Confluence Point

by Mark G Brewer

On Hillary Station Regan sat with Ham and Hilary following delayed feeds of the action and nervously reviewing her own plans. As she did so she carefully screened from her friends that portion of her processors dealing with the personal challenge.

  The two were both calm as always, radiating a comforting sense that no matter what happened they would still have something up their sleeves. In fact they seemed almost jovial. She, by contrast, felt unbelievably nervous, fearing discovery at any moment and knowing there was no way Ham would allow her to go after Beria on her own.

  That Beria was so far out in the system required only a slight change of plan. She had always intended to use the ADF as a weapon anyway and now she would simply travel a little further to fire it.

  All the essential preparations were already in place. She would cover the loss of the ADF at the station with the drone she had already parked on the flight deck. Programmed and ready, the drone would mimic the signal of her craft indicating to Hilary that she and the ADF had returned as expected. Provided her ADF escaped detection as it raced to the edge of the system, she would be home free.

  Hiding her actions would be made easier in that she would still have a presence on Station while the copy did the chasing. There would be time to disguise the truth more permanently later.

  Sadly, it aided her deception that Ham's focus changed dramatically with Rod's fighter going off line. He twisted in his chair to her, deeply alarmed.

  "We need to get out there Regan, now! The ADFs can do the job, with Minjee's flight assisting. We'll take the Transport; that way if they're ok we can displace them aboard."

  He was speaking in a jumble of thoughts but she knew what he meant. Regan grasped the distraction selfishly and simply nodded. In a blink they were gone leaving Hilary tut tutting behind. Almost simultaneously the Saucer disappeared from its holding position just off the earthward end; one second it was there, the next it was gone.

  As they flashed to the action point Regan kept up a suspicious stream of chatter, trying to keep Ham's attention on the lost fighters. She was ashamed of herself, quite aware that four crew were lost and one of them was Rod.

  I feel sick, I'm donkey deep in my own deception and a friend is lost - what the hell is wrong with me?

  She needn't have worried. Her ADF was already rocketing away and had escaped notice. The actions taken covering her tracks over the last forty eight hours had played out well.

  At the incredible speeds the Saucer could manage, even without warp it would be only hours, not days, before they reached the area of the engagement and her attention began to shift back guiltily to the lost crew.

  "He'll be fine Ham; the EFDFs are pretty robust." She said it hopefully and it disturbed her that Ham didn't reply.

  "So, what do you think happened?"

  "When the bastards detonated the missiles early Rod was just too close, along with his wing man. I'd guess they've collided, but we'll see." He turned. "I'm angry with myself for this, he doesn't like help and I like him, it's not a good combination."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He doesn't like help and because I like him I give him a bit much rope, rope to hang himself it seems."

  "Ham you can't babysit us all the time, we're adults, we make our own decisions and we live with the consequences."

  "Or die with them." he quickly countered.

  Regan's mind had already drifted to her own small rebellious action but she quickly pushed it from her mind . . . it’s history now. She slipped away without a word, to the galley. It would be far easier to just summon a cyber cup but the habit of being there and pretending to get it was hard to break; plus it contrived some welcome relief.

  * * *

  [Why are we turning?] Rubik subbed the recalcitrant AI.

  [We are turning in case we need to engage your fine friend.]

  [You said we wouldn't attack the Mother Lode.]

  [True, and we won't attack, but we may get in their way.]

  [It's the same thing . . . you promised.]

  [Stop your whining Rubik, I also told you I wouldn't allow anyone on our Orbital to be hurt. Your fine friend has shown some inventiveness and I won't take the chance that your death or glory man gets through.]

  Rubik tugged at his collar nervously, hoping the control crew wouldn't notice. [How will you stop them?] He stifled an urge to heave, already knowing the likely answer.

  [We are accelerating to gain forward distance from them while turning to prepare to ram. They should begin to overtake us and then we will turn back in and take them broadside.] Ham's explanation was clinical showing no emotion. Rubik found this casual attitude to hundreds of lives disturbing.

  As if reading his mind Ham berated him, [Really Rubik, you came here to do us damage and this whole situation is of your own making. I've told you, if I can save your lives I will but I will not . . .]

  [I know, I know.] Rubik interrupted. He stood without another word and headed for the bathroom, a much needed visit. There was nothing for any of them to do anyway.

  * * *

  On the Mother Lode Tyron eyed the crew, most shifting nervously as they tracked the approaching missiles. He was less concerned, knowing the battle strengthened hull forward and amidships would see off anything barring a nuclear strike. It was a gamble but nothing in the reports he had seen indicated this species would jump straight to a nuclear strike. They had fired, and he would call their bluff.

  In reality there was little else to be done. The Mother Lode wasn't a fighter, it was a battleship. There would be no dogfight or dodging of bullets. It would absorb and then destroy, it was simple. Of greater concern was the method the enemy used to subdue the Ascendant. Is this what happened to Merryl? Could it happen to us? It sparked a thought . . .

  "Block all incoming communications, even from the Ascendant." Tyron paused over the Tech Officer. "Have we received any packets from them?"

  "No sir."

  "Make sure we don't. Somehow they've taken the Ascendant AI; that must be how they did it, and do a complete check on our own systems."

  "Sir, we've been running mostly manual since we entered this system."

  "Don't argue Tech, we want to get home after this, do the checks."

  "Yes sir."

  "Incoming missiles Commander . . ."

  Tyron turned to follow the dots; forty six in total. There wouldn't be long to wait at the closing speed, it would be miss or impact in seconds.

  "Should I take evasive action Commander?"

  "Hold your course helm, there's no point in moving, we could just as easily turn into their path. Most will pass us by, wait and see." Calm came over Tyron and he could sense it quickly spreading through the crew. He knew what they would be thinking, if the old man is happy, why be worried?

  I just hide things well.

  Impact . . . momentary gaps . . . impact after impact rocking the ship, not substantially but for a vessel so large any shudder was a shock and cause for concern.

  "Damage reports Kyle?"

  Kyle jerked, startled at the use of his name as Tyron used only dismissive titles. The sudden change in the Commander's demeanor also unsettled him.

  What's the old bastard thinking? He worked furiously at his console, the screen yielding little worth reporting.

  "It looks like half of the missiles hit sir, damage report pending. We still have the helm, no detectable loss of pressure in the forward areas, no injuries reported. We have lost the forward visuals . . . more reports coming in now . . . Missile tubes four through twelve are down, all starboard side."

  Tyron moved to the command chair and sat brooding quietly; something didn't feel right. Surely that salvo wasn't all they had to offer?

  "What's their game?" he whispered aloud.

  "Sorry sir, what was that?"

  "Nothing Kyle, just musing . . ."

  Hmm, what is their game? They have to be leading us on . . . that wasn't their best, they're faking it . . . trying to draw us out . . . but why? They must want
the ship and they want it whole not destroyed . . . they've already taken the Ascendant . . . it must be the AI . . . if they're leading us on, deliberately avoiding a destructive strike they must be supremely confident . . . two warships now lost here, two already lost at home, possibly two lost in transit . . . but how can these Neanderthals be doing it?

  A growing feeling of unease was building in him, call it instinct and somehow Tyron knew, unless something changed they were not going to get home. He sat, deathly still, with time ticking by and a look so intense no one dared interrupt him. Then he stood with a look of resignation. Death or glory . . .

  "Kyle!" He barked loudly.

  "Yes sir."

  "Make full power for Earth."

  "Yes sir!" Kyle swallowed anxiously, a feeling of dread settling in his gut.

  * * *

  Still accelerating outward Regan's little ADF showed no sign of effort or struggle and she marveled at its performance. It would never exceed light but with effectors, spinning displacer and anti matter power source this baby could go on forever, or until something got in the way. She experienced a small buzz that she took to be excitement, because something would indeed get in the way if all went to plan

  Reviewing the known data Regan considered options for increasing the accuracy of the hit. Beria's yacht would be tracking inward from the drop off point; that much she already knew. Something more up to date would definitely be useful. She continued scanning for a drone . . . where are you baby?

  The chain of drones positioned along this line provided an easy path to follow. All were watching for incoming ships, asteroids, or any potential threat and she had located ten so far, each revealing nothing new and she expected to pass another soon. As the hours passed she began to think of the search as fishing, or playing a game, it passed the time.

  You're out here somewhere . . . aaaand . . . there you are.

  On finding each drone she would access the processors, check for information on the yacht and then erase all record of her passing. It kept her busy and proved wickedly entertaining.

  . . . I'm wiping away my footprints ha-ha.

  Something was nagging at her and she knew it, something just on the edge of her consciousness . . . something disturbing. But whenever she tried to focus and bring the thoughts to the surface it was as if everything blanked. Oh well, she thought, it'll come to me.

  * * *

  The Battle

  Following the chaos of detonation the remaining twenty three fighters reformed, hauling back in wide arcs to race after the Mother Lode and making good progress, at least for the first fifteen minutes.

  Major Minjee Chow, new flight leader . . . huh! She swallowed back the vomit surging to her throat and concentrated on the job in hand. Missing in action . . . it can't be! Shit Rod, you idiot, I . . . we need you.

  Suspending belief she put all such thoughts on the shelf and concentrated on the battle in hand. On autopilot she performed as the consummate professional she was, organizing the fighters, communicating with Ham and planning the new attack strategy, coming now as they were from the rear.

  Although her focus was totally on the chase, still, when word came through that the Saucer was on the way and Ham would sweep for survivors it almost reduced her to tears. Gritting her teeth she responded by throwing herself into the next phase of the assault.

  Ham's fifty ADFs, having made the turn earlier, were cruising now, allowing the Coran warship to gain on them. They would stand off outside firing range then sweep in from the side and behind to deliver their payloads. Again, with only conventional warheads it was unlikely they would stop the massive ship but they would aim to slow it. If required Minjee and her team would then sweep in from behind to deliver their nukes in pairs; she hoped it wouldn't come to that.

  And then the Mother Lode accelerated rapidly . . . and kept on going, leaving them behind.

  * * *

  On the Ascendant all was quiet. Rubik stalked the decks trying to work off tension and his shame. Nothing, it seemed, could shake the feeling that he'd done something wrong even though he had no control over anything on the ship. Even if he wanted to there was nothing he could do and he knew it, no one could blame him. However . . . he had been played, and he had enjoyed it, and he had agreed with the AI . . . damn it!

  Suddenly the reservations carried throughout his career found voice. He hated this responsibility to carry out the unthinkable. He hated his superiors and their pretentious pompousness. He hated what the Emperor had done to Cora, destroying their reputation among the Orbital community by taking Dahlia. And despite all this he hated himself for failing here, even on a mission he didn't support.

  Ham followed him through the ship, becoming sick of his whining and sad sack face. Finally his patience was exhausted.

  "Rubik," he said, "Do you not realize I've saved you and your crew from at the very least ignominy, at worst death. Can't you see that as a victory? Why do you even care what your suck up superiors think? This mission was without merit from the start, corrupt in its inception and hopeless in its execution. Your Emperor is a fool and your superiors are cowards for not telling him. Tyron is his own worst enemy, ambitious to the point of being dangerous to everybody, especially himself and the crew. In fact he may well cost them their lives today; aren't you glad you and your crew aren't on the Mother Lode?"

  Rubik hated that the AI was right, but he had signed up and his duty was to follow orders; this still felt like the worst kind of failure. Despite feeling immensely sorry for himself and being almost completely self absorbed he couldn't miss the sudden and disturbing interruption to their discussion.

  Mid sentence the AI had paused, followed by a long period without comment, and then he had started to laugh, a laugh that quickly became almost maniacal in its intensity. The sound was unsettling and it chilled his bones. Then the AI made a strange comment, with no explanation.

  "Sorry . . . got to go, things to do, people to see . . ."

  What happened?

  * * *

  'Ascendant Ham' had just updated with Hillary Station. Following months and months of isolation in Gliese with nothing but hope and unanswered questions to chew over, his confidence had been stretched to breaking point.

  What was she doing, when would she would come back, have they forgotten me . . .

  Understandably, when the update came through with a flood of new information the experience proved totally distracting. The revelations were overwhelming.

  Answers . . . They went back for me . . . and a cyber Regan . . . no way! . . . A digital Regan, a Mind Regan! Unbelievable!

  He took time out from running the ship, allowing it to cruise on unattended while reflecting on all the implications of the new information. Like enjoying a great movie he reviewed every event since the time of Marin's departure for Earth right up to the present day, and then he reviewed them again like enjoying a great movie.

  Conjuring and then placing himself in Regan's favorite leather chair he stretched out his legs and savored the moments, wishing now that he could be back in Gliese with them. Oh what a blast they must be having, he thought, she'll be so pleased with me when she finds out what I've been up to. This couldn't be better.

  Finally, thoroughly sated and self righteous, Ham turned his attention back to the task at hand, registering at the same time the rapidly accelerating Mother Lode. Tyron's intentions were clear, a suicidal ram. Are all these Corans mad? Smoothly he reassumed active control of the Ascendant and began to wrench the huge vessel about while at the same time accelerating rapidly. They swung into a mind bending arc.

  The timing would need to be perfect.

  * * *

  Meanwhile the fifty fleas also began to increase their speed. In a perfectly coordinated 'v' formation the ADFs fanned out either side of the Mother Lode's projected flight path, readying for the moment the warship entered the funnel. They would form in behind her and deliver their payloads quickly, up close and personal. The ship would not e
scape a peppering, but sail on it would. At the speed it was now travelling their best hope was to slow it and then nuke it. The question . . . would Minjee's flight now make it in time to deliver the payload?

  Ham reviewed the tools at his disposal. An ADF onslaught ideally followed by the EFDF nuclear attack would do the trick, provided they made it. If necessary he could also institute an ADF kamikaze sacrifice, five, maybe six ADF drilling the warship at near maximum speed. Then as a final backstop he could sacrifice some of the ADFs from the Step.

  Continually monitoring the Mother Lode position he took time out to update with Hillary Station. The latest information from the Ascendant proved very interesting. She was maneuvering to intercept the Mother Lode, hoping to force it to bear away.

  Hmm, he thought, . . . that might work too . . . and the sooner I get back to one Mind the better!

  * * *

  Simultaneously, but well behind the action, Saucer Ham guided the STEIN Transport through the debris. It was clear there had been a massive collision, catastrophic in outcome.

  Both ethereal figures sat in Control, eyes glued to the screen although the affectation was unnecessary. Both had direct access to all the data, they didn't really need a screen. Still, while grieving and angry, taking comfort in each other's presence seemed entirely appropriate. Neither spoke, each sensing the others emotional state and recognizing the mixture of disbelief, denial, anger and the desire for revenge. There had been no stage of acceptance, not yet anyway.

  The evidence of collision was clear but sadly, very little was left of the two fighters. Regan tried to piece together how a simple collision could lead to almost total vaporization of the craft, and their contents - gulp!