“Command, engineering.” Duricek was unable to conceal the resentment in his voice.
“Go ahead, Chief,” Michael replied, careful to keep his voice neutral.
“Sir. Main engines are nominal. Pinchspace jump generators are on line. Ship’s mass distribution model is nominal. All other systems are nominal. Confirm we are good to jump.”
Better, Michael thought. He did not care for the resentful overtones, but it could have been worse.
“Command, roger. Understand we are good to jump.”
“I’ll be here in propulsion control if you need me, sir.”
“Thanks, Chief. Changing the subject, did you resolve that problem with Weapons Power Foxtrot? God knows, I hope it’s the last system we need, but it would be good to have one hundred percent weapons availability.”
“The lads are working on it, sir. We found a damaged mount, so I think it’s a shock problem. There seems to be a misalignment somewhere. I’m hoping the system AI can work out a way around it because we can’t open it up to have a look. At this stage, we don’t know when or even if we can get it back online.”
Michael could not help smiling. Christ, the man was obvious, his tone making it abundantly clear that he thought worrying about one of the fusion plants that provided power to the Adamant’s after weapons systems was a completely pointless exercise. “Okay. Keep me posted on that one. I want it back if at all possible.”
“Sir.”
Michael settled back. In truth, he was captain in name only. The Adamant and all her systems were in the hands of scores of embedded AIs, all working under the control of the ship’s master AI. On a small ship like Eridani, the master AI would be called Mother. On a ship this size, calling the AI Mother somehow did not seem proper, even if the voice of Adamant’s AIs was, as tradition dictated, that of a middle-aged woman. So Michael stuck to the official title, AI Primary or simply Prime, cold and sterile though it was.
So far, Prime was doing it right. Adamant was on vector, and every system she needed to make the pinchspace transit to Terranova was online and nominal. He had rerun the pinchspace calculations off-line; he was pleased to see that his solution and Prime’s agreed to the required number of significant figures.
Michael settled back and closed his eyes, his neuronics putting him right at the heart of the Adamant to the point where he became one with the ship: His human senses were replaced by Adamant’s massive arrays of active and passive sensors reaching out millions of kilometers into space.
It was an awesome feeling.
With only an hour left before they dropped into Terranovan nearspace, the strident ringing of a primary systems alarm jolted Michael upright.
“Prime! Update.”
“Command, Prime. We have an intermittent failure reported by the navigation AI. We’re getting an unstable pinchspace vector solution. I’m working on the problem and will report back.”
Michael’s hands were suddenly damp. If the navigation AI was not able to keep Adamant on the right vector through the unstable n-dimensional probability field that made up pinchspace, things could get bad. His stomach did a quick backflip. He was in no mood to spend the rest of eternity wandering lost and alone somewhere in pinchspace or, if he took the chance and did a blind drop, spending the rest of eternity lost somewhere in normalspace hundreds of light-years from the rest of humankind, unable to jump back to civilization.
Bienefelt appeared from nowhere. “What’s up, sir?”
“Not sure, Matti. Problem with the navigation AI. Working on it.”
Matti looked worried. “Shit.”
“Shit is right. Let the team know I’ll brief them when I know something definite. I need to talk to the Chief.”
Matti nodded as Michael commed Duricek. His conversation was short and to the point because Duricek and his technicians could do nothing to solve the problem.
“Command, Prime.”
“This better be good,” Michael muttered. “Command.”
“I’ve been able to reduce the problem but not eliminate it. It seems to be coming from problems with the external pinchspace field sensors; there’s instability in the drift compensators. Most likely radiation damage.”
“The sensors. Anything we can do?”
“No. That’s a yard job.”
“So what’s it all mean?”
“Our ability to make an accurate drop out of pinchspace has been severely degraded, but not fatally so.”
“Okay, Prime. I want a new drop position to make absolutely sure we don’t come out of pinchspace inside Terra-nova.”
“Understood. Stand by . . . position computed and uploaded.”
Michael checked and rechecked Prime’s new drop point. It might be a long way out from Terranova, but at least there was no chance that they would end up trying to share normalspace with something big and heavy. Like a planet.
“Revised drop position command approved.” It would be a pain in the ass flogging their way back in normalspace, but at least they would get back alive with Adamant intact. “All stations, this is command. We’ll be dropping shortly. As you know, we’ve had a small problem with the navigation AI, but Prime says she’s got it under control. To make sure we don’t hit anything, we’ll be dropping a long way out from Terra-nova, so we’ll be late getting to the pub tonight, guys. Sorry about that. Command out.”
Michael watched anxiously as the minutes to the drop ran off with excruciating slowness, but whatever Prime had done to the navigation AI seemed to be holding up. With ten minutes to go, Michael commed Bienefelt to come to the combat information center. The more he thought about dropping well out into Terranovan farspace, the more he realized how alone the Adamant would be, how far from help if things went wrong.
“Sir?”
“Matti. Get your guys together. We’re going to be hanging around out in deepspace for a long time. If we run into anything, we’re going to have to deal with it on our own. So get them up here. I want to know what’s going on. That means running full threat and command plots, and I would rather not leave Prime doing the job on its own. Any of them have sensor training?”
Bienefelt checked her neuronics. She nodded. “Yes. One gravitronics, one radar, a couple of electronic warfare types. None current, though.”
“Better than nothing. Put the rest on the holocams. Get ’em all up here; find them somewhere to sit. When you’ve done that, I want you next to me. Two pairs of eyes are always better than one. So move it; we’ll be dropping shortly.”
“Sir.”
“Oh, one more thing. Suit up.”
“Sir.”
Michael commed Prime. “Prime, this is command. Bring all combat systems online, alert zero.”
“Prime, roger. Bring combat systems online, alert zero. Stand by.”
Michael commed Duricek. “Engineering, command.”
“Engineering.” Duricek’s tone was as sulky as ever. Michael suppressed a sudden urge to go aft to give the man a good kick in the balls.
“Dropping in three. All set?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. I’ve brought the combat systems to instant readiness. I’m not expecting anything, but you never know. So stand by for emergency maneuvering and get your people suited up.”
“Sir.”
When Michael cut the comm, Bienefelt threw her massive bulk into the seat alongside his; suited up, she was enormous. In a cruiser, two senior warfare officers would sit alongside the captain. How things had changed; a junior lieutenant and a petty officer were now the complete command team for a light cruiser supported by a scratch team of sensor operators badly overdue for refresher training. Well, he said philosophically to himself, it would just have to do.
“Guys all okay?” Michael asked as he struggled into his combat space suit.
“Strapped in, suited up, sir.”
“Right. Patch your neuronics into Prime. Make sure I don’t miss anything.”
“Command, Prime.”
�
��Command,” Michael replied.
“All combat systems nominal, at alert zero, all sensors online and nominal.”
“Command, roger.” Michael knew he was being overly careful, but he would be damned if he allowed his new command to drop into normalspace unprepared for the worst.
Adamant dropped. There was the usual microsecond lurch as the universe turned itself inside out. Michael breathed out slowly as the holovids showed nothing more threatening than curtains of brilliant stars hanging in glorious confusion. For a moment it took his breath away. He quickly identified Terranova’s sun, at a rough guess 200 million kilometers away. Not the best drop in Fleet history, but a long way from the worst and close enough to make it home.
He commed his scratch crew. “All stations, command. Sitrep. We’re home, Terranova’s only 95 million kilometers away, and the threat plot is green. Prime’s contacting Terra-nova control, and I’ll let you know what they want us to do. In the meantime, we’ll start heading in. Command out.”
Michael sat back. The prospect of a long hack in-system was depressing enough. A long hack as captain of a ship with Duricek as chief engineer was even more depressing. Well, he consoled himself, at least they were going home. Maybe he would—
All thought of the pleasures of home leave disappeared in the face of an urgent shout from the operator on gravitronics. Michael was impressed to see the young spacer beating Prime to it by a full second.
“Sir, positive gravitronics intercept. Estimated drop bearing Green 3 Up 1. Two vessels. Grav wave pattern suggests pinchspace transition imminent. Designated hostile tracks 500501 and 502. The vector’s all wrong, though, sir. Goes nowhere near Terranova.”
Goddamn it, Michael thought. Hammers. Had to be. Without thinking, he commed the ship to general quarters before he remembered that he had no crew to send. He commed the klaxon off.
“All stations, command. Sorry about that. We’ve got inbound traffic, and the traffic plot from Terranova control suggests it’s hostile. So visors down. Prime and I will fight the ship. You guys hold on. Engineering. Stand by to maneuver. Command out.”
Michael closed his eyes; he put the command plot up on his neuronics, bringing the range in until the angry red of the gravitronics intercept overwhelmed Adamant’s green vector. The rest of the plot was empty, nothing but blackness. Michael’s stomach lurched. They were completely alone. If the incoming ships were Hammers—and they almost certainly were—they could only be heavy cruisers, and he could not do what any sane captain of a battle-damaged ship manned by a scratch crew would do: jump, and jump now.
But he could not. Michael cursed his fate. With a suspect nav AI, jumping to safety was not an option.
No, the Adamant was stuck in normalspace. She would have to fight it out or die in the process.
“Prime, command. Mission priority is destruction of hostile tracks 500501 and 502, second priority own-ship defense. You have missile and rail-gun launch authority. Fire when ready.”
“Prime, roger. Mission priority is destruction of hostile tracks 500501 and 502, second priority own-ship defense.”
If responsibility for saving the Adamant and her scratch crew weighed heavily on Prime’s virtual shoulders, she did not let it show. Her voice was calm and measured. “Prime, roger. I have missile and rail-gun launch authority. Stand by. Command, I have a good drop datum on tracks 500501 and 502. Estimate drop point at Green 2 Up 1, range 40,000 kilometers. Deploying missiles now. Stand by rail-gun salvo.”
Adamant’s combat information center filled with the racket of hydraulic rams dumping a full missile salvo overboard. Prime throttled the missiles back, the salvo accelerating slowly toward the datum and opening out into a ring so that the Hammer ships would face missiles coming from all directions at once. Michael approved. Quite rightly, Prime did not want the missiles at full power until she was 100 percent sure where the incoming ships would drop. Michael struggled to breathe as Prime refined the drop datum, the seconds agonizingly drawn out into what felt like hours. For God’s sake, fire, he felt like shouting, but Prime held on.
The young sensor operator’s voice was cracking under the strain. “Sir! Targets dropping. Confirm I have a good drop datum at Green 2 Up 1 at 38,000 kilometers.”
“Command, roger,” Michael replied calmly.
Still Prime held on.
The ships dropped. Still Prime waited. Michael wanted to scream even though he knew she had to be sure the new arrivals really were Hammers. Hacking two Fed ships out of space would not look good on his service record.
“Command, Prime. Targets confirmed hostile. Stand by rail-gun salvo.”
Barely an instant before Michael overrode her, Prime sent the missiles on their way, more than 300 Merlin heavy antistarship missiles buried in a cloud of decoys accelerating up to their maximum speed of 300 kilometers per second toward the unsuspecting Hammers. Three seconds later, Adamant shuddered as her rail-gun batteries flung a full salvo at the new arrivals.
It was a textbook ambush; Prime had timed it to perfection. The few seconds she had waited had allowed the Hammer ships to cross Adamant’s bow and start moving away. That left their poorly armored quarters wide open to Adamant’s attack. The two ships never had a chance; Prime’s timing was so good that Michael was not sure they even saw the attack coming.
As the salvos closed in, Michael cursed. Prime’s timing had been perfect, but she had closed up the salvo too much. The slugs were too close together; only a few would hit home. Michael held his breath as the edge of the rail-gun salvo, split equally between the two ships, caught the Hammers from below and behind, ripping into the ships around their main engines, where their armor was thinnest. An instant later, the elaborate and complex maze of vulnerable high-pressure pipework disintegrated into a lethal storm of shredded metal. Michael breathed out in relief; Prime might not have designed the perfect rail-gun salvo, but enough slugs had found their targets to do the job.
Then the auxiliary fusion plants in the after section of the ships started to fail. First one blew, then the rest; four blue-white flashes of runaway fusion plants swamped the holocams, with the hulls of the two ships thrashing up and down as massive shock waves ripped forward.
Michael watched intently; he held his breath as he waited for the fusion plants that powered the ships’ main engines to blow. The slugs must have gone close enough; he was sure they would go, but nothing happened. He breathed out. The Hammers were lucky Prime had not done a better job. The ships were now slowly spinning wrecks tumbling through space end over end, lifepods spitting out in all directions, their after hulls opened up into huge metal petals festooned with molten metal and plastic fast cooling into grotesquely twisted lumps, shattered pipework, broken decking, and torn cabling trailing out into space. The last icy tendrils of ship’s atmosphere were drifting out among small white blobs spinning away into emptiness.
Jesus, Michael thought. Spacers. The white blobs were spacers.
Suddenly, with an irrational stab of panic, he remembered the Merlins now only seconds from impact.
“Missiles abort, abort, abort,” he screamed. You bloody fool, he told himself as he sat back. Those ships were finished but not completely destroyed. They could be useful. It had been years since the intelligence guys had seen the inside of a Hammer heavy cruiser, and even two-thirds of one was better than none.
Afterward, Michael would swear that his heart stopped as, with barely 5,000 meters to run, Prime aborted the missile salvo, their warheads firing jets of red-white flame ahead to bounce ineffectually off the Hammer ships’ armor. Michael sat back and took a deep breath in. “Christ, that was close,” he muttered.
“Prime, command. Confirm enemy contact report passed to Terranova.”
“Confirmed.”
“Roger.” Michael sat back, happy to wait for Terranova to tell him what to do. A bit more than ten minutes later, he had his answer.
“Command, Prime.”
“Go ahead, Prime.”
“Terranova advises four Fed heavy cruisers have been tasked to assist, designated Task Unit 822.4.1, Captain Xiong, Seigneur, commanding. Dropping in five minutes.”
That was damn quick, Michael thought.
“Names?” he asked, hoping that one might be Damishqui.
“Seigneur, Select, Ulugh Beg, and Rebuke.”
Damn, he thought. No Damishqui meant no Anna. Pity. “Command, roger. Maneuver to take station 100 kilometers behind and between the two Hammers and match vector. Confirm Hammer ship identities.”
“The McMullins and the Providence Sound.”
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. The McMullins was an old Triumph class ship, but the Providence Sound was a brand-new City class heavy cruiser. Fleet intelligence would be pleased.
The minutes dragged past. Michael was content to sit and watch the slowly tumbling remnants of the two Hammer ships, their forward sections the only clue that they once had been fully operational warships.
“Sir, positive gravitronics intercept. Estimated drop bearing Red 45 Up 0. Four vessels. Grav wave pattern suggests pinchspace transition imminent. Vector nominal for Terra-nova outbound approach.”
“Roger.” Damn, that boy was good. He was reading the grav arrays well ahead of Prime. Must remember to write him up, Michael thought.
“Sir. Targets dropping. Confirm drop datum at Red 44 Up 1 at 9,000 kilometers.”
“Roger that.”
“Well, well, well,” Michael murmured. The new arrivals had more faith in their navigation AIs than Michael did in Adamant’s; 9,000 kilometers was close.
In a brief blaze of ultraviolet, the four Fed ships dropped into normalspace, immediately turning to close in on Adamant and her two shattered charges.
“Adamant, Seigneur.” Must be Captain Xiong, Michael thought as the command holovid switched to show a Fed captain, her face betraying the same confused mix of fatigue and uncertainty he had seen on Lenski’s right after the Hammer attack.
“Adamant.”
“I’m Captain Xiong. Effective immediately you’re assigned to Task Unit 822.4.1 under my command.”
“Roger that, sir.” No surprises there.
The Battle of the Hammer Worlds Page 31
