Across the Great Rift

by Washburn, Scott;

  Thankfully, the clans had not paid too heavily for the priceless edge they had given them. Several hundred of the closest ships had been destroyed by the Venanci, but the Anderans had soon given them enough other things to worry about that they’d left the other ones alone.

  “The formation is starting to come apart, sir,” said Lindquist. “Shannin and Lighting have both taken drive damage and can’t keep up.”

  Crawford nodded. A heavy cruiser and a destroyer lost from his squadron, along with poor Felicity. All he had left now was Indomitable, the light cruiser, Kensington, and the destroyer, Avon; all of them damaged. But they, along with the other ships in the other squadrons who could still stand the pace, should have been more than enough to take care of the three remaining Venanci.

  If they could just catch them in time.

  It was going to be close. The Venanci were burning directly away from them, toward the gate; and with nearly empty tanks, they were lighter and could accelerate faster. But fortunately, one of the battlecruisers seemed to be damaged badly and was only making a little over two gravities, and the other two ships were staying with her. If that didn’t change, they should get back into range about ten thousand kilometers short of the gate. It should be enough.

  It had to be.

  * * * * *

  Tad was very sure the impacts were worse now than before. It was not his imagination. That last one had thrown him against his restraining harness so hard, stars were floating in front of his eyes. He was going to be black and blue all over in the morning—assuming he survived until morning. The last hour had been amazing, thrilling, and utterly terrifying, but he was still alive.

  “My Lord, the enemy destroyer is pulling ahead of the others,” said Lieutenant Jones to Lord Frichette. “It’s doing better than six Gs now.”

  “Communications, connect me with Sir Tosh,” said Frichette. A moment later a monitor lit up showing the face of the commander of Frichette’s fifth squadron. At this distance, the time-delay was scarcely noticeable.

  “Y-yes, My Lord?”

  “Sir Tosh, why haven’t you advanced on the enemy? You received my orders over ten minutes ago.”

  “Uh, yes, I know, My Lord, but there’s been an unavoidable delay getting the ships ready to move. I’m sure we’ll be ready very soon now…”

  “There is a single enemy destroyer closing on the construction site,” said Frichette sharply. “You will engage and destroy it immediately. Is that clear? Immediately.”

  “Of course, My Lord, but… but is it wise for me to leave all these transport ships unguarded? Perhaps I should send the rest of my ships out and remain here to…”

  “Sir Tosh, you are relieved of command.” Frichette touched a button on his console and Briggs’s astonished face vanished. “Get me Captain Harris.” The screen lit up again with the face of another man, someone Tad had never met.

  “My Lord?”

  “Captain, I’ve relieved Mr. Briggs of command. You are now the squadron commander. You will advance and engage the enemy at once. Get cracking, Captain!”

  “Yes, sir! Right away!” The man was already giving orders to get under way before Frichette broke the connection.

  “Well done, sir,” said Lieutenant Jones with a grin.

  “Long overdue, Lieutenant. But damn satisfying nonetheless.”

  “Harris should be able to handle that tin can without any trouble, sir.”

  “Yes, but we need to handle these two battlecruisers. They’re still…” A sudden hammer-blow slammed into the ship. The bulkhead to Tad’s right shuddered and an elaborate crest with the ship’s name broke loose and crashed to the deck. Some of the overhead lights flickered and went out. Tad looked over at the damage control display and saw a new red light glaring on it. The display was covered with them now.

  “As I was saying,” said Frichette, “we need to deal with those last two BCs. Please tell the captain that he’s got a clear shot at their sterns and I’d really appreciate it if he could take advantage of that. Agamemnon’s the only ship left with long range weapons and she has to do the job.”

  “Right away, sir. But we do only have the one turret in action.”

  Tad sat and watched the battle continue as he had for hours now. The ship shuddered and lurched from time to time and the display told them that the battleship was also scoring on the enemy. But so far they had not managed to hit their vulnerable sterns. Apparently the exposed drives were hard to armor and much more susceptible to damage than the heavily armored bows. Of course, nearly all of Agamemnon’s armor had already been stripped away…

  “The crippled BC isn’t even firing at us, sir, and only doing two Gs,” noted Jones after a while. “But that’s allowing the other one to weave back and forth to bring its own weapons to bear on us.”

  “Yes. And the rest of the time it’s firing at Captain Harris’s squadron and they can’t reply at all yet.”

  “That will change pretty soon. They’re almost in range of the destroyer.”

  “Status change!” cried one of the officers. “The BC’s drive has shut off! We got it, sir!” A cheer went up on the bridge. Tad looked and saw that the icon for one of the enemy battlecruisers, the one which had been firing on them, had changed from a triangle to a square and was falling behind the other.

  “Well done,” said Frichette. “That one will be in range of the fleet in a few minutes. All we have to worry about is that last BC now and it can only do two Gs.” The man cracked a small smile. “Let’s go get it gentlemen.”

  * * * * *

  “I am sorry, Lord, but the damage is severe.” said Shiplord Siiracc. “There is no hope of repairing it any time soon. I regret to fail you, but we will cover you from your pursuers as long as we can.”

  “You have done your best, Siiracc,” said Dardas. “If any of us live to bring the tale home, the Queen shall hear of your valor.”

  “My thanks, My Lord, from me and from my crew.”

  “The Maker watch over you.” Dardas cut the connection.

  “Just two of us left now,” said Kolstar. The usually musical tone in his voice was completely absent.

  “And soon to be only one. The complete inactivity of the six enemy warships near the construction site led me to hope that they were inoperable. That is why I sent Bogatyr on ahead. It could start the destruction while we held off the pursuers. But now I see those other enemy ships moving out to meet them. It won’t last long.”

  “Then what shall we do?”

  “Our primary mission has failed. I will send orders to the troop transports to escape and return home as best they can. As for us… we shall do our duty.”

  * * * * *

  “Kill the bastard, dammit!” snarled Crawford as the ship shuddered from a hit.

  “We’re trying, Sir Charles,” said Lindquist, his voice strained with the acceleration. “The Venanci fight well.”

  Yes they did, Crawford had to admit that. Not one of the enemy ships had even tried to surrender. Not even the totally helpless ones. This one, the crippled battlecruiser, was not helpless. Its drive was out, but it still had weapons, and it was using them to the last. As the pursuing Anderans swept down on it, it had concentrated its long-range fire on Agamemnon, but now it was just firing at anything it could hit. The fact that it was receiving ten-times as much fire as it was putting out did not seem to matter to them. But not even the greatest courage could prevail in the face of this sort of firepower. The fleet’s massed lasers tore and gouged and shredded. Armor and bulkheads flashed to vapor and exploded under the hellish concentration of photons. Second by second, the ship was smashed to junk. After two minutes of this, there was no more fire coming from the Venanci, but the pounding went on for another sixty seconds until the range grew too long and the madly accelerating Anderans left it behind. Crawford doubted that there was anyone left alive on board.

  “Damn fools,” muttered Crawford. “Just what the hell did that prove?”

  Lindquist d
idn’t answer, but he indicated the tactical display with a twitch of his finger—all that could be managed with these Gs. “Captain Harris’s squadron has taken out the destroyer, sir.”

  “Good,” grunted Crawford in relief. “Just one more to go and we’ll be catching up with them in plenty of time. Plenty of time.”

  * * * * *

  “Contact lost with Princess Kars, Lord,” announced the com-tech. “Nothing from Bogatyr, either.”

  “Lord, the enemy fleet will be in manual range in eight minutes,” said the sensor-tech. “The enemy battleship is no longer firing.”

  “Siiracc didn’t die for nothing, it seems,” said Dardas. “He pulled their last long-range fang.”

  “Little good it will do us,” said Kolstar. “The rest of them will be in range long before we can close on the gate site. You must give this up and escape, Squadronlord.”

  Dardas snorted a laugh. “There is no escape, Purifier. Our tanks are nearly dry. Even if we veer off, they will still run us down.”

  “But… but then there is only one alternative…”

  “Indeed there is, Purifier!” snapped Dardas, surging to his feet. His servants were instantly at his side, the droid buckled on his sword. “Communications! Transmit our log and sensor records to the transports and confirm the order to escape. Helmsman, you will transfer operations to auxiliary control and accompany me there.” He turned and strode from his bridge, trailed by the servants, the helmsman, and the sputtering purifier.

  “What is your plan, Dardas?” demanded Kolstar as they walked. He ignored him. Auxiliary control was only a hundred meters away and, fortunately, none of the damage to the ship had pierced the main access corridor, so the trip took less than a minute with Dardas’s long strides. As he entered, his first officer vacated the command chair with a bow, but he did not sit down. The prime helmsman swapped places with his own number two. Just as on the main bridge, access panels were open and circuit modules littered the deck. Technicians were still at work. But a quick glance told him that all essential systems—at least those essential for his needs—were operational.

  At least he hoped so. There was one he needed to check.

  He walked over to a blank section of the bulkhead and placed his hand flat against it. Hidden scanners confirmed his palm print and then disassembled a DNA string in a randomly chosen skin cell to confirm his identity. Satisfied, a portion of the panel slid away revealing a simple set of controls. He repeated the identification procedure and sighed in relief as the controls came to life.

  “What is that?” said Kolstar, coming close.

  “The controls for the ship’s scuttling charge. I am glad to see it is still operational.”

  “Scuttling charge…?”

  “To prevent capture. Some commanders are satisfied with just a small charge, but I’ve always favored a large one. Twenty megatons.”

  “You intend to blow us up?”

  “Us—and as many of the enemy as can be arranged. They’ll be on us in just a few minutes. Helm, I want the enemy battleship. You know what to do?”

  “Yes, Lord, you can count on me.”

  “But this is insane!” cried Kolstar. “We must surrender!”

  “You would have us fall alive into the enemy’s hands, Purifier? Even now the Queen can deny knowledge of our actions to the Anderans. She can claim we were a rogue operation and avoid a pointless war if that be her wish. But if we are captured and questioned… No, our duty to the Queen is clear.”

  “The Queen!” spat Kolstar. “Minister Florat warned against this expedition, but she would not listen! Dardas, I am ordering you to surrender this ship! In the name of Florat and the Council of Purity!”

  “I take my orders from the Queen. Not from Florat, not from the Council, and certainly not from you. Go make your peace with the Maker, Kolstar, and bother me no more.”

  “Lord, the enemy is nearly in range,” said his executive officer.

  “Cut the drive and bring us about. Helm, standby for my order.”

  “Yes, Lord.”

  “No! I forbid it!” shouted Kolstar. “All of you, do nothing! Communications, signal the Anderans and tell them we surrender!”

  No one in auxiliary control moved, except for the helmsman who was carrying out his last order.

  “Fools, I’ll not have my bloodline sacrificed for nothing!” Kolstar’s termination rod was suddenly in his hands and he lunged at Dardas. His fourth level enhancements gave him great speed that even Dardas was caught by surprise.

  But his two servants were not. The biological one only had second level enhancements, but they were devoted entirely to his service and protection. The mechanical one had been similarly programmed. The blow meant for Dardas found the biological servant instead. The servant jerked as the lethal energy surged through it and it fell to the deck dead. Kolstar tried to thrust past the falling corpse to get at Dardas, but the droid was now in the way and he had to waste an instant to dispatch that one with another deadly charge.

  The sacrifice gave Dardas time to draw his sword and stand ready. His sword, a family heirloom which no living man but him was permitted to touch, was a relic from before the Collapse. It was over two thousand years old, but still as deadly as ever. At his touch, the blade was wreathed in blue fire. The fire met Kolstar’s rod and sliced through it like a twig. Dardas, prepared, looked away as the rod’s power cells discharged with a great flash, but Kolstar was dazzled. In that instant, Dardar took a step forward and swept off Kolstar’s head with the backstroke. The purifier tumbled to the deck in two pieces.

  Dardas sheathed his sword and stared at his crew. None of them had moved. A moment later, the ship shuddered as the first of the enemy fire reached it. “Helm, are you ready?”

  “Ready at your command, Lord. Intercept course is plotted.”

  “Range to the battleship is one thousand nine hundred kilometers, Lord, closing velocity is twenty-two KPS.”

  His ship had eighty-six seconds to live. Hardly enough time to say farewell properly. Still, the transports would see what had happened. They would carry the tale home. His genetic code and those of his crew would be honored and passed on. Sadly, there was no time to send word of Kolstar’s failure at the end, so it was likely that his would be as well. It is the nature of things that imperfections will slip through. But we do what we can. He put his hand on the scuttling control. The ship was shaking more violently.

  “All stations, standby! Duty calls us! Glory to the Queen! Helm, execute!”

  * * * * *

  “Sir, they’re coming right at us!” exclaimed Lieutenant Jones. Tad’s eyes flicked to the navigation display and saw that there was a red flashing line drawn between the enemy ship and Agamemnon. A collision warning blinked next to it.

  “Trying to ram,” snarled Frichette. “Inform the captain and advise maximum evasive action.”

  But the captain had already seen the danger and responded. The thrust, which had eased off as they neared weapons range, came back full force, only a fraction of a second after the acceleration alarm sounded. Tad was slammed back in his couch and his vision tinged red.

  There was nothing anyone could do. Weapons from the fleet flayed the Venanci ship, but with its drive turned away from them, there was little hope of a death-blow in time. It was all in the hands of the two helmsmen; one, apparently determined to die, and the other desperate to live. Tad gripped the arms of his chair, watching the icons on the display get nearer and nearer, and wished he’d stayed home.

  If everything had been equal there was no telling which helmsman would have prevailed, but fortunately, everything was not equal. Agamemnon, battered though she was, could still make nearly five Gs, while the Venanci battlecruiser could do little better than two. Even though the relative vectors would bring the ships right by each other, Agamemnon could zig faster than the Venanci could possibly zag. Still, it was going to be close, very close…

  “I think we’re clear, sir!” squeaked Jones. “
They should pass a couple of kilometers astern of us and they can’t possibly…” The icon representing the Venanci ship suddenly turned into a white circle.

  A moment later, the hardest blow of all slammed into Tad and his vision went from red to black.

  The Venanci scuttling charge detonated when it was five kilometers away from Agamemnon. A nuclear bomb, by itself, out in space, will not do a great deal of damage. With no air to transmit the blast effects, it must be very close to its target. Much closer than five kilometers, even for a twenty megaton bomb.

  Unless the bomb happens to have a major warship wrapped around it.

  The battecruiser was blown to bits and those bits flung away at high speed. One bit, perhaps something especially solid, like part of the reactor, collided with Agamemnon just slightly aft of her midpoint. Several thousand tons of semi-molten junk crashed through the ship at over twenty kilometers per second, shearing through armor, bulkheads, and her keel frame like they were paper. Had she been coasting it might not have been a fatal blow, but her engines were still putting out five gravities and that doomed her. With half her supporting structure sheared away, the remainder could not handle the strain and it buckled and gave way before anyone could kill the drive. The ship broke in two, the engineering sections zipping crazily away for a few second before the thrust died, the bow section tumbling slowly amidst a cloud of debris.

  Tad groaned as he slowly regained his senses. He hurt in a lot of places and the flag bridge seemed to be sideways. After a while he realized that it was he who was sideways, halfway torn out of his chair by whatever had happened. He pulled himself upright and then realized that the gravity was off, so ‘upright’ actually meant nothing. Other people were starting to move and there were a few cries of pain. Nearly all of the displays were blank.