Confluence Point

by Mark G Brewer

"Sir, they must have displacer technology, if so they've also worked out how to use it to displace the missile. They are sending our own warheads back to us." His confidence building he continued as Tyron considered the implications. "Sir, somehow they displaced and flipped it."

  A look of determination crossed Tyron's face, "Helm . . . bear away to port, and give it everything."

  "Yes sir, bearing away."

  There was no discernible difference in the control room but the starscape on screen slid across their vision dizzyingly.

  "Two more impacts sir, no damage." Kyle called. "Sir, the fighters . . ."

  "I know they're coming Kyle, if we take them out it'll be a bonus. Number two . . . I want full power."

  "We're already at full power sir."

  "Then how soon before we can jump to warp?"

  "Sir we're at full power, we can jump any time but . . ." Kyle was interrupted by Tyron's withering glare.

  "As soon as you have a clear path, take it, a short jump, that's an order."

  "Yes sir."

  Kyle fumed as he urgently entered the commands; a short jump, what's that? Any jump in system was a huge risk and a short jump? There is no such thing . . . the distances were still huge with no way of knowing what lay in their path.

  . . . And they were gone.

  * * *

  Three precious ADF, swatted away like flies as the Mother Lode powered away. Or fleas, Ham thought ruefully.

  Despite his best attempts to follow with the Ascendant, the Mother Lode's jump to warp came too suddenly for attack and once at warp he had no way of knowing how far they travelled, or why indeed they jumped at all. He quietly allowed his circuits to stew, angry at being robbed of the opportunity and more than anything, angry at himself. He'd broken his own rules, wanting to play with the enemy instead of just dispatching them clean and fast.

  It was pointless to remain in this area of space. If the Mother Lode Commander was of a mind to take such incredible in-system risks by going to warp then he could do anything. Once out of warp he could realign, jump again, then come back on a completely different line from anywhere. Mind fizzing with decisions Ham commenced reorganizing his resources.

  The American fighters currently flashing out from the Step would take some time to slow but could then return. The forty seven ADFs under his command and the remaining EFDFs would make the sad turn back to the initial engagement point. There they would join the Transport in searching for Rod and the other lost crew although it would be an almost hopeless task as what debris remained continued to spread from the collision point. Nevertheless they would try.

  * * *

  Much further out in the system Regan's rogue fighter was almost invisible, streaking away at something close to the maximum speed it could reach. Two drones had been passed since the decision to destroy them, two drones annihilated. Up ahead lay the next victim and it would be the last. It had just begun signaling the presence of an incoming vessel . . . Beria!

  Regan had the sense that she now filled the little ADF. In fact she was the craft and she enjoyed the sensation, imagining flexing shoulder muscles, bunching and testing them as she prepared to tackle the yacht she knew was out there, the wicked witch flying arrogantly into her space.

  She took her time checking information from the drone, analyzing velocity, trajectory and timing. For the first time she allowed herself to consider how difficult, even ridiculous, her plan might prove to be. Any tiny change in the flight path of the yacht would mean she missed, flashing by with millions of kilometers required to slow and begin the process of turning. Worse, a miss would alert the yacht to the danger and they would likely run to warp, a capability she lacked. Regan reflected on the blind faith she had employed to even embark on this venture. Blinded by the protective instincts of a mother, by her love for Marin, and by her hatred for Beria, she needed a miracle.

  Decimating the last drone as she approached Regan then made the final tiny adjustments to trajectory, leaving room only for last millisecond tweaking to ensure collision. There was time to settle back now . . . time to think.

  A Dad memory . . . act boldly Regan, and unseen forces will come to aid you.

  * * *

  The orgy held everyone's attention. Like a queen, Beria prevailed on her subjects to entertain her every whim, poor Mistek in particular being used and abused in unimaginable ways.

  She watched as the pilot and navigator took their seats, both co-opted reluctantly to join them; better to have an audience, she had said.

  Disgusted, they nevertheless acceded to her demands, grateful only that they had avoided her attentions. The cockpit was empty; a simple AI in control and it had no instructions to alert them of danger. After all, the pilot thought, we won't be long.

  * * *

  In her Mind's eye Regan tracked both craft as if following the action on screen. The gap between them narrowed alarmingly fast and she felt a surge of excitement; unless something changed in their respective paths they would certainly collide, it was definite. They were closing so fast now she deliberately sped up her thought processes so she could think while tracking the action.

  Time seemed to slow and she felt apart from the action like an observer, able to view and think about things from a detached perspective for the first time . . . and then it hit her; the thing that had been niggling at the edge of her thinking, the thing that wouldn't come to her earlier, and it came like a lightning bolt.

  She was about to die.

  At the realization a cold flash of panic seemed to flood her senses and a scream surged through her, I am going to die!

  That other Regans would live, on Hillary Station and in Gliese was suddenly nothing more than a simplistic and irrelevant argument. How could I ever have considered that reasonable?

  I am going to die. This . . . me . . . is going to die, now . . . oh shit, shit, shit, shit, shit.

  The thoughts came swiftly and with real terror. Nothing about this felt good. She thought of death; she thought of the folly of anger and clouded judgment. She thought of her Mom and Kevin and Mary, and Hillary Station; and she thought of Ham and Marin . . . and Jared.

  . . . And then figuratively she gritted her teeth, squeezed her eyes shut, gripped nonexistent chair arms . . . and screamed her way in.

  * * *

  The explosion of debris and particles spread rapidly outward from the collision point like a mini big bang. Much of the matter vaporized in the force of the explosion and simply drifted away, tiny particles of death with enough momentum to devastate should any conventional craft cross their path.

  Random, larger, strengthened and reinforced sections could be seen spinning away in all directions. Among them a regular shaped and reinforced object that would be recognized instantly on Earth and normally searched for at great length.

  The small black box housing both processor and tiny exotic matter power source spun away into the black, its trajectory and speed carrying it off on a new path but still toward interstellar space.

  Blackness . . . no visuals . . . no data . . .

  What happened? Why am I still here?

  Did we hit?

  Where am I?

  . . . Oh fuck!

  * * *

  The Mother Lode emerged from warp on the edge of the solar system. It had taken only two short jumps to get back here, two reluctant jumps for Tyron who seethed over this responsibility to Beria. In his view he had intelligence to get home urgently, however to return without the Empress could mean death. They searched for some time signaling widely . . . they found nothing.

  He wasn't of a mind to search too long. He had done his duty to the bitch and hopefully the intelligence would be enough to save him.

  "Number two, take us home."

  "Yes sir." Kyle answered gratefully and cheers broke out around Control. At the sound Tyron scowled and they quickly resumed their stations.

  The huge ship maneuvered on to line and then powered up, disappearing in a blink.

 
; * * * *

  Chapter Eight

  The Hammer and the Behemoth made an imposing statement as they cruised without opposition toward Dahlia Orbital. The warships, two of Cora's finest, deliberately ignored all communication from the few vessels still under the Emperor’s control, as if daring them to challenge. For the moment at least the curious held off, probably exchanging information with the palace and seeking clarification on the situation.

  Any formidable impression created by the ships was diminished somewhat by the accompanying flotilla of craft scuttling around them. They were a motley gathering; for the most part the flotsam and jetsam of the Gliese system with freedom to roam as they choose. Despite this, gathered together they still gave the impression of a significant force.

  As Marin entered the control room he couldn't help but notice the different expressions on faces; some concerned, others intrigued, some amazed and in Ham's case, suspicious nonchalance. The reason for the different looks wasn't immediately apparent to him.

  Hilary's avatar presence was a surprise. Having been largely packed down for the trip from Earth she had mostly preferred to work behind the scenes up until now; clearly she was readying for reoccupation. One look at her concerned expression and he followed the direction of her gaze to the screen.

  "What's that?" he asked no one in particular. In the distance he could see a fuzzy ball which seemed to be the object of general interest.

  "That, Marin dear," Hilary replied huffily, "is Dahlia." Turning swiftly to Ham she didn't wait for a return comment. "Ham . . . what have you done and where is my Orbital?"

  Ham responded with his most offended look, a picture of innocence. "Why is it I am always under suspicion for everything? Clearly your Orbital is there, where it has always been." He gestured casually toward the screen.

  "Clearly . . . clearly!" she snapped back. "Clearly there is nothing clear about what I see on that screen."

  Regan ignored them, zooming in via the feed to try and make out detail. From the distance, even via enhanced visuals, the Orbital was still impossible to pick out behind whatever was causing the cloud. They would have to wait. She decided to diffuse the tension only to be beaten to the punch by Leah.

  "It's good to see you out of the closet Hilary," she spoke warmly, ignoring the gracious woman's concerns. "Are you unpacking or just with us for the run in?"

  Hilary turned to Leah, smiling. "Thank you Leah, it is good to be out and preparing. I'm readying for a complete and thorough clean out. Ham's had the house to himself for more than a year . . . can you imagine?"

  She gave Leah a woman to woman look, leaning forward with one hand to her mouth and delivering an obvious stage whisper that no one could miss, "What can I say dear, toilet brush at the ready . . ." and with a flourish she produced one from behind her back, waving it pointedly at Ham.

  His eyes rolled in frustration but he wisely avoided comment.

  Marin joined Regan and perched on the edge of her chair as Leah, still chuckling, drifted away for coffee. She leaned back into him and together they continued to watch the screen, trying to ignore the odd attention seeking tug or shuttle nudging forward into the screen view. The fuzzy ball seemed to grow steadily larger and out of the corner of one eye Regan couldn't fail to notice Ham's barely contained excitement, a look he quickly suppressed once he realized she was observing.

  "Ham, you know something, what's going on here?"

  "How should I know? It's a surprise to me too."

  Regan sat up quickly, pushing Marin off the chair arm. "Ham, I don't like surprises, you know that."

  "Regan . . ." Leah called to her as she reentered the room cradling her coffee, something had caught her eye and she gestured to the screen with a wide eyed nod.

  The fuzziness was beginning to take on a different look with much more definition, and what from a distance had appeared like a cloud with more clarity became ships, thousands of them.

  Regan slumped, dropping her head into her hands. "I should have known."

  The minutes dragged by. All eyes were now glued to the large screen trying to take in the developing picture. Ham looked positively euphoric.

  Regan sat in her command chair with head down and only occasionally peeking to look.

  Ham stepped up as if taking centre stage. "You see . . . this just gets better and better." He declared brightly.

  To his annoyance they completely ignored him, continuing to watch the remarkable spectacle. As the warships drew near to the Orbital, what had seemed like a cloud instead took on the look of buzzing bees hovering around huge orbital petals. Still nearer and they could pick out thousands upon thousands of craft, from small to battleship size, freighters, service drones, private yachts, shuttles, mining tugs and military warships, all with lights flickering in greeting.

  "And all of them," Ham declared in delight, "to welcome the returning savior." He turned with a flourish toward Regan, one arm sweeping across as if presenting her to the system.

  Realizing his enthusiasm wasn't universally shared he sidled over to Regan, trying to catch her eye, in the end resorting to kneeling and moving his head to try and catch her attention. Under the circumstances this didn't help his case.

  He tried a different tack. "Babe, to be fair this isn't entirely my fault."

  She didn't bother to lift her head, "Oh . . . so whose fault is it exactly?" The words emerged muffled from her hands.

  "Well, you did leave me here alone for a really long time."

  She looked up sharply, prompting him to lean back like a limbo dancer.

  "So it's my fault, is that what you're saying?" She glared at him.

  "Well, in my defense," Ham appealed to her, "I was the only one here. You know how this works, I had to act on the situation as I saw it and make . . ."

  "Executive decisions . . ." She groaned. "Ham, so help me . . ." She seemed lost for words, her voice trailing off to nothing.

  No one dared enter the conversation lest they become tarred with Ham's prodigious brush. Regan continued to challenge him, "Why is it that your executive decisions so often involve some sacrifice on my behalf . . . huh . . . huh . . . come on . . . answer me that?"

  "Be-cause we're a teeeeeam, you know that. And I always have your greater interests at heart."

  Sindali could stay out of it no longer. "Ham, you have Dahlia surrounded, there must be panic on the Orbital?"

  "First," and he didn't bother looking up, his concern only for Regan's approval, "I haven't 'done' anything. They're all there by choice. Second, the Orbital will soon be yours." He gave her a dismissive look and continued. "Sindali, the people are happy, they know Regan is restoring your rule and the Emperor will run; he just doesn't know it yet." Ham refocused his attention on Regan. She looked ready to say something and didn't disappoint.

  "Ham, I understand there's a need here but I'm not comfortable with how you've done this. You've said it to me before, desperation leads to exploitation."

  "Thank goodness," he looked relieved, "you do understand then."

  "Nooo, Ham, you always said it was a bad thing, and you're the one doing the exploiting here."

  "Babe - it's only a bad thing if the bad guys do it for bad reasons. You've always been good at this; you get a feeling if things are bad don't you?"

  "Hmm . . . yeeess."

  "Well there you go then, and I feel really good about this."

  Regan looked less than convinced.

  "Babe, this is good, really. OK, I've manipulated things, just a little bit, but it will all work out for good, you'll see. The Minds will be freed, Dahlia will be liberated; this is great."

  She finally lifted her head to take in the big screen, just in time to see the cloud parting, as if by prearranged signal creating a clear path, just for them, through to the Orbital bulb. A shiver passed through her at the sight and she turned to Ham with her most accusatory look, speaking slowly, making sure no one missed her message.

  "Just to be absolutely clear Ham, I can see wh
at's happening here . . . and look at me . . . look - at - me . . ."

  The beautiful man looked up sheepishly and she reached out one hand to hold his chin.

  "No one crucifies this woman in your little scheme, are we clear?"

  "No no, of course not," he replied quickly, "I'm sure it won't come to that."

  * * *

  Dahlia Palace

  Old Emperor Cora sipped carefully at his wine as the aide burst into the room. Annoyed, he cursed at the distraction but the aide ignored him, blurting out his instructions without thinking.

  "Master, Your Highness, we must move urgently. Word has come through from the gate that they are marching on the palace. Soon we may have no control over the palace or space around the Orbital, please sir, we must move." He paused to take a breath, looking hopefully for some sign of recognition from the Emperor.

  "What are you talking about, you fool, look at them!" The old man swept one arm imperiously across the face of the screen, filled with thousands of craft from all over the system. "They are here to pay homage; I must be seen to greet them." He slumped back in repose.

  "Master." The aide knelt before the couch, appealing to him. "If anything they are here to pay Hamage, not homage." He shook his head in despair at the poor joke, something the old man would not understand.

  "Sir, you must listen, Sindali is with the ships and her brother, and the human. They are here to retake their home and the thousands you can see from all over the system are not here to support Cora, they are here in support of her. We are vastly outnumbered sir, if you don't flee now you will be trapped."