, the chief weapons engineer. "Status update on the Avenger upgrades?"
"We just finished retrofitting the charged field tech into the four human-manned Avengers," the lieutenant returned.
"Right down to the wire," Robert said.
"Indeed. The fields should allow the fighters to close to within a thousand meters of individual enemy ships. If the Avengers get any closer than that, the fields won't be able to dissipate any incoming beams—the particles are far too intense at that range, at least going on the data recorded from the previous battle. The best strategy at that range is simple avoidance, which should hopefully be easy once they get in that close."
"Thanks, Lieutenant." Robert tapped out Harv and turned to Captain Scott. "The lead Avengers have been upgraded with the charge field technology."
The captain stifled a yawn. "That's nice."
"We're going to need them in the coming battle," Robert said pointedly.
Scott glanced at him arrogantly. "I don't think so. Let me tell you a thing or two about space battles. Combat in the void is performed at a distance. We fire mortars to guide the target, hemming it in. Then we finish the job with kinetic kill missiles and nukes. Fighters and their pilots are a thing of the distant past. I'm not sure why we even have them on starships anymore, other than to appear menacing to the enemy."
"Respectfully, sir, tactics you learned in a simulation aren't going to cut it in the real world."
Scott's face abruptly darkened. "If I want your opinion, I'll ask for it," he spat. "In the meantime, keep your mouth shut."
Touchy.
Robert was about to protest but thought better of it. He would have to choose his battles. The man's leadership style was diametrically opposite Jonathan's. He was the kind of captain most recruits dreaded being assigned to back in the academy: a morale-killing commanding officer whose close-mindedness and dictatorial decisions would make anyone who served under him dread waking up each day. Robert knew a handful of astronauts who'd left the space navy as bitter men because of such officers. In the current situation, such poor leadership traits could very well lead to the eventual demise of those who served under him. Robert would have to watch Scott very carefully.
But what the hell am I supposed to do if he won't listen to me?
"Captain, enemy vessels have entered extreme effective range of our weapons," Tactical Officer Miko announced when the targets reached the seven hundred thousand kilometer mark.
"Order the task unit to fire the preprogrammed mortar and missile spread," Scott said eagerly.
"Firing preprogrammed mortar and missile spread flotilla-wide," Miko said.
"Watch," Scott told Robert. "This battle is going to be over long before the enemy closes. Want to take bets on the range?"
"That's all right," Robert said.
On the tactical display, yellow dots representing mortars funneled out from the defenders, creating three concentric rings. A moment later, kinetic kill missiles joined the fray, forming a smaller funnel. Lastly came the nukes, traveling straight down the middle toward the enemy.
It was a common enough tactic. Yet in Robert's opinion, Scott had fired far too soon.
Sure enough, Miko announced: "Enemy ships are making a course correction. They've altered their trajectory to avoid the mortars."
"Fire another batch, then," Scott said. "Herd them back toward our missiles."
Miko glanced up. "Sir, I don't think—"
"I said fire!" A stream of spittle oozed down Scott's chin.
"Firing another round of mortars."
Once more the targets slightly altered course.
"Sir—" Miko began.
"I see it!" Scott said. At least he didn't order another wasteful launch.
Ten minutes later Ensign Lewis announced: "I'm reading a course change in five of the vessels. It looks like they're breaking away."
"Tactical, any idea what they're planning?" Scott said.
"Could be a possible flanking maneuver," Miko answered. "Orders?"
"Hold the task unit in position."
After several minutes, Ensign Lewis announced: "I'm detecting a thermal buildup from the first group."
Robert had the external video feed displayed in the upper right of his aReal. A momentary flash filled it.
"We just lost the initial wave of missiles and nukes," Miko said. "First group of enemy vessels is altering trajectory slightly. Possibly to avoid the missile debris."
A few moments later the flash repeated, and the second wave of missiles vanished, with the target trajectories of the first group once more updating to skirt any debris.
At the six hundred thousand kilometer mark Miko announced: "First group is coming to a halt relative to the flotilla. Sensor readings indicate one capital ship and two smaller vessels."
Robert used his credentials to authorize an optical zoom on the external video feed. At the limits of the optics, the zoom switched to digital. With the "targeting helper" he focused on the enemy ships; they had remained relatively close together within a ten kilometer span.
The box ship towered over the other two. The first of the smaller cr
afts was a replica of the dart-shaped vessel the task unit had encountered before. The second was an odd-looking cylindrical ship.
"Second group is altering course," Miko announced. "They're arcing inward, returning to their original trajectory. Looks like it wasn't a flanking maneuver after all."
On the 3D display, the estimated trajectory of the second group updated. The breakaway vessels would pass within two hundred thousand kilometers off the starboard side of the task unit. It was obvious they intended to intercept the first unit, led by Admiral Knox.
"Have every ship launch kinetic kills toward the second group," Scott said. "Three per ship."
"Launching kinetic kill missiles."
One of the enemy vessels from the first group thrust forward away from the others. It was the cylindrical ship. The two flat ends had irised open, so that the vessel appeared to be a thin, hollow tube. Though perhaps not entirely hollow: the stars beyond the tube were distorted slightly, hinting at a lens, or multiple lenses, inside.
Robert extended his noise canceler around Scott so the bridge crew wouldn't hear what he was about to say. "If I might make a suggestion. We should send the fighters in. Launch a round of mortars with them. Let the Avengers hide behind the rocks, use them as shields. Then—"
Scott jerked his head rapidly toward him, his features twisted in rage. "If you ever lecture me on tactics again, I will relieve you of duty!"
Robert gaped at the man. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It was only a suggestion—"
"I don't care what it was! Not another word from you."
Robert wished he hadn't activated the noise canceler after all. The crew needed to know what kind of buffoon was in command.
He glanced at the other officers of the Round Table. More than a few had been watching and they quickly looked away when his eyes met theirs. They probably had some sense of what had transpired from Scott's body language alone. Good.
"We'll wait until it comes closer," Scott continued. "Then we'll fire missiles again. In the meantime, I expect you to keep your useless thoughts to yourself."
Robert put on his best obsequious smile. The one he used when a commanding officer made him fetch coffee.
After several minutes, the cylindrical ship passed the five hundred thousand kilometer mark from the task unit. On the 3D display a new red-colored dot suddenly appeared. It was stationary, as if ejected from the cylindrical ship.
Robert used the targeting helper to zoom in on the new object.
The cylindrical ship had deposited a circular ring segment from its own length. The telltale distortion of the stars beyond indicated it held a lens of some kind.
"What the hell is that?" Scott said. "The SKs never used anything like this before. Ops?"
"If I had to guess, I would say it was a telescope of some kind," Ensign Lewis said. "Either that, or some kind of refocusing device."
"Refocusing device? For what?"
"I don't know," she told him. "A laser, maybe?"
Robert picked out tinier objects around the cylindrical ship. He hadn't spotted them before.
"Ops, what are those objects escorting the lead ship?" Robert said, ignoring the glare from Scott that followed.
"They appear to be smaller versions of the dart ship," Lewis said. "A fighter escort?"
"They're about the same size as our own fighters," Miko added. "Twenty strong. They must have been hiding behind the cylinder, blending their heat signatures with the vessel to mask their approach."
Using a variation of the same tactic I wanted to employ against them, Robert thought bitterly.
"What do you want to do, Captain?" Miko said.
Launch fighters!
"Hold," Scott said.
The cylindrical ship continued its approach, depositing a ring segment every one hundred thousand kilometers.
When it was two hundred fifty thousand kilometers away, Miko announced: "Our kinetic kills are closing with the second group."
The second target group was two hundred thousand klicks to starboard, according to the tactical display.
"Detecting a thermal buildup from the second group," Ensign Lewis said.
There was a flash on the video feed.
"We just lost the missiles," Miko said. "The second group is altering course slightly to avoid the debris. They're continuing past us toward Task Unit One."
"Damn it," Scott said.
The lead ship deposited a fourth ring segment at the two hundred thousand kilometer mark. That looked to be the final separation, gauging by the thickness—the lead segment was now the same length as all the previous ones.
After a few minutes the lead segment halted.
"How far away is the object?" Scott asked.
"A hundred thousand kilometers," Miko said. "That makes five segments, spaced at one hundred thousand kilometer intervals in front of the first enemy group."
"I can count," Scott said.
Ensign Lewis suddenly straightened. "I'm detecting a thermal buildup from both ships in the first group!"
Thin white lines instantly appeared on the 3D display, sourced from the capital ship and the smaller dart vessel, six hundred thousand kilometers away. The lines converged on the closest ring segment, forming a single line that connected all five rings and terminated on the Callaway.
"Captain!" Ensign Lewis said urgently. "An infrared laser is boring into our nose!"
Scott stared blankly at Lewis.
"Captain, your orders?" Miko said.
Robert only waited half a second longer.
"Hard to port!" the commander said.
"Hard to port," the helmsman repeated.
The incoming laser remained active for ten agonizing seconds while the Callaway fired starboard thrusters at full power and struggled to veer out of the deadly beam's path. Robert heard the disturbing groan of metal as the ship's frame distributed the sudden force acting upon it. Inertial stabilizers prevented the Gs caused by such a hard turn from wiping the bulkheads with the insides of the crew.
The laser finally vanished from the display.
"Ensign," Robert said, ignoring Scott beside him. "Damage report."
"The laser cut a concentrated runnel through a relatively unimportant section of our nose, just outside cargo bay six," Ensign Lewis said. "It appears the laser micro-corrected, compensating for our movements, so that the shot remained focused on a small area even while we evaded. The outer Whittle layer in that area completely boiled away, and the laser penetrated six meters into the hull underneath."
"How thick is the hull in that area?"
"Seven meters, sir."
Robert shook his head. "Only a single meter separating us from a hull breach. Continue firing starboard thrusters. I want our fore facing away from that thing. How long until the repair swarm can patch the damage?"
"They'll have the Whittle layer reapplied in an hour." The Whittle layer was a thin segment of reinforced metal elevated a meter above the actual hull; it was meant to reduce the damage caused by micrometeors. "But the actual hole in the hull? Something like that will take at least a full standard day of 3D printing to repair. Probably closer to thirty-six hours."
If an actual hull breach had occurred, the small machines would have sealed the outside first and then worked inward, reattaching any wiring and other conduits along the way, then 3D-printing superheated metal into the missing portions of the hull frame.
Robert studied the tactical display. He was tempted to try launching a nuke at the laser array, but decided the enemy would simply sacrifice one of their fighters to intercept it.
"Lieutenant Commander Albright, are you watching this?" Robert said.
"I am, sir," a hologram of the space wing commander appeared in the middle of the bridge, between the circle of inward facing stations.
"I hear you have some upgraded fighters for me," Robert told the man.
"I do indeed," Albright returned.
"Prepare to scramble both squadrons," Robert said. "I wan
t that laser array and its fighter escort taken out. I'll instruct the task unit to launch a bunch of mortars. I want your fighters to dive in behind them and cut power. Use them for cover. With luck, the enemy won't realize their presence until too late."
"Both squadrons are ready to scramble, Commander." Albright's hologram said. "Waiting on the order."
"Miko, have the fleet launch a round of mortars at the lead laser segment. Fire when ready."
"Firing," Miko returned.
The yellow dots representing the mortars appeared on the 3D display.
"Albright, scramble fighters," Robert said.
"Scrambling fighters." Albright's hologram blinked out.
Seconds later sixteen blue dots representing two squadrons of fighters appeared on the display. The Callaway's full complement of Avengers moved behind the different yellow dots, matching the trajectory and speed of the associated mortars, and cut power.
The Aurelia, Dagger, and Linea had a single squadron of Avengers each aboard, but Robert decided to keep those in reserve for the moment. Meanwhile the frigate, Maelstrom, had no fighters, nor did the Selene, Grimm, or Marley.
"I'm detecting a burst of highly directional gamma radiation from the dart ship in group one," Ensign Lewis said. "It's aimed at our hull wound. Radiation levels are elevated in cargo bay six behind it."
"How far is the radiation penetrating?"
Lewis paused. "It seems contained to that specific area."
"Maxwell, evacuate any service personnel from the cargo bay six area and have them report to sick bay."
"Evacuating eight personnel," Maxwell said.
"And helm, get our nose turned away from the enemy!"
"Working on it," the helmsman replied.
Robert had forgotten about Scott, who had remained motionless the whole time beside him. The man's eyes were defocused, consumed by whatever it was he was seeing on his contact lens aReal.
"Captain Scott," Robert said. "You are relieved. Petty Officer, please escort this useless mound of flesh from the bridge."
