They didn’t. As far as she knew, they might be too late already. They had no recent intelligence reports of the station they were planning to attack, and they could easily be jumping into a trap. She looked around the bridge, and a new series of doubts began to leech into her mind. Someone on this ship was a traitor, in the pay of the Guild. Maybe more than one. And it could easily be someone on this bridge, sitting at one of the command consoles.
The paranoia was every bit as destructive as the sabotage. She knew that, well enough, but it didn’t stop her from feeling it, and it didn’t hold back the sick feeling creeping through her heart. This was her crew. She’d known them for months, years. They were the only survivors of their nation, lost in the endless sea of time, and that one of them might be betraying the others seemed impossible to comprehend. And yet, it was all too true.
“Captain, we’re approaching the gravitational threshold,” Merritt reported. “We’re clear for hyperspace on your command.”
“Then by all means, Sam. Execute dimensional transition.”
“And God help us,” she heard Singh muttering, too quietly for anyone other than her to hear. “God help us, every one.”
Chapter 5
Flynn waited in his office, looking over his projected battle plan once again, skimming quickly through the details while his pilots waited outside. He’d been Lincoln’s Wing Commander for the last six weeks, but this was the first time he really had a sense of what the job truly entailed. He’d led the wing in battle at Enkidu, but that was different, somehow. That had been a question of desperate action, frantically getting his people into a fight. There hadn’t been any time to plan, any time to think. Anyone could command in the heat of the moment.
This time, he’d had far too much time to second-guess himself. Commander Garcia and Lieutenant Benedetti had given him all the information he could have asked for, details on the tactical disposition of the enemy forces, intelligence on their capabilities, likely paths of attack and retreat. A strategic feast. And almost too much information for him to easily process. He’d spent hours locked in his cabin, going over the battle plan time and again.
That someone had tried to kill him and a half-dozen others before they’d left Zemlya was weighing on his mind, as well. He couldn’t quite get past that, the knowledge that someone on this ship was working for the enemy, and that it was almost certainly one of their own people, someone who had served on this ship back in its home century. It could easily be one of the pilots sitting in the ready room right now. When they rode fire in a few hours, he had to do it knowing that he might have a knife pointed at his back.
He couldn’t wait any longer. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through the doors, and the pilots beyond rose to attention as he took his place at the lectern, the wall behind him flickering into life to display a projection of the battlespace, two-dimensions masquerading as three. He looked at the fourteen people standing before him, and the feeling of dread that he’d felt in his office began to deepen.
Only half of them had fought at Enkidu. And even of them, there were only three he could truly count on. Mendez, Tanaka, and Armstrong. Mendez had been the ‘hot pilot’ of his old 13th Intercept, the squadron he had resurrected for a new century, a new war. Tanaka had more kills than the rest of the squadron put together, though he’d scored them all in the service of the Lunar Mafia, not in uniform. Despite that, he somehow trusted him more than anyone else in the squadron. Armstrong was the only other survivor from the Lucky 13th, a veteran of two battles.
As for the rest, they were a collection of Flight School dropouts and shuttle pilots, anyone he could find with even a modicum of flight experience. Most of them were veterans, but not of fighter combat. For six weeks, he’d trained them as hard as he could riding them through the simulators for twelve-hour days, setting up battle drills, anything he could think of to get them ready for the fire.
It wasn’t enough. Couldn’t be enough. He knew all too well that some of the people standing before him would be dead by midnight.
“Take your seats,” he said, placing his datapad carefully in front of him, the battle plan scrolling down the screen as a prompt. “All of you know the basic elements of the mission. We will be attacking four Guild monitors in concert with Santos-Dumont, a light cruiser, and two destroyers, Komarov and Titov. They will provide the left fist of our battle line, and we, in concert with the fighter units from Santos-Dumont, will provide the right.”
Tapping a control, he said, “The Lemurian fighters are slower than ours, less maneuverable, but pack a devastating single punch in the form of their Whirlwind missile. That’s a low-kiloton shaped nuclear warhead designed to rip through armor. Our job is to see that they get into a position to make those shots.” Turning to the display, he said, “The escort force will be attacking Targets Alpha and Beta. We will take out Gamma and Delta. That’s the objective, ladies and gentlemen. The destruction of all four enemy vessels.” He paused for a moment, allowing the idea to sink in.
“The Captain wants a maximum effort. We’re not just fighting for ourselves, we’re putting on a show that we’re hoping will convince some of the neutral powers to enter the war on our side, or at the very least, provide covert assistance. That means we need to win, and we need to win big.”
“What about…,” Armstrong began, as Flynn felt a desperate, sick feeling in his stomach, pain wracking his system and sending him stumbling against the lectern. He looked up at the rest of the pilots, one glance enough to make it clear that everyone else was feeling the same dreadful sensation.
“What the hell is going on?” Mendez asked.
“Hyperdrive,” Mendez replied. “Something’s wrong with the hyperdrive. I was on Constellation when the same thing happened. We ended up being tossed five light-years off-course.” Looking around, she asked, “
“Drive control is two decks down, right down, beneath us,” Tanaka replied, struggling to the door. “We need to get down there, and fast.”
Flynn looked at Tanaka, and asked, “You think...”
“I think this is the shuttle all over again,” he replied.
Nodding, Flynn turned to the pilots, and said, “Mendez, Tanaka, you’re with me. The rest of you stay here. Consider that a direct order. We’re going to need you on the flight line.”
Tanaka was already at the weapons locker, tearing it open and pulling out three pistols, tossing one to Flynn and another to Mendez before stuffing spare clips of ammunition into his pocket. Flynn lurched through the door, his stomach still heaving, his vision blurring as the ship struggled in and out of reality. The trio tumbled into the elevator, Tanaka managing to operate the override to send them sliding through the decks, clutching the walls in a bid to remain stable. Flynn slammed a hand on the wall communicator, trying to open a channel to the lower decks.
“Roberts here,” a tinny voice replied. “Who is this, and are you anywhere near Drive Control?”
“This is Commander Flynn, and I’ll be there in a moment. What’s going on down there?”
“I don’t know, sir. I can’t make contact with the duty technician. A team is on the way, but they’re on the far side of the ship. I guess you’ll get there first. I’ll stay on the line and talk you though any repairs.” She paused, then added, “I’ve got a green board, Commander. According to my systems monitor, there’s nothing wrong.”
“My stomach disagrees with you, Ensign.”
“Yes, sir, which means it might be something more fundamental, and...”
“Sabotage had already occurred to me. We’re armed.”
“For God’s sake be careful what you shoot at, sir! One bullet in the wrong place, and we might end up tossed to the far side of the universe.” The ship lurched again, and she continued, “Hurry, sir. I don’t think the dimensional compensators can take much more of this.”
The doors slid open, and the three of them rac
ed down the corridor, turning a corner to find a pair of technicians lying prone on the floor, both of them snoring. Mendez looked at Flynn in disbelief as Tanaka knelt beside them, placing his fingers on their necks.
“Drugged, I think,” he said, looking up at the others. “Tranq darts.”
Flynn walked towards the sealed hatch leading to Drive Control, tugging at the release and grimacing when it failed to open. He entered a command override code, with the same result. Nothing. Tanaka pushed past him, trying a different sequence to no effect.
“The whole security system must have been overridden,” Tanaka said, shaking his head. “There’s no way for us to get inside.”
“Can we blast it?” Mendez asked.
“Are you out of your mind?” Tanaka replied, turning to her, his face reddening. “One piece of shrapnel in the wrong place and we’ll be torn to pieces.”
The ship lurched once more, and she said, “That’s going to happen anyway unless we can do something to repair the Drive right away.”
“She’s got a point, Raul,” Flynn said. “Go grab something from the weapons locker. If we get the positioning right, we ought to be able to crack the lock without damaging anything inside.” Tanaka paused for a moment, and Flynn yelled, “Get moving, Lieutenant!”
“Yes, sir,” a doubtful Tanaka replied, as Flynn moved to the communications panel.
“You think you can punch through?” Mendez asked.
“Someone’s playing games in there. Maybe I can talk them out of it.” He frowned, tentatively poking the controls, and added, “They’ve made a hell of a mess of the network. I’m having to make educated guesses here.”
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Big bang, everybody dies,” Flynn replied, sotto voce. “Got it.” Throwing a switch, he said, “This is Commander Flynn. What’s going on in there?”
“Commander?” a voice replied. “Just sit back, sir. I’ll be finished in a minute, and all of this will be over.” A borderline-manic laugh echoed through the speaker, and he continued, “I know this will work. I know it.”
“Chief Kramer? Is that you? Open this door right away!”
“I can’t do that, sir,” Kramer replied. “I can’t leave the controls, not for a second. I’m trying to guide the ship through weirdspace. That’s not something I can leave to the automated controls.”
“Weirdspace?” Mendez asked.
“It’s a subset of hyperspace, an under-dimension, if you like, and I think that’s how we ended up here in the first place. If I can complete the course computation, then we can go back. Back to the twenty-second, back home again. Don’t you understand, sir? We’re less than five minutes from getting home!”
The ship shook again, and Mendez turned to Flynn, asking, “Is there any chance that he might be right?”
“He’s one of the best drive technicians we’ve got,” Flynn replied. He shook his head, and said, “Damn it, I’m not even remotely qualified to answer that question. I never even heard of weirdspace. I know that half the crew has been trying to come up with hare-brained schemes to get us back to where we started, and I know that none of them have checked out.” Looking at the door, he said, “I suppose it’s possible that he’s stumbled across something new, but I’m not sure the ship could complete the maneuver, even if it was possible.”
Gripping his arm, Mendez said, “Commander, if you think he might be right...”
“Then we’d be stranding a lot of people out of their own time. The technicians from Lemuria and Zemlya. And don’t forget the people we left behind at the State Hospital.”
“Come on, there are, what, three dozen downtimers on this ship? Besides, if he was right, you might be able to stop all of this from happening. Prevent the destruction of Earth...”
She was interrupted by an angry whine from the bulkhead, and another wave of unreality that sent them both tumbling to the deck, their senses dazed by the effect of the hyperspatial eddies Kramer was playing with.
“Kramer,” Flynn said, “Stop this. Stop this now.”
“No, sir! I can’t!”
“Can’t or won’t, Chief? We’re about to head into a firefight. This is the lousy time for an experiment in hyper-dimensional physics. Put together a briefing pack, let some of the other engineers take a look at your work, and we can give this a try under controlled conditions.”
“No!” the engineer yelled. “This isn’t our war, these aren’t our people! We don’t need to die for them. Why should we? We’re going home, Commander! That’s all that matters! We’re going home!”
“Mad,” Flynn said, shaking his head. Footsteps echoed down the corridor, and he turned to see Tanaka racing towards him, holding a fistful of plastic explosive in one hand and a detonator in the other, almost colliding with the door in his haste.
“Either of you have any training to use that stuff?” Mendez asked.
“Not formally,” Tanaka replied, “but I’m pretty sure I know what I’m doing.”
“Just enough to crack the hatch,” Flynn warned. “No more than that.”
“I know, I know,” the pilot said, placing small balls of explosive in position around the door, firmly kneading them in position. He carefully connected the detonator to his charges, ensuring that the cables were secure, then tapped in a thirty-second delay before placing the device on the floor and stepping away, the three of them running around the corner, almost sent tumbling by yet another wave of unreality, rippling through the ship.
The loud report of the explosion echoed through the corridor, and Flynn was on his feet in seconds, pistol in hand, racing towards the now-ruptured hatch, molten metal dripping onto the deck. Tanaka had done as precise a job as he could in the time, and only a small amount of debris had blasted into the room.
One of which had neatly decapitated Chief Kramer, whose twitching corpse lay on the floor, next to the master control panel.
“Damn it!” Tanaka yelled, carefully stepping through the ruined hatch. “Can we shut it down?” The ship shook once more, and he looked around, saying, “Green board everywhere. The controls should respond.”
“Either of you qualified quantum mechanics?” Flynn asked, reaching for his communicator, “Roberts, I need someone here, and I need them now!”
“They’re on the way, Commander,” the engineer replied, “but I don’t think they’ll be there in time. You’re going to have to operate the controls yourself. Bring up the master override panel. Green button, right at the bottom of the display.”
“Got it,” Flynn replied.
“Enter your command access code. That should bring up the trajectory track. I guess Kramer will have done something to alter it, so you’re going to have to restore the original settings from the backup gravitational computer.”
“Ensign,” he replied, tapping in his password, “you lost me after ‘command access code’. Tell me what buttons to press.” A green light winked, and he said, “I’m logged in.”
“Bring up the master systems file,” she said. “Menu on the top left of the touchscreen. Then tap three times to revert to the original trajectory plot. There should be a time index of a few hours ago, with Commander Brooks’ signature on it.”
“Got it,” he said. “Now what?”
The ship shuddered again, and she replied, “Override sequence. It’ll ask you to confirm several times. Then hang onto something. This could get pretty violent.”
“Hit the deck!” Flynn said, tapping the control repeatedly to clear the increasingly vituperative warnings from the computer that he was about to do something insanely dangerous. Finally clearing the screen, he collapsed to the ground as the ship violently shook, his vision blurring and twisting as they lurched in and out of existence itself, all the old horror stories of ships lost in hyperspace racing to the fore.
He lay on the ground, panting for b
reath, strange, fantastic images dancing through his vision as the ship struggled back onto course, the vibrations finally easing out as the ship settled back on its original flight path. The door slid open, and Ensign Roberts burst inside, reaching down to help Flynn to his feet.
“What’s the story?” he asked, as a pair of technicians hunched over the panel.
“Back on course,” one of them said. “Though the dimensional compensators have been badly strained. I don’t think any harm has been done, but we’ll start running diagnostic checks right now.”
Turning to Tanaka and Mendez, Flynn asked, “You all right?”
“Just about,” Mendez replied, staggering from the ground. “I really don’t want to do that again any time soon.”
“You’d better get to Sickbay,” Roberts said. “That close to a dimensional rupture...”
“We don’t have time,” Flynn replied. “My watch says we launch in a hundred minutes. We’ve got to get into pre-flight.” He paused, and said, “Assuming we survive the battle, I’ll let Doc Holland take a look at us, but until then, we’ll have to stay out of the Dutchman’s tender mercies.”
“Right now,” Tanaka said, “I think I’d rather face the Guild.”
Chapter 6
Shaking his head, Romano looked up from his console, turned to Kirkland, and said, “I just don’t understand it, Commander. I can buy someone snapping, trying to find some way to get home, but I don’t buy them cracking through that much security while in a state of insanity. It just doesn’t seem to make sense.”
“The word insane exists for a reason, Lieutenant,” Kirkland replied. “You think he might have been a saboteur, then?”
“I think he had help. I think someone pushed him into making his attempt, and I think that person sliced through enough of the security cut-outs to give him the access he needed. I know he was a drive controlman, but any hyperspatial course changes require the approval of a commissioned officer.”
Never In Vain (Lincoln's War Book 2) Page 5
