“No need, Cap'n. They already ran the specs on the new drive alignment for us. It's in the computer.”
“Do it anyway.” He didn't trust them. Rebels need not be violent or malicious people—while on Sutton he had met several who carried diplomatic credentials. The only point of disagreement he had found lay in how they wanted to be governed. They thought they could do better at a planetary level than Emperor Arian did from the Crystal Throne on Earth.
Sometimes, in the dark of night and deep in his heart, Norlin almost agreed. The genhanced corps surrounding the emperor often seemed cruel and capricious. Overall, though, the Empire Service existed to serve the populace and did a good job, considering the vast distances between planets.
His frown deepened when he thought of the threat facing all humanity. Worlds independent and isolated from each other had little chance of opposing the aliens. Even with the full might of the Empire Service turned against the invaders, he wasn't sure how effective they'd be. But united they had a better chance than any single planet facing the dark metal horde. That much was apparent from the destruction of both Penum and Lyman.
“Barse, Sarov,” he said, a sudden thought striking him. “Have you examined the captured weapons module?”
“I have,” Mitri Sarov said. “It appears functional.”
“How difficult would it be to install in place of the forward lasartillery?” Norlin stared at the gaping voids where his laser cannon had been ripped out.
The tactical officer and the engineer argued for several minutes, then came to a grudging agreement about power connections, control and possible chance for disaster.
“The damned thing will blow up on us,” insisted Barse. “But I'll wire it in anyway. You're a fool, Cap'n. You'll let that skin-headed son of a bitch talk you into using it, just to see what it'll do.”
“I have an adequate amount of hair on my head,” Sarov protested angrily.
Norlin ordered them to the stations. He continued to run full systems checks while Barse's RRUs installed the captured alien radiation cannon.
When a split image appeared in his HUD, he knew Barse had finished roughing in the weapon mount.
“Murgatroyd is demanding our departure. They are experiencing increasing unrest due to our presence,” Miza reported. “I say nuke them and to hell with the whole rebel lot.”
“Your opinion is noted and rejected, Subcom-mander,” Norlin said. He didn't want Barse starting another argument. Murgatroyd was her home. Even though they all ought to be loyal to Emperor Arian and the Empire Service, he knew better than to let one officer insult another's home world.
“All systems are operating, most at minimum acceptable levels,” he announced. “Let's oblige our hosts and get into space. Prepare for undocking from Murgatroyd station.”
He watched the summary displays parade by in his HUD, taking some satisfaction that the flickering had been repaired, appreciating how well the crew worked together when they weren't arguing.
“Excellent,” he said. “Course laid in for Sutton II. Set alarm to sound when we are at a distance acceptable for using shift engines.”
They had just spiralled out and applied power to the ion engines to get up to shift speed when Miza and Sarov both yelled for his attention.
“Report in summary.” He watched the data jerk across his field of vision from both officers.
“We've got six missiles incoming,” barked the tactical officer.
“We've got range and position on the ship launching them.”
“Evasive action,” he ordered. Norlin shuddered as the Preceptor dodged and cast out defensive ECM missiles to confuse or intercept the six missiles seeking them. With the forward lasartillery gone, their defensive capacity was diminished significantly.
“What do we do, Cap'n?” asked Barse. “Do we run or fight?”
Norlin leaned back in the command chair and studied the readouts before making a decision. He reached out and touched a single button.
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* * *
Chapter Nine
“Cap'n, you've killed power to the engines. I need it to run!” shrieked Barse. Norlin had never heard the woman so agitated.
“Prepare the alien radiation cannon for use,” he ordered. “Full power to it, Engineer. Is it properly patched into the weapons computer, Tactical Officer?”
“Aye, Captain,” came Sarov's bull-throated reply. “I put an interpreter circuit online to translate voltage levels. I think I have them matched.” Sarov waited for a moment, then asked, “You're not trusting the damned alien popgun, are you?”
“I am.” Pier Norlin had looked at the readouts from the weapons computer and the main systems. The Preceptor had power enough to shift but lacked the peak energy requirements for battle. The sensors reported the rebel craft to be bristling with laser turrets. Some might be for show, but he thought otherwise. The approaching flight of genius missiles told him the rebel craft was armed to the teeth and meant to cripple rather than destroy.
They wanted salvage, and the cruiser's crew would only be a hindrance to efficient looting.
“They think we blew the main power bus,” reported Miza. “I've tapped into their intercom—it isn't pro-perly shielded. They're saying something about sabotage in dock.”
“I'll have Vasily's balls for more than...” Barse's voice trailed off as she fumed. Norlin heard the engineer ripping into recently repaired circuits. She would find the sabotage device quickly enough now that she looked. He left her to the chore. He had a ship to defend.
“Miza, are they suspicious?”
“They think their gizmo did us in.”
“Prepare the alien cannon. Dead on, no warning, no quarter.” The command burned his tongue, but this wasn't a civil engagement. This was war. Worse, it was sabotage and ambush.
Norlin wanted to scream in the silence that descended on the control room. No one moved, no one breathed. The silence made him start to mutter to himself to break it.
Then all hell broke loose.
Norlin blanked his summary displays except for the weapons computer. He gasped when he saw the huge number of burned-out circuits. Then the high-pitched screech started.
“Air leak. We've got a punctured hull. Liottey, tend to it. Now, dammit, do it now!” Norlin monitored the pressure drop and saw it was minor. He isolated it in the forward mounts where the lasartillery had been. Firing the radiation cannon had cracked portions of the composite material hull—nothing serious. It could be patched with glue.
“Report, all stations!” he barked.
Before the first status report came in, the lights went off.
“What happened?” he demanded. He ripped off his dead HUD and tossed it aside. From behind him, in the control room, he heard Miza and Sarov cursing as they worked. Not even the emergency lighting had come on. “Power to the lighting. Do it, Liottey.”
“Done, Captain.” And it was.
The emergency lights were designed to fill the bridge with harsh white light. They cast wan beams. Since that was far from the proper illumination level, Norlin knew their batteries were run down. He would have a talk with the XO about this. Later.
“Getting a trickle of power back. Barse is manually switching.”
“Was it the rebel's sabotage device that did it?”
“It was an aftereffect of the radiation cannon,” came Sarov's surprising answer. “It set up a field, sent the beam, then a secondary field sucked up power to recharge. All power, even from batteries and fuel cells not connected to it. We hadn't expected it to cycle like that.”
“Get us back to power. Liottey, how bad is the rupture in the hull?”
“Almost fixed, Captain Norlin,” came the XO's thin voice. “A robot repair unit is working now. It's lucky the RRUs don't need light to work. I can hardly see where I am.”
“I'll send you a flashlight and a pair of hands,” grumbled Norlin. “Maybe you can find your—”
“Cap'n, pow
er's coming back at half-level.”
“Thanks, Engineer.”
Norlin slid the command visor back on and checked the summary displays. The ship had been dead in space for several minutes, but it hadn't mattered. The alien's radiation cannon had been centered on the rebel ship. It now drifted, a lifeless husk, across the Murgatroyd system.
“It's dead,” came Miza's appraisal. “All internals are gone. The radiation cooked ‘em alive, the sons of bitches. That'll teach the rebels to run a sneak attack on the Preceptor!”
“Enough,” he snapped.
Barse had grown up on Murgatroyd. Friends might have been aboard the attacking ship. He didn't need dissension among his crew when they were faced with monumental problems.
He watched in the HUD as his crew worked to restore order. Less than fifteen minutes after the power level had come back to three-quarters, Miza exclaimed, “I'll be sucked into a black hole. They're on top of us!”
“The rebel ship? You said it was dead.”
“Not the rebel. It's history. The aliens. A scoutship just shifted into the system. I think it's locked onto us. It's vectoring in on us, using a least-time orbit. They want us bad. They're not making any attempt at stealth approach.”
Norlin popped up Miza's full display and saw the readouts. Her personality might be closer to a viper than a human, but Chikako Miza knew her job. She had spotted the alien scout seconds after it shifted out of FTL drive.
“Can we hide behind the rebel ship?” he asked. “Grapple and drift, as if we were part of it?”
“No good,” came Sarov's evaluation. “The scout has us dead in its sights. We can't do anything clever now without it jumping down our throats.”
“We're still in the Murgatroyd gravitational well,” said Miza. “Any chance we can get back to the station? This is as much their problem as ours.”
Norlin nodded. An alien scout meant others followed. The Death Fleet cared little which world it struck; to it, human politics were irrelevant. A rebel planet meant as much in the way of plunder as a world firmly supporting Emperor Arian.
He tried a lasercom back to Murgatroyd and got only static. A quick check showed he lacked the comlink power required to drive a beam through the alien's interference.
“It's being mistaken for natural static,” said Miza. “We can send back a message packet.”
“Forget it. Murgatroyd has to solve its own problems. It won't do us any good dying for them. We've got to get the warning to Sutton II and the Empire Service.”
“The alien is on an intercept course. They either have extremely sensitive detectors or they're homing on a beacon.”
“The radiation cannon?” Norlin had never considered the possibility that the aliens keyed each weapons module to a ship and could track any wayward pieces. “Liottey, check out the cannon for transmitters. The alien is tracking us too easily.”
He didn't wait for his exec officer's whining voice to complain about the chore interfering with his other duties. He switched to Miza's display and studied the surrounding region of the Murgatroyd system. They hadn't blasted long enough to get far from the main planet.
“Tia, how many moons around Murgatroyd?”
“Two, Cap'n. Both are small but big enough to put down on if you're careful.”
“I'm more desperate than careful. Prepare for maneuvering. We're going to put some rock between us and the alien and see if they are homing on their cannon.”
The Preceptor swung about as he gingerly applied power to the jets. The ship responded poorly; Norlin fought it all the way down to a hard landing on the surface of the outermost moon. He cringed when he saw the number of new danger indicator lights flaring in front of him. He toggled the problems over to Liottey.
His full attention turned to signals from a small sensor he had left along their flight path. Using it, he monitored the progress of the alien scoutship.
“It might have been bad luck on our part being between shift-out and Murgatroyd,” ventured Miza. “The scout isn't paying us much attention.”
Norlin checked the progress of the repair work. The RRUs toiled to fix the hull, to repair the short-circuited equipment, to do a dozen things necessary for a successful and reasonably safe shift. In its present condition, the Preceptor was neither fight nor flight worthy.
“Sarov, prepare a few missiles. We'll have to use them instead of the radiation cannon. We can't get back to power fast enough, no matter how effective the device is.”
“Permission to launch a nuke at Murgatroyd, Captain,” requested Sarov.
"What?" came Barse's aggrieved response. “What's that bald son of a bitch think he's doing? He can't fire on them. That was a pirate ship. The people on Murgatroyd or the station had nothing to do with it.”
“Quiet down,” Norlin ordered. Even knowing there had been sabotage done at Murgatroyd station to set them up for the attack did not blip on her convictions. She was loyal to Murgatroyd and ignored evidence.
The engineer continued her tirade against Sarov, his ancestors and their scurrilous, disgusting personal habits.
“Explain,” he ordered his tactical officer as he muted Barse's vituperation to a low, angry buzz.
“They're alert for such an attack. They'll pick up the incoming missile and respond to destroy it. They'll also look for the source. This is the only way I can think to get their attention focused on the alien scoutship.”
“And the Death Fleet. Murgatroyd's cometary detectors might be circumvented by now,” said Norlin. His mind raced. Launching an attack on the planet had other advantages. It might get the alien scout's attention and force it to turn tail and run.
“Launch,” he ordered. He switched to Barse's circuit and worked to calm her, explaining his line of reasoning. She quieted, but he knew her anger had not abated.
“It's not right. People could die.”
“If a few die now, it might save the entire world. You saw what the Death Fleet did to Lyman IV.” Norlin's throat tightened as he thought of Neela.
“You might be right,” Barse conceded with ill-grace.
“It's Sarov's idea. I only approved it. Tia,” he said in a lower voice. “The Preceptor is a crew. We're all working for the same thing. None of us wants to see the aliens wash over humanity like a tidal wave.”
The ship hummed as the missile launched along the magnetic rails. Norlin shifted to Miza's readouts and watched the nuke race away. He was more interested in the scoutship's response than in Murgatroyd's reaction.
“That spooked them,” he said. “The scout is spinning around and getting out of here. Put a tracer on it, Miza. I don't want it to slip off where we can't find it.”
“Captain, I found a transmission device in the cannon. What should I do with it?”
“Any booby trap on it?”
“I don't think so.”
“Be sure, then remove the device and destroy it.”
“Wait, Captain. Let me have it. We might learn more about their com capability.”
“Very well. Give it to Miza after you're sure it's not dangerous. Are the air leaks fixed?”
“Yes, sir. All done. I used—”
He cut off Liottey's long-winded description of how he had repaired the breached hull. The details mattered less than knowing the job had been completed. Norlin had too many other things on his mind to care a pinch of space dust about glues and patches.
He blinked, got a new view on the HUD and saw their missile enter the Murgatroyd detection net. Indicators flashed at the clumsy attack and interception came quickly.
“Can we get a comlink with Murgatroyd now?” he asked Miza.
“Negative, Captain. The scout is still blanketing us. I wish I knew how they did it. All channels are garbled. We might as well be in the middle of a major proton storm.”
“Send a warning packet to Murgatroyd,” he ordered Sarov. “Give them the details on our sensor readings on the scout.”
“Major shift-out,” interrupted Miza. “Hund
reds—thousands! The Death Fleet is in the system.”
Norlin slumped. He picked up more details of the Murgatroyd defensive system. They had been alerted by the single missile. Otherwise, they would have been caught as unaware as the Penum system and Lyman IV, for all the advance knowledge of the Death Fleet the latter had been given.
He didn't need Miza to tell him the aliens’ attack came immediately.
“It's all elbows and assholes down there,” said Barse. “I've got us up to ninety percent power.”
“What about the radiation cannon?”
“Can't use it, Cap'n. Not unless you want to cripple us permanently. I've got to run a second power line to it for its recharge cycle. Otherwise, it'll use a secondary energy field to suck us drier than—”
“Thank you, Engineer.”
Norlin prayed that enough systems worked well enough to allow them to shift. If they remained on the moon that had briefly given them shelter, they would become easy prey for the Death Fleet's heavy radiation cannon. Their only chance for survival now was to sneak off.
“Murgatroyd is responding. They've launched deep space interceptors. Monitoring their com, Captain. It's interesting. What to snoop in?”
Norlin keyed into the rebel world's internal communication. A brief smile crossed his lips. They thought the Empire Service attacked. The first missile had been identified as ES make and this mobilized their defense quickly. Only time would tell if they fought with enough fervor and strength to hold back the black tide of alien death.
“Got one on us. A destroyer from its size.”
“Shift. Can we shift?” he asked.
“Deploying doggo missiles in addition to actives. We can hold it at bay for a few minutes. That ought to be long enough to get us far enough away from the moon for a shift.”
Norlin put the Preceptor on a vector that made it difficult for the destroyer to center its radiation cannon on the fleeing ship. He had learned enough of the weapons configurations to know where their best chance lay.
“We can't shift, Captain. Too many backup systems are down.”
“Hit the primary systems and give me a prayer. We're leaving Murgatroyd now.”
Alien Death Fleet [Star Frontiers 1] Page 9
