Norlin saw the pre-discharge corona building in the destroyer just as his finger toggled the shift button. They might have been too close to the moon. The destroyer might have closed at the last moment and come within their shift field. Norlin neither knew nor cared. They had no time to waste.
The Preceptor entered shift space just as a powerful wavefront buffeted them.
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* * *
Chapter Ten
Norlin worked to activate as many robot repair units as possible. From his summary display, he saw that both Barse and Liottey directed their tireless RRUs personally rather than allowing the AI devices to operate on their own. He doubted Liottey's selections for repair were as timely as Barse's, but he did not bother the XO to inquire. Everything needed repair aboard the Preceptor. The shift had damaged many major circuits and most minor ones.
“Give me a playback on the last few seconds before shift,” he ordered Miza. “I want to know what blew up behind us.”
“It wasn't the pursuing alien vessel,” said Sarov. “But something of major proportions did explode. Heavy radiation up and down the spectrum. Lots of gamma. The EMP damaged my combat sensors.”
“Got it,” said Miza.
Norlin ran the playback on the control room vidscreen. The moon hadn't exploded from their shift field, nor had the attacking alien destroyer. The Death Fleet had met unexpected resistance on Murgatroyd and had unleashed a weapon of fearsome power.
The entire planet had been obliterated.
“Analysis,” Norlin ordered in a choked voice. “I want full specs on it before we reach Sutton II. Our report is going to be as complete as we can make it.”
“They didn't leave anything to plunder. The whole damned world is gone,” cried Barse.
“If they can't sneak up on us, they'll use overwhelming force. They must be terrified that we can mount a good defense and destroy them,” said Sarov.
“They're aliens. Who can say how they think?” Chikako Miza's usually cynical tone was muted by shock.
“They destroyed the whole goddamn planet!”
Barse's wail filled the ship. Norlin groped for the words that would soothe her, but he found nothing. How did anyone make the pain of a world's death go away? He had yet to accept Neela Cosarrian's death and make it less grievous. He thought the pain might never fade—how did he ease Barse's over an entire planet?
“I'm getting a danger indication on the exciter chamber, Engineer. I thought you fixed it.”
“It was working fine. The hole was properly patched, Cap'n.”
“Not according to my readouts. Do your job, Barse.”
Norlin heard her curse him and then cut the connection. He rubbed his ear where the rice-grain-sized receiver rested. She knew how to curse and had done a good job of it, missing nothing in his ancestry or personal habits. He hoped his spurious order kept her busy and took her away from her more immediate grief. He wondered if Vasily had meant as much to her as Neela had to him.
“Does everyone have something to do?” He checked the summary on his heads-up display and saw the reds slowly fade to ambers in some cases, blues in others and 100-percent-functional green in the rest. The Preceptor's crew worked hard to get things shipshape again.
“Good,” he said, climbing out of his command chair. He felt as if he had become a part of it—and it had grafted onto him. Stretching, he knew there wasn't a great deal he could do at the moment. He piloted, he navigated, he commanded.
And he was so tired that walking presented problems. He wobbled a bit and supported himself against a bulkhead. No one noticed—they were too engrossed in directing repair units and running computer maintenance programs. Norlin straightened, composed himself and left the bridge, being certain to take his small belt comlink with him. A few hours sleep would revive him enough not to make critical errors. If anyone required him in the meantime, they could summon him on the ‘link.
He collapsed on the pneumatic bed in the spacious captain's quarters and snored loudly within minutes.
* * * *
“It'll have to do,” Norlin said with some regret. He had wanted to bring the Preceptor in to the Sutton II sector base with 100 percents in all systems. Reality had intruded after the second week in shift space. Barse lacked the heavy equipment needed to overhaul the engines and re-tune them. They were almost past tolerance for shift; another few millionths of a radian out of synchronization and the ship would require extensive dry-dock refitting and calibration.
If the misalignment did not destroy them first.
The statistics about shift space disasters were always on his mind. Slipping along the multi-dimensional membranes was closer to art than science, and he was the only artist/scientist aboard allowed to make decisions.
“This isn't the Inspector General's review, Captain,” complained Miza. “We're lucky to be alive and have information. They don't know what the Death Fleet can do.”
“They don't even know of the Death Fleet,” cut in Barse. “Considering how tangled in bureaucracy they are at sector, it might be a year before anyone even reads our report.”
“I'm reporting as far up the chain of command as I can,” said Norlin.
“That's likely to be the door attendant,” Miza said, sneering. “Who's going to listen to a sublieutenant?”
“I'm captain of a line vessel,” Norlin said coldly. He was acutely aware of his low rank and lack of standing. At a sector base, they used sublieutenants to run errands, not trusting them with important tasks. In the eyes of the senior officers, they were hardly more than ensigns who had a year's experience behind them.
He thought back to the incredible odyssey he had undertaken. The research ship duty had been important for investigating dark matter interaction with the higher dimension membranes that determined physical laws. The scout's message about Penum had ripped him away from the dull routine and thrust him into a vortex that refused to stop whirling. From research ship to captain of an Empire Service cruiser via command of Lyman IV's major space station in hours was unprecedented in ES history.
To his credit, he had fought off an alien scoutship and retrieved a weapons module containing their fearsome radiation cannon, had shifted into another battle and won then eluded the Death Fleet's hunter-killers before the total destruction of Murgatroyd. It had been an eventful few weeks.
And then there was Neela. His thoughts kept returning to her frail, emaciated body. Starvation and imprisonment had worn on her, but she should have survived. He had arrived in time. There wasn't any reason for her to have perished—unless it was his fault. Over and over, he blamed himself, even though he knew it was self-destructive folly.
Norlin shook himself out of the reverie and toggled on the laser comlink to base. “ES Cruiser Preceptor requesting emergency docking. Triple-A priority claimed.”
“That's the wrong priority,” cut in Miza. “We're a Nova Class cruiser. Try A-Double-Z.”
“A-Double-Z priority claimed.”
The headphone crackled with static. “What is this, amateurs on tour?”
“No vidshow,” he replied. “Need immediate clearance to dock and to see the sector commandant. Highly classified material, partially analyzed, requires full eyes-only attention.”
“You need full attention—in a whackatorium. You are in a cruiser, but I have it under the command of Captain Dukker. Who the hell are you?”
“Norlin. Dukker is dead. I cannot discuss this matter, even on a laser link.”
“Then go play with yourself. You're seventeenth in the landing sequence.”
“Let me use the radiation cannon to clear a path. That will get their attention,” said Sarov.
“That'll get us blown out of the sky,” snapped Norlin. To the clearance controller, he said, “Let me speak with the duty officer.”
“I'll let you speak with the provost. You need to be locked up before you run loose and hurt yourself.”
The vidscreen flickered once. The
display showed a straight-nosed, stern-looking subcommander. He cleared his throat, glared then asked, “Where is Dukker?”
“Dead by misadventure. He was killed during a mutiny on the Lyman IV station. The entire world is gone.”
“What do you mean gone? If this is a joke, you're all going to spend a hundred years at hard labor on a prison world.”
“We have full documentation of the complete occupation and looting or destruction of three planets. The Empire has lost the Penum, Lyman and Murgatroyd systems.”
“Murgatroyd rebelled,” snorted the sub-commander. “What's this about the other two worlds?”
Norlin macroburst-transmitted the dead scout's data about Penum then added everything they had recorded during orbit around Lyman IV. The summary startled the other officer. His eyes widened, and he licked thin lips with the tip of his tongue.
“These look real. The time marks, the official encoding...”
“They're real. We have further documentation on the Death Fleet and Murgatroyd's complete destruction. The aliens looted Penum and Lyman. They blew the whole damned planet of Murgatroyd apart.”
“Impossible.”
Norlin transmitted it and took cold comfort in the officer's response.
“If I hadn't witnessed it, I would have doubted it was possible, too. Emperor Arian's strategists said it wasn't possible to blow up a world like that. The aliens just proved that it was.”
“You have full coverage?”
“As complete as a cruiser's sensors can furnish.”
The subcommander's face turned into an impassive mask. Norlin saw the man's facial muscles twitch occasionally and guessed that a higher level officer was being summoned.
“I'm Captain Droon,” came a graying officer's introduction. “Dock immediately. We have a tug to facilitate. Report to my office at once upon docking, Captain. You and your entire crew.”
“Yes, sir,” Norlin agreed. He leaned back and wiped a forehead drenched with sweat. “We got through to someone. Does anyone know who he is?”
“Droon? He's station commandant,” supplied Liottey. “An excellent officer. He—”
“Never mind. I'll find out his good points when we report. Everyone have a full memory bar for Captain Droon's analysis. No holding back.” Norlin sat back and rubbed his chin as he thought. He added, “Keep copies aboard ship for later use.” He turned off the intercom and stood.
A tiny beep interrupted his departure for the airlock. He switched to the private circuit with Tia Barse.
“What is it, Engineer?”
“You want to turn over the radiation cannon to them?”
“Of course. It's a vital factor in defeating the Death Fleet. If we nullify their weapons, they're crippled and vulnerable. Even if we can't defend, we can duplicate. It's a hell of an efficient weapon.”
“Hold back on reporting it, Cap'n. Just until you see how the meeting goes. You already asked us to keep copies of our reports and all data.”
Norlin considered the full ramifications of what she said. He had seen the tangles and missed chances and fouled-up decisions made by the Empire Service during his cadet training at the academy. It might be no worse than any other military branch throughout history, but the inadequacies seemed to be magnified by the immense distances between stars.
On the frontier, several hundred light-years from Earth and Emperor Arian's court, procedures were looser and accountability difficult to achieve. Revealing the installed radiation cannon later in no way violated his oath to support the Empire. If anything, it aided the Empire by making his initial presentation simple.
“All right. What do the others say about it?” he asked Barse.
“They agree. All four of us.”
This surprised him. He had expected another round of bitter dispute, especially with Liottey. The foppish executive officer seldom agreed with the others.
He popped the cerampix memory bars from the computer and motioned for Sarov and Miza to precede him off the ship. He wanted a last look at the bridge. Now that they had reached sector headquarters, he would no longer command such a fine ship. With luck and an impressive enough presentation to Captain Droon, he might get a first officer's berth on a smaller vessel. Even an Empire Service destroyer was a major promotion over a research picket ship.
But no destroyer could match the Preceptor.
He turned smartly and marched out. The docking had been done without his supervision, and human inspectors rushed aboard to check out completely the damaged systems. Norlin hesitated when he heard a sharp order recalling the inspectors. They milled around, then left the ship.
“Robot crews only,” came the order. “Captain Droon wants to lead the inspection team himself.”
Norlin smiled wanly. His report wasn't going to be ignored, not when the station commandant attended to it personally.
He and the other four marched in silence, each wrapped in thought. They stopped in front of the commandant's door, and Norlin paused to take a deep, settling breath then touched the acceptor plate. The brightly painted security door slid open with a faint metallic hiss. He marched in stiffly.
“Sublieutenant Norlin reporting as ordered, sir.”
A snickering from the side of the room caused him to sneak a quick sidelong look. A man dressed in a rumpled captain's uniform sat on the floor, long, apelike arms around his drawn-up knees. From the way he shook, he fought to keep from laughing hysterically.
“Memory bars. On the desk.” The deep voice brought Norlin back to the officer seated behind the furniture alluded to. Dashes of distinguished gray in his hair told of long experience. The strong lines of his jaw and the cold eyes made Norlin shiver. Captain Droon was a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed instantly.
Norlin and the others placed their cerampix bars on the desk. Droon scooped them up and dropped them into a viewer. He dumped the contents into the station computer before turning back.
“This has been transmitted to headquarters on-planet. Admiral Bendo has been summoned and will examine the documents personally. I have recom-mended a full staff meeting after he has time to study the data.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Norlin.
“Well done, all of you. Your summaries give me the feeling you've all performed admirably. I'm recommending class-two citations for each of you.”
“Just what we need,” muttered Miza. “Now I can die happy.”
Norlin motioned her to silence. She glared at him.
Another bout of laughter, this time touching demoniacal limits, came from the officer sitting on the floor.
“Sir...?” started Norlin. He had too much to report and had so little time.
“I know you've been under a strain. Thank you for taking Captain Dukker's post. Sorry thing, rebellion. Dukker is recommended for an Empire Star.”
“He gets a decoration and all we get is a checkmark on our records?” blurted Barse.
“Correct, Engineer. I'm sure he died nobly. Dukker was a favorite of Emperor Arian.”
“He was—”
Norlin cut her off before she told Droon her opinion of their former captain.
“Captain Pensky is now in command of the Preceptor. He is a third cousin to the emperor and highly qualified for such a post. Sublieutenant, you will act as advisor until the captain is familiar with the ship.”
Droon motioned to the man sitting on the floor, who scuttled on hands and knees and slithered up the side of the desk like a snake.
“It's mine? You're giving me the cruiser?”
“Go on a shakedown patrol, Pavel. Learn everything you can of the cruiser's operation. We'll need you soon, if this young officer's report on what he calls the Death Fleet is accurate.”
“I can do anything I want with the ship? Oh, this is going to be fun!” Captain Pensky skipped from the room, leaving Norlin staring openmouthed at him.
“Again, officers, I am proud to acknowledge your loyalty. Please aid your new captain in whatever w
ay you can. Dismissed.”
“Captain Droon,” said Norlin. “He is in charge?”
“Pavel? Of course. He is highly regarded by the emperor and his court. You can learn a great deal from him. He's a brilliant tactician and was top-rated by the emperor in last year's Imperial War Games compe-tition.”
“He's genhanced?”
“Of course.” Droon's cold eyes turned colder. “Report back to the Preceptor immediately. You are under Captain Pensky's command. Dismissed.”
* * * *
Norlin stood outside the station commandant's office, unable to speak without choking on his indignation. Gales of insane laughter echoed back along the corridor from the direction of the stairwell leading to the docks.
“And I thought Dukker was a null,” said Miza. She cast a quick glance at Norlin then walked off, head high and arrogant. Liottey and Sarov trailed after her like captive satellites.
“Yeah,” said Barse, “and I thought you were a null, too. Live and learn.” She stalked off, shoulders hunched and eyes fixed on the dull-surfaced composite deck as if she might find something cheering there.
Pier Norlin returned to the Preceptor in a daze. Even as a lower-rank cadet, he had more command ability than Captain Pavel Pensky.
But he wasn't genhanced—or the emperor's favor-ite cousin.
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* * *
Chapter Eleven
“Make certain there are plenty of genius missiles in the magazine,” said the Preceptor's new captain. “I want to shoot things.” Pavel Pensky jumped onto the command chair and put his feet on the bottom pneumatic cushion. He wrapped his impossibly long arms around his doubled knees and rocked forward.
Norlin watched in astonishment. The genhanced officer's balance was nothing less than superb. Norlin wished he could make that claim about any other aspect of the man's behavior. Turning over such a powerful ship to a madman might mean their deaths.
“Full armament, Captain,” announced Sarov. “All munitions loaded.” The burly tactical officer didn't seem uneasy at the irrational way Pensky acted.
Alien Death Fleet [Star Frontiers 1] Page 10
