We shall reveal ourselves, White Scar seemed to be saying, but not until the battle in space. You must not reveal us under interrogation. Hide. With us.
“It’s okay,” said Springer. “It’s just words. Not mind control. We need to go with them.”
Umarov shook her shoulders. “Listen to me! You’re possessed.”
“We can’t follow the mudsucker,” insisted Furn, “I need to be above ground to get a comm-link.”
“We don’t need to comm-link anymore,” insisted Springer. “The gremlins will disable the minefield. Forget about the minefield, it’s we who are the danger if we’re discovered. We need to go. Now.”
Umarov’s face transformed instantly from concern to hardened steel. He strode toward the alien, using his least damaged arm to draw a poisoned combat blade as he moved.
Furn scurried in front of the Marine. “Stop! Umarov!”
“Out of my way.” Umarov swatted Furn aside, and Springer watched in frustration, powerless to intervene. It wasn’t just that her prosthetic leg had been shot away, she was wrapped in a sense of serenity that wouldn’t let her move. Maybe the Old Man was right and she really was possessed?
“Look at Springer!” shouted Furn from the ground. “Her eyes.”
That stopped Umarov. He turned and regarded Springer, the wicked blade still ready in his hand. He frowned. “What makes you think these aliens will save our ships?” he asked her.
“I have seen it,” Springer mouthed.
While Furn and Umarov looked at each other uncertainly, whatever White Scar had been doing to Springer ceased. She fell to the ground. The serenity evaporated to leave her tired, cold and thirsty. And her eyes… she could smell her singed lashes.
She struggled to her knees, feeling a sense of destiny pressing down hard against her shoulders. Was this how Arun felt? But McEwan wasn’t here.
Deciding Furn was the easiest to convince, she called the Navy freak over. Umarov stood his ground, halfway between Springer and White Scar.
“I understand,” she told Furn when he crouched beside her. “You need trust. Place yours in me. You do trust me, don’t you?”
Furn’s gaze pierced her eyes for several, long seconds. Then without breaking eye contact, he replied: “To the edge of existence. Yes, I trust you, Springer.”
Springer had to wrench herself away from the intensity of Furn’s stare. When she finally released herself, she found that Umarov had already passed White Scar and was halfway down the stairs. Using Furn for balance, Springer followed her comrade down into the unknown.
The fate of the Human Legion was now in the hands of the gremlin mudsuckers. The knowledge that she had placed it there weighed heavily on Springer.
— Chapter 25 —
As her fleet emerged from the sun’s shadow, Indiya studied their formation with a critical eye. A few of the outliers could have done with being marginally tighter but that would soon be adjusted once they started the burn. Overall, she was satisfied. At present, their engines were cold, having built up momentum while the star stood between them and Khallini-4. They had then used the sun’s gravity to slingshot themselves toward the target, which accounted for the dispersal – the marginally different masses of the fleet’s component ships making it impossible to emerge in as tight a formation as she would have liked, despite the meticulous calculations that had gone into planning the maneuver.
Indiya was still getting used to the Littorane flagship The Enveloping Water of Ecstasy – she would have to do something about that name if she was going to stay here. By choice she would have remained aboard the Beowulf whatever her responsibilities, but she had lost that argument. A quick search of the database revealed that there had once been a revered Littorane ship called The Vengeance of Saesh, which struck her as a far more appropriate name for a warship, and one presently not in use. As soon as this engagement was over, she intended to insist on the redesignation. It felt odd, this other vessel, like a new suit of clothing that hadn’t quite adjusted to her or her to it. All ships within the White Knight empire were built to the same basic principles, which meant there were a number of things about the Vengeance – as Indiya insisted on thinking of the ship – that struck her as eerily familiar, though there were even more aspects that didn’t. Decks filled with water, for example.
In keeping with their amphibious nature, the Littoranes maintained both submerged and water-free areas on their ships – the equipment as amphibious as its makers and able to function with equal efficiency in both environments – and it was only by regulating the balance of water and air to ensure similar mass for the different classes of vessels comprising the fleet that the slingshot maneuver had been even remotely possible. With their drives inactive as they emerged from the sun’s shadow, the fleet would be all but impossible for the defenders to spot – any residual heat from the approach burn rendered insignificant against the star, but that would all change as soon as they began to decelerate.
Another difference from Beowulf, and one she found particularly impressive, was the sheer scale. The Vengeance was large enough for ops, bridge, and CIC to be at three different locations, safeguarding the command structure should primary command be neutralized during an engagement. She was stationed in ops, which had been kept water-free for her benefit. Most bizarrely of all, her second in command was Kreippil, the Littorane admiral. She had feared that he might resent his authority being usurped by some upstart human, but far from it. He seemed to view it as an honor to serve the ‘Unwashed Purple Warrior’. That wasn’t a phrase Indiya was about to forget in a hurry, much as she might like to, not least because it said so much about the admiral’s attitude towards her. He seemed honored, yes, a little in awe even, but at the same time vaguely appalled. It was as if he felt humbled by the realization of long-held prophecy that she evidently represented, while at the same time her physical manifestation disgusted him. Under other circumstances, this apparent contradiction might have amused her, but not if it threatened to hamper the efficiency of her command. Fortunately, she had been given no reason to fault him in that regard; to date, the admiral had been the epitome of courteous efficiency.
It was time to reveal themselves. “On my mark,” she said calmly, “begin deceleration… Now!”
Across the flotilla, engines lit up, shedding velocity as the ships continued to hurtle towards Khallini-4 stern first. An irreverent part of Indiya imagined this to be a defiant taunt, that they were wiggling their butts at the enemy, but in truth it was simple physics – only the main drives could hope to shed the momentum the fleet had built up during approach, requiring them to face the way they had come to utilize the drives. It served another purpose as well, that of disguising their true strength.
Best estimates had the rebel fleet stationed at Khallini-4 to be roughly equal in strength to their own. Again, it was difficult to be certain of precise numbers when a large proportion of the vessels’ engines were cold at any given time – hell, she wasn’t even convinced the Littoranes were right to assume they faced New Empire rebels rather than Old Empire loyalists – but the Legion had the advantage of knowing where to look for the enemy, who maintained a fast elliptical orbit around the planet. The Legion had found no evidence of any picket ships other than the ones accounted for at the gas giant, no suggestion that those in residence had any strength sitting dark elsewhere in the system, and with as much as a third of the defending fleet drawn away in response to Beowulf’s raid, Indiya now held the advantage. Not that she wanted them to know that, not yet. The last thing she needed was for her enemy to bring some complicated defensive maneuver into play, to disperse their force and attack from different angles, forcing her to spread her guard thinly and risk unnecessary casualties. Far better for them to assess the threat, conclude the advantage was theirs, and meet her head on. The gambit was therefore to draw them out in one bloc, which should be simple enough given their imperative to remain between the facilities at Khallini-4 and any aggressors, but she wasn’t
taking any chances; so she resorted to cunning. Apart from the Vengeance, the nascent Legion fleet boasted two capital ships: Cleanser of Doubt and Storm of the Gods – now that was a proper name for a ship of the line, why couldn’t the Littoranes have made her their flagship? Indiya had placed both these along with a squadron of three heavy destroyers a little behind the rest of the Legion flotilla.
As the fleet commenced deceleration, the burn of the fourteen ships to the fore would draw the attention of Khallini-4 and should completely mask the presence of the five behind them. She didn’t doubt that the defenders’ analysts would study the engine signatures of the incoming fleet and accurately assess their composition and strength, but no matter how good those analysts were, they would miss five of Indiya’s most powerful assets. Assuming observations were accurate, the defender boasted two capital ships to their three – with two more under construction in the cradles of a massive dock yard facility orbiting the planet, but they were too far from complete to play a part in this engagement. In one sense it would have been helpful if the raid had drawn one of the capital ships away, but that hadn’t happened; both had stayed at home. In truth, Indiya was glad they had. At least it meant she could deal with both the main threats now rather than having one on the loose to harass her later.
If Indiya had been responsible for the defense of Khallini-4 she would have had every available ship in a state of readiness, particularly after the raid on the gas giant’s mines. In her head she counted down the minutes, knowing how long it would take for her flotilla’s burn to become visible, and estimating how quickly efficient crews could be expected to respond.
Again, making allowance for the distance involved, it was a little over three minutes after her estimated minimal response time when Admiral Kreippil confirmed what she was already seeing on the screens. “Enemy fleet is leaving station.”
Three minutes: decent, very decent.
The Legion flotilla had shed a good proportion of its momentum but not enough. “Continue deceleration,” Indiya instructed, suspecting that everyone involved would be as keen to move onto the next phase as she was. She studied the screen intently, watching as the enemy formed up and began their deceptively slow acceleration. Good. Nothing flash, nothing unexpected; a standard defensive spread, one that would enable the defenders to concentrate their drone fleet and overwhelm a theoretically weaker opponent.
Timing was crucial here. Indiya had to give her own ships enough time to adjust their attitude and formation but leave insufficient margin for the enemy to react effectively. Too early and she could find herself having to abandon her own battle plans and lose the advantage so carefully engineered, too late and they could hit her while the fleet was still maneuvering, hampering her own ships from mounting an effective point defense. As much as any of the action to come, the next few moments would decide the fate of the battle.
Indiya’s attention darted between the central image showing enemy deployment and the various sets of digits that flickered in the margin, indicating her own flotilla’s velocity and their opponents’ acceleration, detailing the diminishing distance between them and the estimated time to engagement. She was aware of gathering tension in the room as those around her waited on her command. The calm before the storm flashed through her mind. Where did that phrase come from?
She frowned. The defenders weren’t coming out as quickly as anticipated. Have I missed something? What are they up to? This was the point she would have expected to be closing the trap, but the enemy were still further away than she would have liked… Indiya knew that indecision could prove fatal in a battle, and was aware that the Littoranes would be watching her closely, looking for any signs of hesitancy or uncertainty. She should be stamping her authority right now, not inviting doubts. Deciding she couldn’t afford to wait any longer, she said, “Captain,” aware that the Littorane officer who still commanded the Vengeance would be listening as attentively as everyone else, “cease deceleration and bring the ship around. Assume attack formation Delta.”
There was no cheer but there might as well have been, as the command crew leapt into action, suddenly released from psychological stasis, the proverbial held breath. Engines cut out. The fleet was still hurtling towards Khallini-4 but at a far more manageable speed than the breakneck rush with which they’d emerged from behind the sun. Then the great ships began to turn. With carefully choreographed precision, maneuvering thrusters – puny things compared to the main drive – brought them around and steadied so that their prows were presented to the enemy. At the same time, they adopted a new formation, the five hidden ships emerging to take their place beside the flagship. The flotilla was now set for battle, with their most powerful assets at the core of the formation.
“Fleet Admiral!” That was something else she was struggling to get used to – this sudden promotion. Since her second in command was to be an admiral, it had been decided that she should assume a rank commensurate with her responsibilities.
“What?”
“Something’s locked onto us, Admiral.”
Fear coursed through her and she sat forward, willing the screen to reveal the culprit. This was what she had dreaded: a trap, an oversight on her part that would end in disaster. Was this the reason the defenders had hung back? Was there a hidden fleet waiting to pounce on them as they swept towards the Khallini base? No, that was impossible. Even lying dark any such ships would have been spotted this close in… So what in God’s name was it?
“Specifics!” No matter how much she stared, the screen continued to tell her nothing. No engines lit up, no energy signatures shone to highlight a threat.
“I…”
She glared at the Littorane responsible, taking small satisfaction despite the circumstances that she wasn’t the one acting indecisively right now.
“Holy water of the gods,” the alien hissed. Then, recovering his composure and pulling the tattered remnants of professionalism about him, he continued with more confidence. “Several of them now, Admiral, homing in on us magnetically… They’re mines.”
Mines? Who in hell uses mines these days? “Show me! I don’t care how, just show me!”
No wonder the defenders were hanging back. They were no more than bait, luring the oblivious attackers in, and she had blithely charged forward, bringing her entire flotilla into the trap.
Show her they did. Once her officers knew what to look for, having realized that the mines reacted magnetically, they uncovered a vast minefield, one that enclosed the whole of Khallini-4 in a protective shell.
“Mader Zagh!” Indiya breathed. “There are thousands upon thousands of them.”
“More likely millions, Fleet Admiral, many millions,” Kreippil said. The Littorane admiral was studying a screen of his own. “The spread isn’t especially dense,” he commented. “We’ve attracted the attention of four so far, but all are some distance away… The problem is that three are in front of us, one directly so, and the other two are converging on that one, pulled by magnetic threads. No sign of engines involved, just a net of magnetic force spread between the mines, presumably so as not to sacrifice any of their payload. Individually, each masses sufficient tonnage to be a threat; combined… I’d imagine they utilize proximity triggers rather than relying on impact. I wonder if the detonation of one will trigger a chain reaction… That’s how I’d do it. It would have to be compartmentalized, of course – no point in setting off the entire shell when the threat is concentrated in just one area.” His neck gills were opening and closing rapidly as he spoke, in a manner that Indiya had come to associate with excitement. “Ingenious. I’d like to capture one if we can.”
“I’m more concerned with surviving them than collecting them,” Indiya replied.
“As you say, sir.”
Having recovered from the initial shock, Indiya was now assessing her options. The flotilla had penetrated deep into the shell but none of the mines had yet been detonated. It struck her as highly unlikely that not one of the
ships would have blundered close enough to set off an explosion if proximity were the trigger as the admiral surmised.
She had to do something, but it had better be the right something… “Admiral,” she said, “do you think that raising the shields might risk setting them off?”
“Impossible to say without studying one of the mines. It’s curious that none have gone off as yet, though.”
No help there then; it was her call, which was as it should be: risk changing the conditions, or continue to trust in luck or whatever other factor had seen them survive this far. She felt Kreippil’s gaze boring into her as she dithered, but she refused to be rushed. The White Knights’ shield technology was based on displacement. The destructive forces hurled against a shield were instantly transferred to a higher dimension connected to observable spacetime via D-Branes, into which energy could be dumped. The problem was that there were limits. The process relied on an energy gradient, and heat dissipated in the higher dimension far more sluggishly than in real space. Once the region heated up to a critical level, dumping became impossible, causing shield collapse. She had little doubt the minefield was designed to overwhelm ships’ shields and obliterate the vessels within – why bother with such an elaborate endeavor otherwise?
“No shields,” she said, decision made. Of course it was a risk, but weighing up the options she concluded it was the lesser of two. Against every expectation they had come this far without mishap. By changing the conditions, she might well bring about the destruction of her entire command.
Was that approval she detected in Kreippil’s eyes?
If the atmosphere had been tense before, then it was doubly so during the next few minutes. Nobody spoke, nobody made a sound, as if afraid that the slightest disturbance might trigger the three mines that loomed ahead of them, haunting their future.
Indiya’s attention remained glued to the screen, as she watched the flotilla penetrate ever deeper into the minefield and begin to creep towards the inner edge of the shell. All the while she half-expected an abrupt glow that would signify detonation, and couldn’t help but wonder how much warning she would get should the worst happen, whether realization would set in before her body was blasted to atoms, if she’d have any time for regrets and fear or if she would simply be wiped from existence in an instant.
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