Battle of the Ring

by Thorarinn Gunnarsson

  Just over a minute into the attack the Methryn’s corridor turned sharply and began to head at a steep angle inward, and the Challenger began to accelerate quickly as she fell toward the planet. It was Velmeran’s hope that the vast ship would have to open her forward engines for short blasts of braking thrust rather than risk accelerating beyond her limit. Although there was an alternative that would spare her engines that risk.

  Unfortunately, it seemed that Maeken Kea knew exactly what to do. For half a minute the Challenger began to gain speed, then turned abruptly to her right, looping around until she was heading back out. Within another minute she pulled to a stop, braking with field drive aided by the pull of gravity and the resistance of the material of the ring itself pushing against her shields. She corrected her course a final time and settled into a stationary orbit, motionless in respect to the movement of the ring, and turned her full attention to the attacking fighters.

  Coming to a stop in the ring not only solved the Challenger’s problem of drift, it had the unfortunate effect of increasing her advantage tremendously. When she had been in motion, her scanners had been overturned with trying to distinguish real targets from countless metallic rocks shooting past; now they only directed the guns at anything that moved. Three ships were clipped in as many minutes, while the raiders destroyed only nine more guns. The odds remained in the Challenger’s favor, since Velmeran would run out of ships before she ran out of cannons.

  Velmeran was just about to order a retreat when he saw a fighter just about a kilometer ahead take a bad hit that sent it tumbling end over end away from the Fortress. He accelerated and moved to intercept the stricken fighter, for a quick scan showed him that it was drifting without the protection of any shields and unlikely to survive a major impact. He was momentarily unaware of another ship following his own.

  “Captain?” Tregloran asked uncertainly, identifying the pilot of the damaged ship.

  “Hold on a moment, Treg,” Velmeran said as he dived in beside the tumbling fighter and used his auxiliary cannon to blast a small boulder in its path. “Who is behind me?”

  “Steena?”

  “Help keep the path cleared,” he ordered. “Baressa?”

  “Here, Commander.”

  “Order a very hasty retreat and collect the packs just above the ring,” he instructed quickly. “Treg, can you get your ship under control?”

  “I am trying to get auxiliary power,” the younger pilot replied. “The main generator is cycling back into itself, and building slowly to an overload.”

  “Forget it, then,” Velmeran said, and paused as he and Steena concentrated their fire on a larger rock. The boulder shattered at the last moment, and the fighter rolled through the opening as its pieces flew apart. “Treg, can you eject?”

  “Sorry, Captain. The canopy locks are jammed by hydraulic back pressure, and I cannot get the leverage to force it. All I can hope for is auxiliary power.”

  “Be quick about it, then,” Velmeran said. “You are about to come up on a group of very large rocks.”

  That was something of an understatement. The larger pieces of debris, moonlets of several hundred meters to several kilometers across, tended to gather in small groups, drawn together by their own feeble gravity but never touching because of their tremendous static charge. If Tregloran’s ship was on a collision course with one of these massive rocks, nothing short of the Methryn would get it out of the way. And there were no capture ships free.

  Two massive rocks, hundreds of meters across, emerged out of the background haze and grew quickly in size as the stricken fighter hurtled toward a deadly meeting. Tregloran remained blissfully unaware of the situation. He was busy at the keyboard of his on-board computer trying to force a reluctant auxiliary generator to start while trying to keep a damaged generator from exploding.

  Velmeran had been watching the matter closely, however. It soon became apparent that the damaged fighter would catch the outer edge of the second, smaller rock, less than a kilometer behind the first. A small moonlet, six kilometers across, stood unavoidably ten kilometers behind that. Velmeran cautiously moved backward and to one side, using the inner shield of his ship to deflect Tregloran’s slightly.

  Tregloran suddenly found enough power to halt the tumble of his fighter, and for the first time he became aware of the trouble he was in. He passed within a hundred meters of the larger rock, and barely two seconds later skimmed over the surface of the second with only five meters to spare. Velmeran, who continued to push from that side of his ship, barely cleared the surface. Tregloran put all the steering control of his own ship into turning away from the moonlet directly in his path.

  The damaged fighter was sluggish and unresponsive. Velmeran never gave up, all but carrying the wrecked ship on the back of his own, even in the final seconds when it was obvious they had failed. But at the last instant Tregloran gained much more control and cleared the surface of the small moon through a pass between two ragged projections.

  “Captain, can you lead me back to the corridor?” he asked immediately. “My main generator is going to explode at any moment.”

  “You do that and I will back up along my corridor to intercept you,” Valthyrra insisted. “Can you hold out for another three minutes?”

  “I am sure of it,” Tregloran said. “I am holding it by sheer will right now, and it is going to explode seconds after I let go of it.”

  “Long enough for us to pry you loose and throw it overboard,” Valthyrra asserted. “Just pop your wings and slip in on the deck, gears up so that we can get to you.”

  Tregloran’s ship had no drive power, just steering. The power lines of his main generator were burning now, as much as they could in the absence of air, leaving a trail of hot gasses and glowing particles behind the fighter. The Methryn, moving quickly up her own corridor, intercepted them as they reached it and began to accelerate forward to match the speed to that of the fighters approaching from behind.

  Tregloran tripped the explosive bolts in the wings of his fighter as he moved behind the Methryn’s tail, and small, gas-filled pistons inside the downswept wings lifted them into a level position. Valthyrra matched his speed carefully so that he entered the bay at hardly more than a very fast run. Velmeran and Steena accelerated now, passing through the bay and out the forward door. Tregloran allowed his own fighter to travel half the length of the bay before lowering it gently to the deck, leaving a trail of sparks and thick smoke as it slid to a stop only five meters from the forward door.

  Benthoran and an assistant were there immediately, and at the same time a pair of handling arms moved in from overhead to seize the damaged fighter. Flames and sparks shot out of every opening in the shattered hull as burning power lines exploded under the stress of a generator building quickly to an overload. The two crewmembers ripped loose the locked canopy and threw it aside, while Valthyrra gently lifted the fighter barely a centimeter from the floor and began to move it slowly toward the open door. While Benthoran helped the nervous pilot free himself from his ship, other crewmembers aimed a frigid blast of carbon dioxide into the fighter’s engine compartment to cool the faulty generator and delay its explosion.

  At the last moment Benthoran bodily lifted Tregloran out of the cockpit and threw him to safety, then leaped over the fighter’s wing just before it swept him through the containment fields into open space. Valthyrra carried the ship free of the deck, as far out as her handling arms would reach, and gave it a firm push downward. Then she thrust herself forward, barely clearing the fighter before it exploded.

  Benthoran walked over to where Tregloran’s motionless form lay on the deck, under the attentions of three crewmembers who had removed his helmet. “Are you all right?”

  Tregloran glanced up at him. “Just glad to be here.”

  “I can imagine.” Benthoran laughed softly, then gestured impatiently to one side of the bay. “Clear this wreckage from the deck. We have to land the damaged fighters before the packs can com
e in.”

  “Damnation!” Maeken Kea muttered as she fell back into her seat, then immediately pushed herself back up again. “Marenna, give me a report. Are they really gone?”

  “They appear to be,” the ship responded noncommittally. “All fighters have disappeared from scan.”

  That did not mean much; inside this orbital rock quarry, everything disappeared from scan within a few kilometers. But Maeken Kea did not have long to decide. After a moment she launched herself from her seat and began to pace the edge of the central bridge. “Return to the Methryn’s corridor and follow her. Damage report.”

  “I have lost two complete engine clusters, fourteen engines in all, although the loss will not seriously affect my speed even in starflight. I have also lost seventeen cannons.”

  “Keep the units that still have functional generators so that we can have their power on the grid, and pitch the rest overboard,” Donalt Trace said as he joined her. “It occurred to me during the design of this machine that they would shoot up through the damaged units to get at the interior of the ship, so the module sockets have the same quartzite shielding.”

  “Eject the malfunctioning units,” Maeken told the ship.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Maeken Kea resumed her nervous pacing for a moment, then hurried back to her seat to consult the monitors on her console. Trace smiled privately. Except when penned to her seat by accelerations, Maeken fought her battles with a display of physical rage and strength equal to her amazing mental agility.

  “Well done, Captain,” he said, moving to one side of her chair.

  Maeken glanced up at him. “Whatever for? Velmeran called the shots. Brilliant moves, but he left an answer for every problem. This was just to see how well his fighters work against this ship. Now he knows better.”

  “Will he be back?”

  Maeken frowned. “I really suspect that he is just trying to slow us down until the Methryn can be repaired... which indicates that we must be gaining on her. This attack bought him a little time, but not all that much. He has to come back. I just wonder what he plans to do next.”

  -12-

  Velmeran called a meeting in the Methryn’s smallest council room the moment he returned to the ship, and for as soon as the requested members could arrive. This was no problem for most, although Lenna had been trying to sneak in her required eight hours of an activity that Kelvessan did not need, and she had only just started the third. And Dyenlerra had caught Tregloran before he was able to escape; only a direct request from Velmeran was able to get him out of the medical section.

  “Well, I would not exactly call it an exercise in futility,” Velmeran began suddenly. He had been sitting at the table, deep in his own thoughts, waiting for the others to arrive. Lenna had just sat down at the table, propped her chin in one hand, and appeared to go to sleep. He regarded her briefly and continued. “I did have my first good look at the Challenger and I know what she can do. Obviously the Methryn cannot fight her, and the packs are not much good either. I guess that I will have to do it myself. Damage report.”

  When Valthyrra did not respond, he reached over and gave her camera pod a sharp rap. She turned to look at him. “Damage report. What was the final score? I left before the game was over.”

  “You did not miss a thing,” Valthyrra answered. “We have six wrecked fighters and two injured pilots... slightly injured, but they will not be flying again for a few days. You trimmed the Challanger of seventeen guns and fourteen engines. Ordinarily I would say that you came out slightly ahead.”

  “No, not this time,” Velmeran agreed. “Don designed his ship entirely too well, and Maeken Kea is every bit as smart as I was afraid she would be. Not only did my plan to force them to expose their engines fail, but she used it against me.”

  “As you were afraid she might, as I recall,” Mayelna pointed out.

  “Recognizing your mistakes before you make them is hardly an asset, not when you go ahead and make them.” He looked up as Tregloran entered and quietly took an empty place at the table. “Ah, here he is at last, the Kelvessan cannonball. Explain to me one thing. Did you keep your main generator from overloading by keeping the power lines open with a rather surprising exercise of your newly acquired talent?”

  “Why, Treg! I never knew you had it in you,” Consherra exclaimed. She was the self-appointed trainer of psychic talents to the Methryn’s handful of mutant Kelvessan. Tregloran looked insulted.

  “And why not?” he demanded indignantly.

  “And why not?” Valthyrra repeated that question. “It is hardly surprising, when you consider that nearly all the Dvonnan Kelvessan that we have identified so far have been fairly closely related.”

  Everyone, except for the apparently dozing Lenna, regarded her questioningly. As the implications of that became evident, Velmeran and Tregloran turned to look at each other.

  “No, not you two.” Valthyrra laughed. “I have been able to put together a vague history of the Dvonnan Kelvessan by lengthy consultation with the other ships. There seems to be two distinct clans of mutants that arose separately at about the same time some ninety years ago – although I suspect that some link between them has yet to be found – originating from a single parent who was not Dvonna Kelvessa himself.”

  “Both male?” Velmeran asked.

  “That is not surprising,” the ship explained. “It is our system of taking duty mates that has contributed to the mutation. As I said, these clan progenitors are nearly but not quite mutant themselves, but remarkable people and very desirable duty mates, and their unions were often with females like Mayelna and Baressa who are themselves near-mutant, and whose union produced true mutants. Commander Fverran of the Schaylden originated the larger group that gave us Baress and Tregloran, while the smaller but somewhat more talented clan descended through Commander Tryn gave us Velmeran and his sisters Daelyn and Consherra.”

  “Me?” she asked. “Where do I come in?”

  “Do you remember your father?”

  “My father? I barely remember my mother.”

  “Well, I remember that both the Kalvyn and I were at Home Base several months before you were born.”

  “Yes, but...,” Consherra faltered, aware that everyone was staring at her. Even Lenna opened one eye. She frowned, then gave the camera a hard stare. “Do you know this for a fact, or are you just supposing?”

  “Call it an educated guess. Although I could not help but notice that Tryn did remember you.” She turned her camera pod to look at Velmeran. “The two of you should produce some amazing offspring.”

  Lenna blinked sleepily. “Oh hell, we’re just one big, happy family! How does that work out, anyway?”

  “We do not have the problem you must be thinking of,” Mayelna answered, obviously amused with the whole affair. “Close inbreeding can be advantageous for us, as long as we do not make a habit of it.”

  “Well, it’s strictly your affair,” Lenna said as she again propped her head in her bed, closed her eyes and, to the mystification of all present, appeared to go to sleep. They were still staring when she opened her eyes a final time. “I should point out, however, that you are straying from the subject.”

  Velmeran started and stared accusingly at Valthyrra. Everyone present knew from experience that she could not only change the subject but lead it on a merry chase before someone remembered what they were supposed to be talking about. Valthyrra recognized that stare and looked away quickly.

  “Now, it seems to me that we were discussing the problem of one very large ship,” he began, sitting back in his chair. “I have now either tried or rejected every idea I can think of – “

  “Just how certain are you of that?” Consherra insisted suddenly, although she was not talking to Velmeran but to Valthyrra. “Have you actually discussed the matter with Commander Tryn?”

  There was a long moment of silence as everyone, including Lenna, regarded her with a mixture of surprise and mystification.

&
nbsp; “No, I did not,” Valthyrra answered. “It is a possibility, but some other crewmember of the Kalvyn, one of Tryn’s offspring, could have easily been your father.”

  “That is true, of course,” Consherra agreed softly, then noticed that Velmeran was watching her with an expression of forced patience. “Sorry.”

  “I quite forgot what I was saying.”

  “You have tried everything,” Lenna reminded him.

  “Ah, yes.” He shrugged. “The answer is simple. If – “

  “But how can that be?” Consherra interrupted again. “You said that the Dvonnan Kelvessan have been around for about ninety years, and I am going on seventy. I doubt that Commander Tryn had any children old enough to have been my father.”

  “Mutant children, perhaps,” Valthyrra answered. “He could have had nonmutant children from earlier matings who share his ability to sire mutants.”

  “Oh.” Consherra was utterly disappointed, to everyone’s surprise.

  “As you were saying,” Mayelna prompted.

  Velmeran looked up and hastily closed his mouth, which was hanging open. “Yes, I was...”

  “But you obviously think so,” Consherra insisted.

  “Yes, I do,” Valthyrra answered. “Are you not aware of how much you look and act like Velmeran? If you were just a bit taller, you could almost pass for Daelyn.”

  Consherra considered that, felt her small nose, and shrugged. “I guess so. And he did remember me.”

  “But is that any real trick in a race that has selective recall?” Lenna asked. “And besides that, you all look alike to me.”

  “Actually, you do have a point,” Consherra admitted with disappointment.