Her feet a blur, she remembered other stairs, those descending to the turbine building floor on Warren. Would this be another disaster? Would she once again be too late?
Fighting panic, she willed herself to go even faster, willed her straining body to be on the bridge.
At last she burst onto it, rushing toward crew and holovid displays with her heart calmly beating as if in mockery of her thoughts.
“Commander.” A tight-faced junior officer turned to her. “They just popped out of nowhere. One moment there was a wormie; the next, they were sitting right next to it!”
“Relax, Lee,” Stella said, scanning the readouts. How could the Scaleys maintain a position so close to the funnel? The pull there had to be almost infinite!
Rapid footsteps sounded behind as her main officers arrived.
“It can't be reverse thrusters,” Carol said. “No drive system could resist that pull. They've got to have something new. An anti-grav shield, maybe. Or a space-dislocation device.”
“Negative,” Sloan said. “We've tried both.”
“The important concern right now is not their tech breakthrough,” Stella said, though that itself was alarming enough, since the Scaleys had already almost won the war. “The enemy has blocked us, people. They're here because they don't want us to go through.”
“What if they're doing this at other wormies?” George said. “The scale-heads could block half our forces from Loran.”
I thought you WANTED that, Stella thought. She watched Carol, who barely reached George's sternum, look up at him with flashing eyes. “Shouldn't you be in med? If there're any injuries, you'll be needed there.”
Stella had no time for the personality clash developing between the two. “Right now we need him here, Carol. He's our expert on the Scaleys. If things get rough, what he knows about them could make the difference.”
“Knows, hell. No one knows a nit about them.”
Stella ignored her and glanced out the plexiport. Jason was keeping them end-on to the warship, conceding the enemy only the smallest possible target. Scanning the command console, she saw the Nero Force Shield up, the plasma and laser beam systems placed on code red. Good. Jason was a damned fine pilot who didn't need to be told things. Her eyes darted to Sloan, standing at the command console.
“Should I tightbeam a message?” he asked.
“Go ahead,” she said. “They never answer, but it's SOP.”
Sloan spread his hands. “What'll I say, Stella?”
She sighed. Sloan excelled at nav and com, but lacked initiative in other areas. “Ask them what they're doing here. Tell ‘em we love them.”
Sloan's eyebrows went up and he turned to adjust a dial. “Spaceranger calling. Identify yourself and state your mission.” He repeated the message and switched off. No answer. After thirty seconds he went on-line again. “Maybe a different frequency...”
“Don't bother,” Stella said. “The Scale-faces never communicate anyway. For all we know, they can't.” She fought down her frustration and turned to Carol. “Our orders are to meet Loran near X-1. This wormie is the only route. It would take years to go around.”
“Approximately three-point-seven years,” Jason said.
“Unacceptable!” She eyed the wormhole.
“You aren't thinking of charging it, are you?” Carol said, her eyes fixed on Stella. “They'd fire a deflector beam and we'd enter it off-line. We'd be torn apart, Commander.”
“She's right,” Myles pitched in. “They've done it before.”
“I'm aware of that.” Stella fought the temptation to snap at her security director. It's not your area of expertise, she itched to say, but then, Carol had been right: no one really knew what to do with the Scaleys. Whatever they had tried in the past had invariably failed against their resourceful enemy.
Carol's eyes hadn't left her. “You're not thinking of charging the gate, which means ... Oh God. You're not thinking of shooting it out with them, are you? A Scaley warship has three times our shielding and firepower, fifty percent more acceleration and maneuverability.”
“I disagree, Carol,” Jason's voice interrupted. “My schems suggest the Spaceranger is now equal in maneuverability to anything they can throw against us.” Jason's voice rose. “They may be faster, but I can match any close-encounter moves they try, outstep them at any dance.”
“Makes no difference,” Carol snapped, her fine, sharp features hard. “We can absorb their hits only so long, and then our shields crumble. Be light on your feet all you want, Jason. Try dodging a plasma jet.”
The bridge fell silent while Stella reviewed their situation. While both sides possessed mirror shielding that would bounce plasma and laser beams back at each other, the Scaleys’ shielding, whose nature was unknown, was far superior. If the Spaceranger chose to swap artillery blasts, it would be rendered defenseless. Their obliteration would be assured.
Stella met Carol's gaze. “We have to go through that hole. My orders are explicit. They give us no choice.”
“Can't we contact Command?” George asked. “See if Scaleys are at other wormholes?”
“Even if our message got through, it would take much too long,” Stella said. “Besides, my orders give us no choice.”
“Even if we all die?” George said.
Stella's eyes flashed. “Even if we all die, George. Unless you counsel treason and insubordination.”
George colored and looked at the image of the Scaley warship. “I can accept dying,” he growled, his strong, bearded chin pointed defiantly at the enemy. “But I can't embrace kamikaze suicide.”
Though the reference was unknown to the other officers, Stella saw that the gist of George's words was not lost on Myles, who unsnapped his holster and withdrew his plasma jet. “Are you advising mutiny, Dr. Darron?” he said softly.
The psyche-physician's cheeks twitched. “No, of course not. It's just—”
“People,” Stella said, “we have no time to feud. Myles: holster your sidearm; George: don't question our orders.” She looked up at the wall above the vid displays. “Jason, can you approach fifty kilometers and maintain our distance against the wormie?”
“Aye, aye, ser.”
“Then do so.”
There was a faint sensation of speed and the Scaley ship loomed up in the screen. Jason's voice crackled: “Commander, now eight hundred fifty-one kilometers from their vessel.”
“Good,” she said. “Now steer to port broadside on. Give them a look at our pedigree lines.”
Verniers fired, turning the ship till it presented the broadest possible target. Stella glanced about, seeing that all faces were drawn. At the battle stations console to Sloan's right, Lee Song's face had turned pale.
“Stella,” Sloan said, crouching over a vid display, “the energy sig on their ship has darkened. It's ... Oh shit, here they come.”
Stella smiled tightly. “Maybe they'll ask us to dance.”
George started to speak, and then reconsidered at a sharp look from Myles. Stella waited.
Finally Jason's voice filled the bridge again. “Stella, they've matched us, leveled off at fifty kilometers.”
She nodded. “How much closer can you get without being sucked in?”
“I've already computed. I can maintain thrust against the wormie for twenty minutes at one hundred fifty kilometers closer. If I go two hundred kilometers, the time would be a third of that.”
“Very well, vector to point-on and approach one hundred more kilometers, and then steer port to broadside again.”
Carol sucked in her breath as Jason complied. When her order was completed, the Scaley warship echoed their movements.
“Enemy's one hundred kilometers closer,” Jason reported. “We're six hundred kilometers apart.”
Stella fought a surge of doubt.
Carol stepped toward her. “What are you doing, Commander? With all due respect, are you courting disaster?”
Stella swung around. “What difference does
it make? With their speed and power, they can run us down any time they want and hammer us to bits. Our only chance is to outflank them and make a run for the hole.”
“'Run for the hole'?” Sloan said.
“Yes. If we get to the wormie, there's a chance we'll pop out the other side a light-hour away from them. Even if it's less, they might never find us.”
“What I want to know,” George said, “is why they're toying with us. Why not just blast away?”
Myles’ plump features produced a wry smile. “As our resident Scaley expert, Doctor, you seem to have missed a point. What better way to demoralize an opponent and erode their collective will than to ‘toy’ with them? It shows overweening confidence, the belief that you can destroy them at your pleasure.”
Darron sighed. “Believe me; such tactics have had their effect throughout our ranks.”
“Shh,” Stella ordered, and an instant later, Jason spoke up. “Five hundred ninety kilometers ... five hundred eighty ... Enemy moving toward us again, Commander.”
“They won't stop,” Carol said. “I'm needed in munitions.”
No one glanced at her as she left the bridge. They all watched the monitors on the command console. Five hundred fifty kilometers ... five hundred forty...
“When they reach four hundred,” Stella said, “begin taking evasive action without getting too close to the wormie, Jason.”
“Should I fire first, Commander?”
Stella licked her lips. “No. Give them first crack, then respond.”
“Stella,” Sloan hissed. “You can't!”
“That's all, Jason,” she said.
“Very good, ser,” Jason said. “I'll send up the combat harness.”
Panels in the deck opened and seats rose on tripods whose legs widened as they slid along grooves. Stella sat down and strapped herself in, then lowered the affixed helmet. When finished, she had limited mobility without the rigidity of a chair. Sloan and Lee, she saw, were pulling in telemetry at their stations, sliding in their harness through cogs in the deck that clicked fast.
Stella leaned back. Good or bad, the battle was joined. If Jason was demented ... well, then she was trusting everything to him. But deep down she knew she had no choice the moment the warship appeared. Even if they'd run, they'd have been caught. Besides, from the beginning Jason had been the one crewman who had pledged his support. Now she felt she could trust him with anything, perhaps even her feelings.
“Stella.”
She looked at George, who was strapped in harness to her right. Tense laughter boiled up inside her as she thought of what he resembled: a gigantic, bearded baby bird about to peck free of his egg.
“What is it, George?”
He swallowed. “I've been meaning...”
“Three hundred kilometers, Stella,” Sloan reported.
Stella turned, watching the warship swell in the vid display. It looked so small there, but she knew its sleek finned structure was half again as long as the Spaceranger. She studied its blue-gray surface, wondering what the beings inside were like, what drove them, and what they really wanted. Was it just ruthless conquest as so many authorities claimed? Single-minded rapacious hunger? She remembered Jason's desire to “devour the void” and wondered if there was any similarity between him and them, or if humans resembled the enemy in any way. She trembled.
Closer ... closer ... two hundred fifty kilometers ... two hundred ... She felt useless and cursed herself for making this reckless decision. At the moment, Sloan, Lee, and the techs at other consoles were far more necessary than she.
One hundred kilometers ... ninety ... eighty...
At seventy-one kilometers, blinding white blips shot toward them. Jason evaded them easily, leaping aside like a dancer. They swung around with him in their harness as Jason swerved, nudged forward and closed to sixty kilometers ... fifty...
I AM the ship, he had said. Oh God, let it be true.
“Why in the hell doesn't he shoot?” Myles growled. “We're just floating here like turds in a barrel!”
No one answered, including Jason, who didn't retaliate when the Scaley warship closed to forty kilometers. The ship bobbed and weaved, darted and corkscrewed up, down, sideways, and back with rear, front, and side thrusters. Then they were side-on and firing for the first time. In the monitor, Stella saw a molten plasma arc strike the warship just behind the bow. Gleaming fire instantly washed back, missing them and continuing on into space as Jason ducked and streaked beneath the course of the oncoming intruder.
Suddenly Jason's laughter filled the bridge. He was enjoying this!
In the display, the arrow-shaped bow of the warship was clearly visible, showing the scythe like slit of the plexiport sweeping across its front. Light from a distant sun flashed briefly on its surface.
At fifteen kilometers, the alien vessel halted. Jason slipped one way, then another, trying to outflank the ship and dart past, but the warship countered, then countered again. A pencil beam lanced out, laser fire that caught the Spaceranger's stern and was shot back. On the display, Stella saw it miss the warship by a wide margin. Another spear of light came, and she heard Lee's console signal a direct hit, hard.
“Shit,” George said. “That's two straight and we didn't even muss their hair.”
But then Jason speared them four straight times, alternating plasma and laser, testing their shields’ resistance to both as he evaded their sallies. Rising over them, Jason laughed in triumph as he strafed the enemy a fifth time with two beams, one at stern, and the other amidships. Stella and all on the bridge cheered him on.
“Way to go!”
“Give it to ‘em, Jason!”
As good as the enemy was, Jason was better. In fact, he had a clear edge. Still, she couldn't deny the inevitable conclusion. Two particularly wicked plasma bursts from different locations on the enemy ship brought a shrill cry from Lee at the battle monitors.
“Ser, that last hit took nearly twelve percent of our shields!”
“What are we down to now?” Stella asked.
“About half.” Lee's eyes darted among the screens. “There's some residual loss of power too. We're draining.”
George shifted in his harness. “'Bout down to the last grab in our bag of tricks,” he said.
As the ship heaved and twisted and wheeled, Stella reviewed their options. George was right. They were approaching their last grab. “All right, Jason,” she shouted, “activate the kaleidoscope. Let's see if we can lose them.”
“Aye, aye, ser. I was about to do that.”
Moments later, dozens of Spacerangers surrounded their own, projected by a prismatic field generator. For kilometers on all sides, exact copies of their craft darted, changed positions, and turned about a central axis. Though it had worked well in tests, it merited them a volley of shots that accurately found the true Spaceranger. Within seconds they took brutal hits at both the bow and stern. The bridge shook, and the crew swung hard in their harness.
A final burst scorched their side and rocked the entire ship. “Another hit, ser!” Lee called. “A bad one!”
“Deactivate,” she shouted, “we'll only drain more power!” As a hundred Spacerangers winked out of existence about them, she wracked her brain for an escape, anything that could outwit and deceive the Scaleys. “Jason, we've lost over half our shields! Can you retreat, see if the enemy will hold?”
It was senseless, of course. She knew that any enemy, particularly one with superior muscle would seize the advantage and come down their throats. But amazingly, as the Spaceranger withdrew, the enemy didn't follow. At three hundred kilometers, Stella told Jason to level off. Slipping out of her battle harness, she joined Lee at the battle monitors.
“Why didn't they pursue us?” she said. “Keep firing till we'd had it?”
George joined them at the displays. “It's the old game of ‘cat and mouse.’ They're having too much fun playing with us.”
She studied George as he in turn examined the mon
itors. Shield capacity was barely thirty-eight percent, yet damage to the ship was negligible. As George moved his head, red and green light bathed his features, projecting images onto them. The enemy warship itself appeared on his cheek like an omen.
Stella raised her head. “Well done, Jason! I'm going to recommend you for a Battle Wings Citation when we reach a base.”
“Let's not decant the champagne just yet,” Jason said. Stella could tell he was pleased from his voice, for in the past week she had grown familiar with every nuance of his intonation. Sometimes, in fact, when she closed her eyes, she felt his voice resonate through every fiber of her being, animate even tissue that had never known the spark of life.
She closed her eyes, thinking of Jason lying in his cold sleep with ebony curls caressing his nakedness.
“Commander.”
She opened her eyes. Lee was pointing to the three-dimensional image of the warship poised above a vidplate.
Stella leaned forward. Carol's voice came over the com from munitions. “Do you see that, Stella? Looks like they're extending a boarding tube!”
“Yes, I see, Carol.” She glanced toward the command console and confirmed that Sloan and Myles had seen it too. Sloan raised his eyebrows.
“They want us to board,” Myles said.
“I think he's right, Stella,” George said beside her.
Reluctantly, she nodded. “Or else they want to board us.”
“Does it really make a difference?” George said.
Stella scrutinized the warship's image. “But why? To add to their pleasure by drawing it out? More ‘cat and mouse'?”
“Exactly,” Myles said. “They're whetting their anticipation for the kill.”
She shook her head. “That doesn't square, Myles. Everything we know about the Scaleys indicates they're cold and functional. Emotion of any kind has no place.”
“Stella,” George whispered, “we know so little about them. Beneath all those blue scales, who knows what we'll find?”
She frowned. “An invitation to dance. Have we ever received one before?”
Beyond Those Distant Stars Page 4
