***
“Engines still not responding, Admiral,” one of the officers barked from her terminal at the rear of the bridge. “Engineering crews reporting significant damage; they will not be able to make repairs until we’re clear of the battle.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Mothaal hissed. If he was embarrassed by his underestimation of the Mire shuttle’s capabilities, he wasn’t showing it. “They can make repairs once we’ve turned that rock into a cloud. Tactical: report.”
“Three enemy turrets destroyed, sir,” the tactical officer said. “None of the others appear capable of firing.”
“We’ll take them out anyway. Cannons three through seven: fire at will.”
Minister Drathir idly tapped a claw against his chin as a fresh salvo of green plasma bolts poured out from the starboard flank of the Unifier. Despite the impressive complexity of the asteroid’s shield grid, it had proven no match for the battleship’s mighty guns. In another minute or so, the city would be completely defenseless. At that point he had to imagine the Mire cruiser would finally commit, if only to go down fighting. Most other alien species would have had the good sense to surrender long before now, or at the very least retracted their claws and fled. But humans as a whole were especially obstinate, particularly in the face of certain doom, and many human commanders seemed to prefer a fiery death to a humiliating defeat.
Drathir had never understood the obsession. Death was death, and defeat was defeat. It wasn’t as if their non-existent gods would reward them with a better caste in the next life…
“No further damage to the enemy emplacements,” the tactical officer whispered, his tail thrashing in disbelief. “Their shields are holding.”
“How?” Mothaal asked, standing from the command chair and walking to the edge of the crew pit. “What changed?”
“I have no idea, sir. Our instruments are still unable to provide any information on the status of their psionic power grid.”
“It’s the Gantrell girl,” the Widow said softly, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. “All of the city’s defenses are now funneling through her.”
“How long can she maintain it?” Drathir asked.
“I’m uncertain. But you had best prepare for a counterattack.”
“Confirmed, Admiral,” the tac officer said. “Two of the turrets are firing—”
The Unifier trembled as its forward shields struggled to compensate, and Drathir clutched onto the railing to hold himself steady. Perhaps it was time to move back to his chair…
“Damage report?” Mothaal growled.
“Minor structural damage on deck six, section nine. Shields are holding for the moment, but that won’t last.”
“Then it’s time we finish what we started,” the admiral said. “Redirect power to the starboard shields, and bring us into tactical grid thirteen. Once we’re in position, all cannons fire at will.”
Drathir turned to face the other man. “You’re not concerned about the cruiser attacking our flank?”
“I’m more concerned about those emplacements, but if the humans wish to finally come out and play…” Mothaal grinned, and his upper fangs glinted in the bridge lightning. “They are certainly welcome to try.”
The Spider and the Fly Page 66
