“If you would come with me, please,” he said. “I’ve got some questions for both of you.”
V.
WARHAMMER: GALCEN NEARSPACE GALCEN: THE RETREAT
ALARMS WERE sounding all over the ’Hammer as Jessan ran for the dorsal gun bubble and belted himself in. He double-checked the fasteners and made sure that everything in the bubble was either strapped down or sealed tight, including the flaps on his pockets. Give the captain’s penchant for high-g, hell-on-the-engines shiphandling, the last thing her gunners needed was a lot of miscellaneous junk floating around the bubbles and getting in the way.
He picked up the earphone link to the intraship comms and put it on. “Gun One in place.”
Over the headset, he heard LeSoit coming in like an echo. “Gun Two in place.”
“All guns, stand by,” came the captain’s voice over the link from the cockpit. “Commencing high-speed realspace run. Ships are most vulnerable at dropout—they can’t have shields up in hyper. So I’m going to be a reception committee.”
In Warhammer’s cockpit, Beka fed more power to the realspace engines. Good thing it was the hyperdrives that heated up on me, she thought. I wouldn’t dare push the ’Hammer like this if the realspace engines had been the ones to go bad.
All over the viewscreen and the sensor monitors, Mage warships were still dropping out of hyper—small raider ships, heavy cruisers and destroyers, enormous black-hulled dreadnoughts shedding fighter craft as they came. An alarm pipped: one of the hundreds of warships had fire-control up and was illuminating Warhammer. Beka pushed up the shield on the engaged side and hoped for the best.
The pattern-recognition systems on the system-nav package beeped and chittered. The comps had been working on Galcenian data ever since she’d dropped out of hyper, when she’d keyed in Prime Base and asked the comp to locate it for her. The noises from the console meant that the system had come up with a Found mark.
Beka picked up the lightspeed comm link, dialed in the Inspace frequency, and pushed the output power to max.
I hope they’re listening down there, she thought. Because this is all the warning they’re going to get.
“All stations, all stations,” she said. “This is RMV Warhammer. This is not a drill. Mage warships are in the system. I say again, Mage warships are in the system. Space attack Galcen.”
The lightspeed transmissions on the frequency scanner suddenly picked up. She couldn’t follow Space Force code-talk, and lots of transmissions in the particular squeak of scrambled, enciphered, and high-speed compression signals were suddenly coming from the scanners.
Jessan’s voice came over the intraship link. “Captain—targets, many, close, not transmitting any identification.”
“Take them under fire.”
A pulse weapon sent colored light cascading across space ahead of her as she turned Warhammer back toward the area where Mage warcraft were still dropping out of hyper. The sensor monitor on the console beeped at her: more ships were coming through outside of visual range.
How many years were the Mages putting this fleet together and we didn’t even know it? she wondered. If I ever find the guy who was passing them Space Force parts and plans, I swear I’ll kill him myself and send Dadda his head in a basket.
“Lock on,” she said aloud. “Fire at will.”
“Locked on and firing,” Jessan replied over the link. As usual in the midst of action, his voice was light and almost casual. “But as far as I can see, we’re the only good guys around. You aren’t planning to take on the entire Mage warfleet single-handed, are you?”
“That’s an idea,” Beka replied, keeping a wary eye on the readings from the other ships and spiraling to break sensor lock. There was a lot of stuff out there, and none of it friendly. “But I do want to live past the next twenty minutes—there’s somebody in the Space Force I want to track down and kill for this.”
“Sorry,” said Jessan. “That one’s mine.”
“Fair enough. Right now, though, we need something that’ll mark the Mages’ drop point for local defense forces. And firing our energy weapons will do it.”
“You do realize that’s dangerous.”
“The thought had crossed my mind,” she told him. The fire-control alarm sounded again. “Lock on.”
Energy beams darted forth from Number One Gun, firing at a Mage raiding craft coming past on the end of a dropout. A plume of gases feathered out from the contact as the hit broached at least one of the raider’s compartments to vacuum.
“Good shot,” came LeSoit’s voice from Number Two, just before the ventral gun struck the raider in turn. “But I wish we had some missiles.”
“If we live through this I’ll buy you one for a souvenir,” promised Beka. “Make do with what you’ve got back there—damage or cripple as many as you can, and keep them from getting too close.”
From one of the airless planets in the Galcen system, a pillar of fire rose up into the void, striking and shattering one of the Magebuilt dreadnoughts. A moment later, a yellow explosion flowered on the planet’s surface.
“Missile launch, friendly,” said Jessan over the link. “Looks like local defense is taking over.”
Beka checked the status boards. “Sensors show a Republic dreadnought heading this way, dropping off fighters as she comes; and there’s another one maneuvering into position between the Mages and Galcen. Only two, though. That’s not enough.”
By now the Galcenian outer defense beam-weapons were tracing across the starfield with red and yellow fire. More explosions bubbled out in the vacuum. And still the Mage warships kept dropping out of hyper in wave after wave, while the warships already in the system drove inward toward Galcen.
“I’ve marked two contacts on my screen,” commented LeSoit from the Number Two gun bubble. “You see them?”
“I have them locked on,” Beka said. “What about them?”
“They’re sure heading somewhere in a hell of a hurry.”
“I noticed that,” she said. “I’m going to follow them and see what they’re after.”
She pushed in some down vector to pass astern of a fighter crossing her path, and set the ’Hammer’s inertial guidance system to remember the way to Prime. “Come on, baby, show me some of that speed.”
Over the intraship link, she could hear LeSoit and Jessan talking back and forth between the gun bubbles: “One crossing to your side.” … “Got him.” … “Nice work.”
The two of them sounded friendlier now than they ever had; Beka shook her head and turned her attention forward. Up ahead of the foremost Mages, there was something … a distortion, a waveriness … against the disk of Galcen in the magnified visual repeater.
Where have I seen that before? Now I remember—the Prof had his old Magebuilt scoutcraft under a some kind of cloak, back when we were sneaking into Darvell.
She clicked on the intraship link. “They’re using hidden vessels—the first wave is already inside Galcen’s local defense screen. I’m going to go check it out.”
“Do you have a probable course on them?” Jessan asked over the link.
She squinted sidelong at the navicomp; most of her attention was reserved for the shield-integrity and engine-function displays. “Wait one … Galcen Prime. They’re going to skim the atmosphere.”
“What’s up there?”
“Could be planning to take out the planetary-defense satellites.”
As she spoke, a dozen or more lights on the cockpit console flashed orange. The fire-control alarm started pipping again, followed a second later by the wail of another, louder alarm.
“Lock on,” said Beka. “Homers inbound.”
She hit a switch on the console. “Commence active jamming. Nyls, Ignac’—fire on homers, but only on homers, and only if it looks like they’re going to hit us. I don’t want those guys in the cloaks to see me coming up on them.”
“Fire on homers, aye,” said Jessan, and LeSoit echoed him, “Fire on homers.”
She laughed under her breath—Idiots, the both of them!—and kept her eye on the sensor data. Soon enough, the target of the cloaked ships made itself clear, and she cursed aloud.
“What’s up, Captain?” asked Jessan.
“Somebody on the Mages’ side really thinks ahead,” she told him. “Prime and South Polar just launched courier vessels—every one they’ve got, from the looks of it. The Republic’s heavy ships are going to have to stay and fight, but the couriers can run for hyper and get away to spread the word. If those cloaked ships don’t hit them first.”
Beka fed coordinates from the navicomps into the gun tracking system. “All right, people, I have a target for you. Range long. Marked on your scopes.”
“I don’t see anything,” LeSoit said.
“It’s cloaked,” she said. “But it’s heading for the jump points from Galcen, same as all those couriers. They don’t have any guns, but we do. So it’s time to fly some cover for them.”
The alarm wailed again.
“Damn!” she said. “More homers. Let the shields take them from now on—save your fire for the Mages.”
She cut in the overrides.
I can’t push the ship much faster, she thought. Not without screwing things up for Nyls and Ignac’ at the guns. But I can throw power to the shields and keep those homers from blowing up my engines.
“Stand by,” she said. “Fire at will.”
Up ahead, a sleek dark-hulled ship suddenly winked into view. A double trace of energy shot out from it to intercept one of the courier ships.
“Bastard,” she said. “Nyls, Ignac’—take him.”
“Number One Gun, firing,” came the reply as energy beams flashed out; and the echo, “Number Two Gun, firing.”
In the next moment Beka felt a series of rapid explosions hammering at the skin of her ship as missiles from one of the Mage ships made contact. LeSoit’s voice came over the link.
“Captain, request permission to target incoming missiles.”
“Denied. Keep on firing at that ship!”
She hit the controls to turn Warhammer on her side so that both the dorsal and ventral guns would have a direct line at the target, and checked the status boards. “Damage control reports we’re open to vacuum in the outer holds, but the shields over the engines are up. We’ll do.”
Ahead of her she saw four couriers in formation, heading for a jump point. Beka put their course and speed into her own navicomps. “Heading for Gyffer, are you?” she muttered under her breath when the data came up. “Nice place, Gyffer. Good shipyards. Don’t worry; I’ll see that you get away.”
The ’Hammer pushed on closer. Yet another alarm added its note to the cacophony as the ’Hammer shuddered suddenly and then pulled forward again.
“What was that?” she heard LeSoit calling to Jessan over the link between from the guns.
“Defense satellites don’t know we’re friendly.”
“Never mind the defense satellites!” Beka snapped over the link. “Let the shields take it. Keep on firing at the Mage warships.”
One of the couriers blew up; the others began changing course, to take evasive steering. Beka shook her head.
“They’ll never get away like that—that’s what the Mages want, to keep them from making a run to jump. I’m going to get ahead of them and clear the way.”
“Can you do that?” LeSoit asked. “Those damned things are all engine.”
“So am I. Keep them safe.” She picked up the exterior comm link and keyed it on. “Space Force couriers—this is Warhammer, Rosselin-Metadi commanding. I am your cover. Maintain course and speed. Run to jump. Do it now.”
Warhammer’s guns took another of the suddenly uncloaked Mage ships under fire. The warships were matching speeds with the couriers as the Republic vessels straightened their course and began another run-to-jump Beka threw the ’Hammer into a spiral to put herself between the remaining couriers and the Mages. The guns of the black ships spat out fire, the energy pulses tracing across the darkness and dimming the stars with their brilliance, and the ’Hammer’s guns cut lines of dazzling light through space in reply.
One of the couriers winked out, space distorting around the vessel as it made the transition to hyperspace. Another exploded as a homer took it. Then the third one jumped and was gone.
Beka turned away to look for more couriers to escort. Over the link, the voices from the gun bubbles went back and forth in her ears: “Homers, close!” … “Locked on.”
… “Fire.” … “Four more hostiles inbound.”
A power satellite exploded in orbit below them. Far away, one of the Space Force destroyers was breaking up, with beams of energy flashing around the pieces.
“I think our side is losing,” said LeSoit. “Time for us to get out of here.”
“Hell with that,” Beka said. “We still have engines and guns.”
A few seconds later an explosion sounded from farther aft, and the loss-of-pressure alarm sounded. The power-level indicator on the control panel showed the weapons systems flat.
“Nyls, Ignac’—report!”
“I’m still here,” said LeSoit; and a moment later Jessan said, “No response from the guns, switching to override.” A pause. “Secondary power available, clear. We’re up.”
Energy beams lanced out from the dorsal bubble as he spoke—Beka saw them connect with a Mage fighter. The warfleet’s transports must have come through and started dropping off space-and-atmosphere craft.
Then another heavy blow made the ’Hammer groan and tremble. Beka didn’t need to look at the sensors this time.
“Shield hit,” she said. “We’re hurt.”
“How bad?” Jessan asked from the dorsal gun.
“Bad—damage control panels report more compartments open to vacuum, and the rear shields at fifty-percent power. The ventral shield is going up and down erratically. Secondary power for the guns is fading fast, too.”
“Another one like that and we’re gone,” said Jessan. “We can’t protect ourselves and we can’t shoot. I agree with Gentlesir LeSoit—it’s time to get the hell out of here.”
“It was worth taking hits to let the couriers get away,” Beka said. “But if we stay here now, all we can do now is die like the rest of them.”
Her voice caught for a moment in her throat; she mastered it and went on. “Commencing run-to-jump. Clear the way with fire. Here we go.”
On the watchtower of the Retreat, the chill of evening deepened. An apprentice came, apparently unsummoned, with cloaks of dark wool for Ochemet and Master Ransome, and then soundlessly vanished again. The night was deep, with a far-off stars showing diamond-bright.
An hour had passed, by Ochemet’s chronometer, before Ransome spoke again. His voice sounded weary, and somehow deeply sad.
“We all must follow the paths of our own choosing. I thought for a while that when I walked this part of my path, I would do so in the company of Jos Metadi, who was my friend and captain before. I see now that it is not to be. But you will accompany me.”
Damnedest invitation to the dance I ever heard. Ochemet thought. He swallowed and wet his lips. “What path are you talking about?”
“The time has come to fight the Mages again—this time to their complete destruction.”
“You’ll never convince the Grand Council,” Ochemet said. “The Mageworlds have been crippled for decades.”
Ransome shook his head. “We will be pilot and copilot once more, fighting them.”
Ochemet felt cold. Adepts could see into the future, some people said. Adepts didn’t make any sense and they never had, said others; they saw everything from some twisted angle that made everything they told you come out like g
ibberish.
“I’m honored by the idea,” he told the Guild Master. “But I’m afraid it’s not very likely.”
“As you will.”
Silence fell again. Later, when he thought back on their conversation, Ochemet would remember the Adept’s black-cloaked shoulders stiffening, and his head beginning to turn, an instant before the sudden efflorescence of blue-white light as a new star blossomed in the southern sky.
Now, though, he had no thought for anything beyond his own astonishment and Master Ransome’s voice: “That is what you came here to see.”
Ochemet was already heading for the stairs.
“That was Number Two Power Sat we just saw go up,” he said over his shoulder. “I’ve got to get back to Prime.”
Ransome moved swiftly, and the hand he laid on Ochemet’s arm had a weight to it that halted the general in midstride.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” he said gently. “The Retreat has been sealed. We will fight the Mages in a different way than you see now.”
The Adept turned and vanished into darkness, leaving Ochemet dumbfounded and alone on the tower, watching the sky while the hours of the night went past. Toward dawn, a meteor shot across the sky in a trail of glowing flame: Power-Sat Two, he supposed, burning up on reentry. Other than that, he saw and heard nothing else.
VI.
NAMMERIN: NAMPORT RSF NAVERSEY: THE OUTER NET
KLEA SANTRENY lay on her back and looked up at the ceiling over her bed. The room was dark, but she couldn’t sleep. Too many years of working by night and sleeping by day had made a night person of her. If she lived to be a hundred and twenty—if she somehow managed to do what Owen claimed she could, and transformed herself from a backwater farm girl and working-class whore into Mistress Klea Santreny, Adept—even then she would still find herself restless at midnight.
The weather in Namport wasn’t helping any. All the windows in her small apartment stood open, as did the louvered wooden doors to the pocket-sized balcony, but no wind stirred. The thick, humid air felt the same temperature when she drew it into her lungs as when she let it out again; and in spite of the shower she’d taken before going to bed her skin felt slick with body oil and sweat.
Starpilot's Grave: Book Two of Mageworlds Page 28
