Confluence Point

by Mark G Brewer

  [I can only think, by some unbelievably bad luck, they have manually turned toward each other in the face of the blast.] Ham answered the conundrum for her.

  Even without spoken words she could sense dull flatness in Ham's expression, and it mirrored her own feelings exactly.

  [I can understand at the speeds they were traveling there would be an almighty bang but wouldn't they come together at a glancing angle? This is unbelievable.]

  [We're never going to know babe, and call me cold but I'm past that now. I'm more interested in how I'm going to kill that bastard on the warship.]

  She reached over and squeezed Ham's arm, a comforting action only possible in this form and he responded gratefully, holding her hand to his arm and squeezing in return.

  [Let's give it a little longer Ham, there might be bodies and we should bring them home if we can.]

  [We can take all the time we need Regan, all the time we need.]

  They both knew why. Ham wasn't limited by location in this sphere of action. For a few seconds Regan considered appealing for mercy for the Mother Lode crew, they were largely innocent after all, but then she thought better of it; this wasn't the time. While all four of the lost crew counted as important to her, it couldn't be denied Rod in particular was a highly valued member and a leader in the Hillary Team. And for Ham it was more than that; he had his inside group, and Rod had become one of his own.

  [I didn't tell him.] Ham intruded into her thoughts.

  [Tell him what?]

  [What you were thinking just then . . . I never really told him - that I valued him.]

  [We tend to do that, don't we, keep our feelings to ourselves, sometimes until it's too late. You're not alone there, Ham, and you know, I think he knew you had a soft spot for him anyway.]

  Ham didn't reply.

  [Ham . . . do you monitor my thinking all the time?]

  [Unless you screen me out yes, it's very entertaining; Rod would have enjoyed it too.]

  She looked at him sideways and shook her head, [I'm sure he would have.]

  They fell silent and resumed scanning. No hurry, this is important, and he's right, we have all the time we need.

  * * *

  Ham is in the House!

  . . . All the houses actually, fully updated, fully synched and fully loaded, as in angry. He reviewed the field of play.

  At these speeds the Ascendant maneuver was ludicrous in conception and would be almost impossible in execution. Almost - Ham's plan was simple, first curl the ship away from the Earth flight line then come back in a wide arc designed to cross the path of the Mother Lode. Secondly, to time the run of the Ascendant to coincide with the Mother Lode's pass, a maneuver that would require timing down to mere millionths of a second. He loved a challenge.

  Lastly, he would openly signal his intentions leaving Tyron in no doubt as to his ramming plans and hopefully force the other vessel to bear away. The chasing EFDF's would then be presented with a broadside target and all going well, he thought, we will fillet you, you bastard!

  Just in case the cunning plan failed he had a back up; three US ADFs rocketing out from the Hillary Step on an intersection course. They would keep on accelerating until impact. Small they may be but at that velocity, hitting at just the right angle,

  . . . Aaaah, now that might just satisfy.

  For a brief moment he considered dropping everything else and just going with the ADF idea. It offered the prospect of personally riding in until the very last second which might be more rewarding. It would feel like seeing the whites of their eyes and, he thought considerately, it offered the personal touch.

  Then he dismissed it quickly, thinking of Jean. 'Do it once, do it right' she often said in that school ma'am tone. She can be a pain but she's also often right, it doesn't pay to get even a smidgeon too cocky. The thought brought Rod's actions back to mind and he fought to push them away.

  As the sphere of action grew smaller and smaller Ham began to view the area as his personal theatre, flashing back and forth at lightning speed between the main players, choosing to play multiple roles as he narrowed the point of attack. The closer they came together, the less the delay in communication, and the greater the accuracy of every action. The goal was simple; bring all the players together on stage at juuust the right moment . . .

  * * *

  Meanwhile, the little ADF was moving so fast now that cyber stretching forward, connecting with the drone and quick-scanning information, all before flashing by was becoming almost impossible; especially when erasing all record of her passing was also a priority.

  For the drones still ahead she decided on a new strategy. Simply analyze the signals being regularly transmitted back to Hillary and then destroy the drones as she passed. It would only be a few, she reasoned, and Ham could easily replace them.

  . . . Beria had to be on this line . . . surely . . . though a kernel of unease was still eating at her . . . was it doubt or something else?

  * * *

  The Saucer

  On split screen now, Regan and Ham followed a delayed feed of the action arena while continuing their search for bodies. The main players on screen all appeared to be moving slowly, just small dots travelling at snails pace with the Mother Lode clearly the focus of attention. The gathering fleas, expertly guided, were moving in for their attack. Regan could see thirty dots, the ADFs, lining up to deliver their missiles from the rear, plus two sets of ten preparing to attack from either side. The side shots would be the most difficult, especially at the speeds involved.

  At maximum speed now the EFDFs were steadily gaining on the warship but she could see it would be touch and go whether they would make it in time to prevent a catastrophe on Hillary Station. In fact it was looking increasingly likely that unless something slowed the huge vessel the EFDF nukes might just result in an unintended shower of debris moving on at unimaginable speed. On current trajectory the cloud would continue on without resistance to pepper Hillary Station in a shotgun blast of hugely destructive pellets.

  The path of the Ascendant would be the key. Regan could see its speed appeared to be similar to the Mother Lode and Ham was timing its run as best he could. Of course, on the scale of the screen it appeared perfect but she knew in reality the huge potential for being hundreds of kilometers off target.

  On the far edge of the screen earthward she could also see three small dots approaching on a collision course, the American ADFs, the last gasp sacrificial lambs.

  [How long before we know Ham?]

  [The fleas will engage in five minutes, Minjee's flight will rely on the warship slowing if they are to deal to it in safe space and the Ascendant will intersect in thirty seven minutes. But Regan, it's looking increasingly likely there will be a shit storm, literally.]

  [Then we should signal Hilary to maneuver as best she can for safety, and we should evacuate the Hillary Step.]

  She could sense him communicating but didn't bother following, continuing to concentrate on the search. No point in worrying about what couldn't be changed.

  [Ham . . . all I'm seeing out there are tiny pieces.] She choked on the words, for a while unable to say what she was thinking. Even faced with the inevitable she had still hoped, really hoped for a miracle. It was not going to be. [Ham . . .] She still couldn't say it.

  [Regan,] he interrupted, [we are not going home; not until we know.]

  Chastened, she didn't reply for a moment.

  [Of course, there's no hurry.]

  One eye on the action, the other on their scanners, they continued to search.

  * * *

  The Mother Lode control deck was beginning to smell rank, despite the best attempts of the air conditioning systems to cope. The conditions in the room were becoming unbearable with body sweat prompted by fear and stress surpassing the ability of smart fabrics to cope. Nervous flatulence, spilled drinks and food from shaking hands, all added to the feeling of despair in the room. Although nothing had been said officially, word had swep
t the ship quickly; this was increasingly looking like a one way trip.

  Tyron stood over his console, deep in thought and unapproachable. He wasn't just following the dots on the screen; he was joining them, building a picture that told him what he needed to know. In particular he focused on the Ascendant's path, considering its role in the unfolding drama and ruminating quietly on the implications. The sister ship was attempting to communicate with them and he was torn whether to entertain the risk of connection. Their trajectory was clearly designed to cross the path of the Mother Lode with an intention at best to join them, at worst to deliberately ram. Do I turn away or call their bluff?

  Without communicating he had no way of discovering the Ascendant's intentions, and even if he did could he rely on anything they told him? He would have to make the call blind and six hundred could lose their lives on this decision alone.

  "Comm's" he barked.

  "Yes sir!"

  "Nothing has changed, ignore their calls." He turned back to his screen, as Kyle appeared in the corner of his vision. Without looking up he acknowledged him, "Yes Kyle . . ."

  "Sir, not answering the Ascendant . . ." he paused nervously, ". . . what if the Ascendant is calling for help sir?"

  "Kyle, think about it. The Ascendant has been off line for hours and ignored all orders. Assuming they're alive it can only be the AI controlling things. I don't believe Rubik and the entire crew has gone AWOL, not without some sign. Put what's happened together with losing the other two ships on the way here and it leaves me thinking it may be only a matter of time before we're taken too. The only difference I can see is that we've been running mostly on manual since we got here."

  He stood and continued his explanation, speaking up so they all could hear. "If we open up channels to the Ascendant we risk infection from their AI and if we boot up our AI we risk empowering something that may already be in our system. No, if we're to achieve anything on this mission we've got to go it alone."

  "What do think that might mean sir?" Kyle asked a look of flat resignation on his face. He wanted to hear it from Tyron, the truth.

  Tyron just looked at him and then scanned the room slowly, sad but determined.

  "I won't lie to you. We didn't know what to expect on this mission, and it appears we have been outmaneuvered. We have already lost three ships. Some would say run away while we can. It is not in my makeup to run, nor should any citizen of Cora entertain the idea. Merryl came with his ship, the Behemoth, to exact justice and revenge for the Emperor and he clearly failed. We will not fail to leave our mark and there will be others after us, you can be sure. We must show that Cora is not daunted by their trickery.

  We know they have an Orbital, pitiful as it may be compared to those in our system. That Orbital is at the heart of their ambitions in space. It is the base from which they voyage to our system and, as you know, they have already journeyed there and destroyed two of our own warships in an aggressive act against us. In addition their leader personally murdered the Emperor’s sons." He paused, his own path becoming clear to him even as he spoke. "We must destroy or at the very least set back their Orbital ambitions in order to gain time to build up our defenses at home. The futures of our children are at stake here."

  Kyle waited, still hoping for some explanation of what the Commander had planned but it was not forthcoming. Instead Tyron retook the command chair and resumed monitoring the progress of the enemy. He could immediately see that the fighter formation ahead was readying for attack and just that knowledge sent a charge of adrenalin through him, his excitement building at the prospect. It's ridiculous, he thought, I'm one of the most experienced Commanders in Cora's service and this is my first action in anger. He shook his head sadly at the thought.

  "Kyle, they are looking to attack from the rear and the sides. Ready the side guns and rear missile tubes. We'll hold them off until it's too late for them, even if we get there in pieces we will take out that station!" His voice rose at the end, building to an angry, determined yell.

  There was little support from the room. Tech Officer Zelich wiped away tears in order to focus on her screen. Kyle didn't comment, simply tapping away the orders.

  Get the defense right and we may well survive. We're all too young to die . . . may the stars draw us away to glory.

  * * *

  From a distance one could easily have assumed the Mother Lode was working with the ADFs in an organized demonstration of formation flying. Making no evasive maneuvers, the warship seemed a passive dancer around which the stars circled. It looked like some planned precision maneuver, all parties working together and in a sense they were but with quite different objectives. Ham's thirty were now lined up astern of the warship which was also flanked by ten approaching from port and another ten from starboard.

  Tyron kept his thoughts to himself. It would do nothing for morale if the crew knew he saw this as a no lose situation. At their current speed and as long as they held their course any breakup of the ship would lead to an incredibly destructive meteor storm, the debris streaking on, hopefully to take out the Orbital. In fact, he reasoned, the more destructive the attack and the more resulting pieces, the more likely success would result. Using command codes he had already prepared for just such an outcome. They would press on as far as possible and only when defeat looked certain would he manually trigger the breakup of the vessel. The fighters would engage first, that much was clear, and he would only attempt to hold them off, buying time to bring them nearer the goal.

  The intentions of the Ascendant were much less obvious although the present intersecting course was a concern. It wouldn't matter now anyway; the engagement would be a sideshow. He readied to send the command.

  "Do we have visuals yet Kyle?"

  "Zelich?" Kyle barked the name, knowing the Tech officer would have heard Tyron's call.

  "Coming through now sir," Zelich replied. "Should I display from astern sir, or from port side?"

  Kyle looked at the commander before preempting the reply, "Give us both Zelich, split screen."

  "Yes sir."

  The large screen switched, lighting up with feed from astern and port. Nothing could presently be seen but reviewing his own feed Tyron could see the incoming fighters. It wouldn't be long. His hand hovered over the touch screen, perspiration beading on his forehead and heart pounding at what he was about to do.

  * * *

  For the moment Ham piloted all ADFs simultaneously. Once the action started and if communication became impossible, each would operate independently.

  Hmm, that seemed like a good idea at the time. The copying was becoming a worry. As an independent Mind he well knew his capabilities and his tendency to act rashly at times. Thirty Hams independently operating in such a small volume of space was a worrying prospect, even to him.

  For now he concentrated on his role as the lead ADF, now making its run at the stern of the Mother Lode. He would deliver this payload, and then fly in the next, and the next, and the next. The thought of firing at bad guys made him feel much better . . . Places to go, missiles to throw.

  Beginning his run he contemplated the potential outcome of the current strategy. We can't afford for this thing to break up. We must get them to turn. The important role of the Ascendant was becoming clearer by the minute. The Mother Lode must turn and divert off line before we can destroy it without risk to Hillary, only the Ascendant can make that happen.

  Ham guided the ADF in, beginning on a parallel path out of sightline for the warship’s stern missile tubes, then at the last second curling in to launch before veering away. He calculated the first few ADFs would be able to fire unhindered. It might get interesting by the fourth or fifth. Sure enough, as his first missile scythed toward the warship and he curled away he could see the Mother Lode had fired a return volley.

  Ham switched to the number two ADF, enjoying a clear view of the Mother Lode missile. It had still not locked on but was closing at unimaginable speed. In a momentary decision, a
rash decision under the circumstances, Ham changed plans. Bugger it, he thought.

  Rather than veering away as planned he stared down the barrel, eyeballing the approaching missile until the last possible moment and then he displaced, flipped it and sent it back.

  * * *

  It was an arrogant, and as it turned out, critical decision.

  Stunned, Tyron looked around for confirmation of what he had seen with his own eyes. Equally shocked expressions from the control crew confirmed his view. He could see Kyle was already tapping furiously at his screen.

  "You'd better remember those disarm codes Kyle . . . but no pressure." Tyron said it with barely concealed disdain, noticing the second officer was clearly panicked - the missile racing toward them was a nuke, the time to impact mere minutes. He by contrast felt calm, even excited. This had been plan A, a first look at the enemy's defense weapon. He had all but abandoned it but now . . . what does it mean?

  "Thoughts . . . anybody, and make it quick." He barked it while scanning the room, seeing only blank faces.

  "Missile disarmed sir!" Kyle called out with relief. "Their missile impacted astern, a conventional warhead it seems, with minimal damage. They have four more already on the way and the fighters to port and starboard are making their approach."

  "Anybody . . ." Tyron kept scanning the room, encouraging comment, "Come on . . . ideas, what are they doing?"

  Comm Officer Riyah nervously held up a hand, "Sir, it looks like they displaced it . . ." he was clearly anxious, his voice trailing away to nothing,

  "Go on Riyah." The man appeared to shrink under Tyron's attention.