The channel opened to Yiithrii’ah’aash’s ship; it sounded like a stone-cutter’s saw accompanied by a chorus of banshees being boiled in oil. “Caine Riordan?”
“Yes, Ambassador. Auroras are degrading our communications, I think.”
“They are. Have you made planetfall? I do not have enough sensor assets available to track your progress.”
“Negative, Ambassador. We are approaching the highest cloud layers. Since this may be our last communication until the solar activity fades, I wanted to confer on a course of action.”
“I agree. In order to ensure your survival on the planet, I recommend—”
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Ambassador, but frankly, I’m more concerned about your survival.”
“That is welcome, Caine Riordan, but we must first see to your safety. It is our responsibility that such dangers have befallen you.”
“Ambassador, with all due respect, that cannot be the first priority for either one of us. We have to ensure that this incursion on your space, and the attempted assassination of the entire legation, is reported with all possible speed. So, first things first: is your ship still capable of making shift?”
“Caine—Captain Riordan: we will not leave you behind. We must exert all efforts to—”
“Ambassador, we’re running out of time. Given that you are arguing against shifting, I deduce that you are still capable of doing so. And you must. As quickly as possible.”
“We have offensive systems aboard our ship which are perfectly capable of—”
“Ambassador, your ship only has dual purpose lasers that fulfill both offensive and point defense requirements, correct?”
“Correct.” The reply was reluctant.
“So, they don’t have the distance or power of purely offensive systems. And from what I can see, your ship does not have a spinal main weapon, does it?”
“It does not.”
“Then it would be reckless for you to stay and fight. You’ve already suffered significant damage. The next hit could destroy your ability to shift. On the other hand, if you preaccelerate immediately, you will be sure to shift, report, and bring back a rescue mission.”
The two second pause seemed to last two minutes. “Your logic is unassailable. I shall undertake actions that allow us to shift more promptly than usual.” A new form of static started encroaching on the channel: it was like bagpipes playing through a thickening blanket of white noise.
“Ambassador, your signal is degrading.”
“That is the planetary defense system,” Yiithrii’ah’aash explained. “Since your ship has crossed the security threshold of the planet without being expressly cleared to do so, the defense system has begun to jam all signals.”
“You mean, all legation signals?”
“No: all signals. When the planetary defense system perceives an unauthorized entry, it initiates what you would call a communications ‘lock down.’ This way, reconnaissance landings cannot relay any intelligence or targeting data to enemies in orbit or beyond.” Yiithrii’ah’aash’s words were beginning to bleed into each other as the signal continued to erode.
“Ambassador, what special methods are you employing to achieve shift more rapidly than usual?”
“We will make for this system’s automated port facilities.”
“They are not here, near Disparity?”
“No. They are in the leading Trojan point of the first orbit. We have a solar array there, constantly fabricating anti-matter.”
Yes, but if the enemy has learned about it…“Do you have sufficient anti-matter for a shift?”
“Yes, although not enough to shift with minimal preacceleration. We would require an extra three days of preacceleration to make up for the partial insufficiency of anti-matter.”
“Then that’s what you must do.”
“Caine Riordan, that would delay our return by two additional days. And if these attackers attempt to follow you planetside, that could mean the difference between life and death.”
“It could mean life or death for a lot more people, humans and Slaasriithi alike, if you don’t bypass the automated station. If you travel there, you could discover that the enemy has more ships in system, possibly waiting to ambush you as you approach the facility. And if they seize its anti-matter reserves, they will be able to swiftly refuel whatever ship brought them here, and undertake whatever energy-expensive operations they need to overcome this planet’s defenses. And then exterminate us.” Riordan paused; the channel was degrading even more rapidly. “There’s only one way you can prevent that.”
“How?”
“I presume that your communication net allows you to interface directly with the refueling station’s controls?”
“It does.”
Caine drew a deep breath. “Then here is what you have to do.”
Chapter Thirty-One
In orbit; BD +02 4076 Two (“Disparity”)
In the portside extremity of Lurker’s holosphere, Nezdeh watched her spread of missiles draw within twenty thousand kilometers of the Slaasriithi ship—and then flare like a string of firecrackers. As she feared, her opponent’s PDF systems had repowered before she could strike her most decisive blow. But, with any luck, the Slaasriithi defenses had been so riveted upon that primary threat that they would be unable to quickly retarget and achieve the more concentrated, intensive fire that was required to spall, and thereby deflect, the rail gun projectiles that Nezdeh had sent racing in behind her missiles.
At the starboard extreme of the plot, the three enemy cannonballs approached Lurker in an elongated triangle, the first cannonball leading from the point, the other two back at the base. The first had been lightly damaged by a single laser hit. Its immediate return fire had been surprisingly powerful for such a small craft. However, whether it was the limitations of fitting adequate focusing equipment into such a compact hull, or a consequence of the damage that the cannonball had received from Red Lurker, the enemy beam had been highly diffuse when it struck. A mild shock had trembled through the patrol hunter, and some lower ablative layers had fumed off the hull, but fortunately, that was the extent of the damage.
“She means to bring her laser into more effective range,” Tegrese commented.
“Or to ram us,” Idrem commented over the intercom from his position in engineering.
Nezdeh started. “Explain?”
“Consider the first cannonball’s vector in light of its prior operation, and the changing course of the other two cannonballs. Their delta formation is beginning to spread out. I suspect the two rear ones mean to bracket and ultimately move behind us, to force us to evade and so, curtail our rate of closure with our primary target. Ultimately, retargeting our rail gun will require that we do not merely change our current heading but tumble the ship.”
“Yes—but ramming?”
“I do not suggest it is the lead cannonball’s primary or preferred attack option, but consider the way it has eschewed evasion since we hit it. Having the measure of us, and of our superior beam weapon, it is now rushing in for the kill. And disabling it will not be enough: if we do not destroy its drives soon, we will have to reduce it to junk to be sure of avoiding a collision that would be catastrophic.”
Nezdeh nodded to no one but herself. That is why their tactical maneuver is so odd. Despite their size, they are not ships; they are drones. And the Slaasriithi are willing to spend them freely in order to destroy us. “I believe you are correct, Idrem. And if you are, we must consider—”
“Nezdeh!” interrupted Sehtrek. “The enemy corvette is under full power again. It is coming about.”
“To resume attacking?”
“No: it is tumbling. Facing to the rear. It’s new course would take it behind the planet.”
“Well, that is one less problem,” Tegrese muttered.
Yes, you would see it that way. “No, it has become a larger problem. There are now three ships which can report this attack and we cannot track down all
of them. However, we must destroy the human warcraft first.” And we must strike before it swings behind the world’s far, night-cloaked horizon and makes good its escape. “Tegrese, bring all weapons to bear on the Aboriginal corvette. Given her current course and rate of acceleration, we will have one last firing opportunity before the curve of the atmosphere comes between us.”
At well under a light second, the Lurker’s lasers accessed the new target almost instantly. The rail gun’s firing solution lagged significantly behind, given the Aboriginal vessel’s smaller size and greater agility.
“Laser lock on the enemy corvette has been reacquired,” reported Tegrese.
“Confidence of rail gun solution?” Nezdeh demanded.
“If we use a maximum dispersion submunition, just over fifty percent.”
“Estimate: will longer aim time increase or decrease confidence?”
“Impossible to calculate; the corvette is undertaking evasive maneuvers.”
Nezdeh frowned: shoot now? Or wait to improve the rail gun’s targeting? The time had come to choose between a bad option—I can probably cripple the craft now—or a worse option: to wait for a slightly better shot might mean missing it entirely. It was no choice at all. “Fire all, immediately.”
At this range, the results were quick in coming. The lasers achieved two hits, one of which was fleeting, at best. Moments later, the viewscreen showed that one, maybe two of the rail gun’s flurry of thirty-by-ten centimeter penetrator rods struck the corvette along her ventral surface; small bits of debris fluttered outward from the hull and her drives went dark. She began to tumble slowly as she disappeared over the planetary horizon: a lightless spot disappearing behind an ink-black crescent.
Lying further out from the planet, the Slaasriithi ship was also showing the effect of the penetrator rounds that had followed closely in the wake of the Ktoran missiles. Guttering, oxygen-starved flames flickered about one of the shift-carrier’s main power plants. Gashes in her long, hexagonal cargo sections bled trails of ruin and debris, and several of her combination thermionic-radiator arrays looked like broken windows that opened unto deep space.
Nezdeh leaned back, considered the holosphere. “Tegrese, reacquire laser lock on the lead cannonball. Sehtrek, damage assessment on Slaasriithi ship.”
Sehtrek almost sounded apologetic. “Her power generation has dropped by twenty-five percent, but she is maintaining full thrust.” He paused, looked back at her. “She is tumbling.”
“She is running,” amended Nezdeh with a grim nod. “And why would the Slaasriithi do otherwise? If they can flee and make shift—”
“We must not let them!” Tegrese cried from her station. “They must still break out of orbit. If we resume full acceleration, we can—”
“We can ensure our own destruction at the slim possibility of hers. Look at the plot, Tegrese, and improve your insight. If we resume full acceleration, the cannonballs will have our rear flank. So if we must then constantly tumble—first to attack the shift carrier before us, and then the cannonballs behind us—we will do both jobs poorly. And to what effect? The cannonballs are much faster and nimbler than we are. The shift carrier has the use of her PDF batteries once again. Even if we launched all our missiles in one immense salvo, preceded and followed by as many rail gun submunitions as we might launch, we are unlikely to inflict any damage that would prevent her from making shift. And to launch such an attack, we would need to get closer and concentrate fire on her for several minutes, ignoring the cannonballs. Which will be breathing down our necks. We, not the shift carrier, are much more likely to be destroyed by such a strategy.” Nezdeh moved her stern gaze away from Tegrese before it could become a look of contempt. “Do you have a lock on the lead cannonball, yet?”
“Just this moment, Nezdeh.”
“Fire all lasers.”
“Shall I reacquire rail gun lock on the enemy shift carrier?”
Nezdeh weighed reflex—to strike at her enemy however, whenever, she might—against reason: not many of this salvo of rail gun munitions would avoid the PDF beams that, spalling a fraction of their dense matter upon contact, would thus impart the nudge that would cause the warheads to miss the Slaasriithi by dozens of kilometers. And those few that might get through were increasingly unlikely to inflict decisive damage. “No,” she decided with a sigh. “If we do not have a reasonable chance of rendering the Slaasriithi ship incapable of shift, then we are wasting ammunition. Of which we might have urgent want, later on.”
Ulpreln turned. His voice was careful, respectful. “Can we be so sure that the Slaasriithi ship is still capable of shift? Or that it even has enough anti-matter aboard? Or enough fuel for preacceleration after we destroyed two of their tanks?”
“We may be nearly certain of all those things,” Nezdeh answered. “We have no evidence that we inflicted any damage upon their shift drive, so it would be irresponsible to base any plans on such a hope. Next, they have made only one shift since taking on supplies at the meridiate world they last visited. It is inconceivable that they would not have replenished their antimatter stocks then. Lastly, even with the loss of two fuel tanks—”
“Nezdeh,” Tegrese interrupted. “All lasers have struck the closest cannonball. But—”
Nezdeh looked in the plot, glanced at the sensors and then the viewscreen: although trailing debris, and no longer firing, the cannonball was still boring in on them.
Sehtrek was hoarse. “Range closing, bearing constant.”
“Ulpreln, evasive maneuvers! Time until impact?”
Sehtrek had trouble finding his voice. “Ninety seconds.”
Nezdeh wondered at the cannonball’s design, that it could absorb that kind of punishment and still function. “Tegrese, maintain firing.”
“I am. Continuing to degrade target.”
But not fast enough. “Ulpreln, discontinue evasive. Release bearing control to gunnery station. Tegrese—”
She was already yawing the ship hard to starboard to face the oncoming cannonball; they leaned with the maneuver. “Target telemetry constant. Acquiring lock. Seventy percent confidence, seventy-five—”
Nezdeh interrupted. “At eighty-five percent, commence firing. Single penetrator rods, one every three seconds, maximum power.”
“And—firing!”
The tremendous energies being discharged pulsed the deck under their feet like the slow heart of a great beast. In the plot, thin tines of green jetted toward the onrushing orange globe—
The fifth rod struck the cannonball dead center. Nezdeh almost sighed out her relief—then remembered to look in the plot:
Orange specks tumbled toward the green delta that marked the position of Red Lurker. “Brace for impact!” Nezdeh shouted at the same moment that Sehtrek yelled, “Debris still on intercept vector. Secure for—”
Red Lurker shuddered, pitched, then was righted to her prior orientation by her automatic attitude control system.
Nezdeh had managed to stay in her acceleration couch, glanced at the holosphere. “Sehtrek: damage?”
“Not critical. Report follows:—”
“No time.” Nezdeh jabbed a finger at the plot: the two remaining cannonballs were now speeding directly toward Red Lurker at a separation of over one-hundred and forty degrees and widening quickly. She remembered her war tutor’s wisdom: Evading flanking pursuers is a difficult task that often ends in disaster. “Ulpreln, reverse course, full thrust. Tegrese, acquire aft-facing lock as possible. If you have a shot, take it.”
“I cannot promise hits, Nezdeh.”
“I just want them to take evasive maneuvers and give us more time.”
“They will catch us.” Sehtrek commented. It was not a criticism, just a statement of fact.
“If they are so instructed,” Nezdeh replied, and settled in to watch the pursuit.
At precisely four light seconds from the planet, the two surviving cannonballs began counter-boosting at the same blistering six-gee acceleration they had ma
intained during their pursuit.
“They’re breaking off?” Tegrese wondered.
“Given the distance, I suspect it is an automated protocol,” Nezdeh observed, hearing the iris valve open behind her. “It is consistent with what we know of the Slaasriithi. They intrinsically focus on defense. Beyond a certain limit, and probably influenced by whether or not they are still taking fire, the intelligence or expert system controlling these cannonballs informs them that the fleeing target is no longer a credible threat. And so the cannonballs break off to resume their orbital defense duties. Otherwise, feints could easily pull them too far off their patrol circuits and leave the planet unprotected.”
The voice from the iris valve was Idrem’s. “And I suspect there is another reason for their constant proximity to the world they defend.”
Nezdeh turned. “What do you conjecture, Idrem?” She had come to love hearing her own voice say his name. It was not a sign of which the Progenitors—or her own Breedmothers—would have approved. But she did not care.
“There is the problem of control range,” Idrem answered. He nodded toward the holosphere. “At four light seconds, it is reasonable to suspect that the cannonballs’ reaction time to new events is ten seconds. Four seconds to communicate the event to the planetary defense planner, two seconds for that planner to decide upon and transmit a response, and four more seconds for the response to reach the cannonball. All too often,” he concluded, “that would result in a destroyed cannonball. Even assuming they have excellent on-board expert systems, a battlefield is Fate’s laboratory for crafting novel challenges and unexpected conditions. The Slaasriithi will not be sanguine sending these drone-ships beyond the limit of optimal control.”
“Yes, they must be centrally controlled.” Nezdeh called up a holosphere image from earlier in the battle. “Notice how the two cannonballs were held back while our advance upon the Slaasriithi shift carrier increasingly put us on a predictable trajectory. They did not attack until we were as firmly set on our course as a fly is affixed to flypaper.”
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