by Daniel Gibbs
Two signatures re-appeared on the holotank, not far from the destroyer, and both immediately headed straight for the League vessel.
Tia's jaw dropped. "What the hell… it's the Hunters!"
"Those AIs are pretty smart," Henry said. "Newer models are good enough to play for time. If they figure they can't hit a target before running out of fuel, they cut engines and play dead. Turn themselves into mines, waiting for a target they can hit." He finally allowed himself a small smile. "It's easy for anyone to forget about them."
Piper whistled. "Wow," she said, her voice strained by the Gs they were pulling. "We really should get some more of them."
It took a second, but Henry laughed too. "Piper, that missile volley we dropped cost more than we get in a year of good work. Not happening."
The League destroyer recognized its predicament. Its engines increased thrust, and it started trying to evade again. Point-defense fire erupted around the ship as it tried to nail the missiles.
But this time, the range was too close. The League helm officer didn't have any options to evade a hit. Within five seconds, both missiles plowed into the destroyer's deflectors and exploded violently—its shields collapsed in turn.
Henry knew the ship had survived. The missile hits were on different quadrants; the destroyer had no deflectors, but she wasn't crippled. But now, the close range worked in their favor. "Piper, fire the neutron cannon. Cera, as soon as she connects, bring us back around to the shortest course for the limit."
"Yes, sir!" the two ladies answered in near unison. Piper's response was particularly energetic. With a stroke of a key on her board, she triggered the neutron cannon's covering plates to open.
All that was left was for Cera to give her the shot. She relayed the positional data necessary. Cera adjusted their heading to match.
The moment the tone came from the system, Piper fired the cannon.
The blue-white beam erupted from the cannon nestled on the Shadow Wolf's belly. The highly packed concentration neutrons, born as a byproduct of the ship's fusion drive, shot forward at nearly the speed of light.
Without the benefit of deflectors to stop the incoming beam, the destroyer took the impact directly. It cut right through armor and hull plating, spearing the interior with deadly precision. A blast erupted from within the gut of the ship. A great, terrible wound formed at the point where it struck the vessel.
Without bothering to take a second shot, the Shadow Wolf turned away from the enemy and burned hard for the limit. In the bridge, there was a release of tension and the feeling they were home free spread like wildfire.
That was when the ten missiles erupted from the destroyer's surviving cells, all at once.
Piper swallowed and shook her head, voice filling with alarm. "We're almost out of ammunition on the auto-turrets, we'll never shoot them all down."
"Cera, how far to the limit?" Henry asked.
"One minute!"
"They'll intercept us in fifty-five seconds!"
Five seconds. Evasive maneuvering toward the limit would help, but against that many missiles, the inability to shoot them down would tell. Henry opened an intercom to engineering. "We're going to need to jump in a minute."
Pieter heard Henry's voice over the intercom and returned his attention to the frame. He had an extendable pry bar out from his tools wedged in, and he pulled for all his worth. There was a growing sound, the protest of shrieking metal.
The frame came loose. He fell backward, but his magboots kept him from actually falling completely. He straightened himself and took in a breath. Every muscle in his arms, shoulders, and chest hurt. He'd likely sprained something. Oskar can heal it later. He snatched up the frame and gave it an inspection. There were no signs of severe damage, just the slight dent in the housing from where it was wedged in, and another from his prybar. It’ll still work.
That was the good news. The bad news was he had to fit the focusing frame back into its proper place on the Lawrence drive. It was not easy to do in a rush, or under 2.7Gs, for that matter. The positioning had to be just right, or the drive would not be able to generate the Lawrence particles to open a wormhole.
Sweat beaded on his forehead that he couldn't clear away through his suit, another annoyance to go with the rest. Work, damn you, work! filled his head as he tried to get the alignment just right.
"Engineering, status!"
"I've almost got it!" he called out.
The first of the missiles streaked on a terminal course ten seconds before the Shadow Wolf made it to the limit.
Cera responded as best as she could. She started corkscrewing the ship, using the maneuvering thrusters to change their attitude and positioning without changing heading or taking away from their thrust. The maneuver kept them from taking an immediate impact. Streams of magnetically-propelled projectiles erupted from the auto-turrets whenever they seemed to have a shot.
Then one of them went silent. "No ammo in auto-turret 4!" Piper announced.
A shot from one of the quads finally landed home on the missile, blowing it apart. "Missile down," Vidia said over the intercom.
"We're past th' limit," Cera confirmed. "Still can't jump."
"Engineering, whenever you can!" Henry called out, even as more missiles came into range. Fire from the guns lashed out toward the warheads. One died from an impact by auto-turret rounds, just for the same turret to go dead a moment later. Another one was clipped and started maneuvering wildly before crashing into another, destroying both.
"All auto-turret ammo is exhausted," Piper said. The gravity in her voice was appropriate. Without the auto-turrets, the rest of the volley wouldn’t be stopped.
"Engineering, we need to get out of here, now!" Henry shouted into the comm.
Pieter heard him and redoubled his efforts. Come on, come on! He carefully shifted the frame again, waiting on the display to go green for an alignment fit. It continued to display red for no alignment. Steady, steady.
The ship shuddered again. Not a direct hit, but likely a close one, he reasoned. A stern reminder that he was out of time. He carefully shifted the frame again, waiting for that green light that seemed to stubbornly refuse to appear. Another millimeter, then another.
Henry shouted over the line again, but he blocked it out. Indeed, he didn't dare answer, as his focus on the frame had to be absolute to make sure this worked.
Red, red, still red, green.
With one hand to steady the frame in place, Pieter reset the positional locks to hold the frame in place. That wasn't enough to make a jump work, though. The vibrations from activating the drive would overpower the locks and shift the frame, undoing his careful work. He needed to re-tighten the bolts that would keep everything in place.
While the locks would prevent minor jostling from undoing the alignment, Pieter left nothing to chance. He still kept a careful hand on it to make sure while his other hand took up the autospanner. It took a mere two seconds each to re-tighten the bolts.
"Engineering!"
"Now!" he screamed as the last of the bolts fit snugly back into place.
Everyone saw the indicator turn green. Cera didn’t wait for an order before she started leveling out the corkscrew and immediately keyed the jump drive.
A wormhole blossomed open ahead of them in a veritable rainbow of color. As always, it was a wonder to behold, a bridge to span a rip in the fabric of space that would take light years to traverse, a lifetime's travel at realistic sublight speeds.
Cera finished her adjustments to put them on course for the wormhole and squeezed an bit of extra acceleration from the fusion drive, given the missiles were right on their tail. She put her hand over the control to cut the wormhole the moment they were through.
No one spoke as their wounded ship plunged through. The instruments blanked out from the particle interference, as they always did. There would be no telling if a missile came through, not until it hit them, and a direct hit would likely blast them in two. All they co
uld do was wait and see.
Gradually, the feeds returned. Open space greeted them, clear except for the nearby fleet of privateer ships, about half an hour's burn in-system from their arrival point. Much further ahead were the League-held Q-ships and the disabled Lusitanian fleet.
Henry breathed out. "No missiles?" he asked Piper, as if seeking confirmation.
For a breathless moment, she checked over the scanners. They could all hear her palpable sigh of relief. "Looks like they didn't make it through the wormhole before it closed," she said.
For a moment, the bridge was silent, as if they wanted to make absolutely sure there would be no final surprises.
Then Tia started to laugh. Cera did too, and Piper whooped in joy, and finally, Henry, forgetting himself for the moment, let out a hearty whoop of his own. "We made it!" he shouted. He keyed the intercom again, this time to the whole ship. "We made it! We got out! Well done, everyone!"
"You don't think they'll try to follow, do you?" Tia asked, as if deciding that not proposing the possibility would ensure it came.
"Our neutron cannon shot wrecked the closest destroyer. The other two had the Tash'vakal on their asses. So yeah, I'm pretty sure we're clear."
"Now you just have to get the Tash'vakal twenty thousand tons of hull alloy and bacon," Piper said. "After that fight, it’ll be a snap."
"Don't remind me." Henry sighed. He was already considering how to pay the “toll.” Not that we have a choice. Not doing so would guarantee the Mek'taman Clan, and any other Tash'vakal nomad clans they were friendly with, would be out for blood. Worse, there were plenty of people who'd sell them out to the Tash'vakal.
The voice of Piotr Tokarev interrupted them. "Shadow Wolf, this is Morozova. Status?"
"Morozova, we're good," Henry said. "League cruiser is down, as is a destroyer. One destroyer likely down too, the other two are fighting for their lives against a clan of Tash'vakal."
"Ha! Even Devil's Lizards hate League. Pay evil unto evil!" There was a pause. "Burning for League Q-ships. You join?"
"We're in bad shape, but we'll try to keep up," Henry offered. "Cera, bring us into course with them; keep it easy on the fusion-drive."
"Won't be hard, given all th' speed we've kept through th' wormhole," she offered. "Bringing us on course now, fifty percent thrust on fusion drive."
The lower setting would keep the Gs to a tolerable 1.05, only barely taxing the inertial compensators. At this rate, we'll probably have to replace those too. Ugh, we're going to be bankrupt when this is over, even with Vitorino's money.
Still, Henry had to smile. They'd won. All that was left was the crying, and that would come from the other side. "Send a transmission to the Lusitanian government, for Vitorino and Carvalho," he said. "It's time we break the news."
28
The minutes passed in the suite of the Royal Lusitanian, and as they did, João Carvalho grew more agitated. So far, everything was going mostly to plan. The privateer fleet was a complication that could be dealt with, so long as the League military showed up and put the final capstone on the operation.
However, the League ships hadn’t showed up.
At first, Carvalho presumed it was a simple timing issue. Their timers were a few minutes off, no big deal. But a few minutes became five, then ten. There was still no sign of the Marat and her squadron, while in space, the League-crewed Q-ships continued to make good with broadcasts urging a rising against the Estado Novo.
A report came in on his tablet. Director Travada expressed concern about the local police and military forces supporting the security service’s. The broadcast from Captain Dominguez had spread wide before the planetary network was brought down, and his words were heard by many soldiers and police. They were expressing "reluctance" and behaving in a "dilatory" fashion.
He could read between the lines. The security services were loyal to the State, and thus to him—as the perceived mouth of Vitorino—but the other agencies were having doubts. He was facing a potential crisis if he didn't assert control.
And still, no sign of the League ships. Finally, Carvalho gave in. In defiance of arrangements, he opened a narrow-beam transmission to the League ships.
Soon Commander Aristide appeared on the screen, commanding from the former Kensington Star. She scowled at him. "You should not be using this channel."
"Where is the squadron?" Carvalho hissed.
"They will jump in shortly," Aristide said. Her tone was insistent. "Do not panic." Her eyes narrowed. "Where is Vitorino?"
"He panicked. He was going to betray you due to the broadcasts from the privateers. I was forced to kill him."
"Ah. I would have expected as much from an individualist like him. But I expect better from you, Carvalho. We are in control here. The ships will arrive momentarily."
"The security services are losing control of the military and police," Carvalho warned. "If the fleet doesn't arrive soon—"
"That is something you will have to handle, Carvalho. Now you wield power, which is good for your people as you recognize the superiority of society. Do what is necessary."
Aristide's image disappeared. She'd cut the line from the other end. Carvalho took a breath and steadied himself. Yes, he'd need to do what was necessary, and that included asserting control. It wouldn't be easy. Travada was a devotee of Caetano, not Vitorino, so empowering him would make a dangerous adversary for his long-term plans.
I must trust that the League will aid me, if needed.
Carvalho started to type a message. It was authorization to detain anyone, even someone in uniform, who failed to obey the orders of the RSS. He worked to give the directive the spin he knew Vitorino would employ. It wasn't time yet to have the "terrible" attack that would "claim" Vitorino's life. Perhaps I can make Travada look responsible. I could consolidate control.
Just before he sent the message, Carvalho's attention was captured by the news of a wormhole forming. Initial elation filled him, only to be replaced by dread and confusion when he saw the wormhole was not beside the Q-ships as planned.
Even worse, only one ship came through. Carvalho ordered the nearest probe to get a visual image. It took a few minutes for that image to appear. Despite some rather visible damage, he recognized the frame of the Shadow Wolf.
The system informed him a signal was coming in from the Shadow Wolf. It wasn't a wide transmission but directed at the military network, addressed to him and Vitorino. With worry twisting his guts, Carvalho debated whether to accept the call. Ultimately, he did if only to find out what his foes were up to. The screen changed to show Henry's image. He appeared fatigued, but his smile was triumphant. "Ah, Carvalho. Where's your boss?"
"Indisposed.”
For a moment, Henry's smile waned, then he laughed. "You killed him, didn't you?"
"I won't dignify that with an answer."
"Then don't. But I know Vitorino. He's flexible. The moment your little plan with the League went awry, he started calculating ways to jump sides and make it work out for him. Your bosses wouldn't have liked that. Your real bosses, I mean."
Carvalho seethed. "You're involved in this little display, then? It won't do you any good. Any moment the squadron will arrive, and it'll be easy to spin you and these privateers as working for the Coalition."
"Ah, but you're wrong there, Carvalho. That League squadron's never going to show. They're a bit busy with the Tash'vakal right now. What's left of them, anyway. And the cruiser's gone." Henry’s smile shifted, but it didn’t leave his face.
Carvalho's heart started pounding. No, he has to be lying. It’s a bluff. "Your ship couldn't handle a destroyer, let alone a cruiser. What you say is impossible."
"I have my means," Henry replied cryptically. "I should tell you, we're transmitting on a subchannel our run-in with the Leaguers. The mere fact they were at TR-209, within jump range of Lusitania, will make people incredibly upset. With the evidence we have of your involvement, you're not getting out of this. I'd turn myself
in if I were you."
Carvalho responded by shutting down the line. It was a lie. It had to be. It must be. Otherwise, everything he'd worked for was gone. No. He wasn't going to let Captain Henry trick him. He brought up his tablet and sent off his order to Travada.
A moment later, another report came in, one which filled him with fury. Travada indicated "rogue" RSS agents directed the prisoner transport to the National University. Once there, they released Ascaro, al-Amin, and the rest of the prisoners. A massive gathering had sprung up, one that was still gathering steam.
Carvalho immediately typed a response, demanding Travada send his most loyal agents with a full contingent from the police and military to take her, with orders to shoot anyone who resisted or tried to intervene.
At the University, Ascaro was busy herself. A growing crowd of citizens filled the Commencement Hall at the National University, a space used for functions or large-scale ceremonies. Along with Palmeiro and her "patriotic" RSS agents, the leadership of the university was already coming over to her side as the recording of Captain Dominguez and other evidence was freely circulated. Even the shutdown of the planetary communications networks hadn't stopped this, with citizens sharing data through direct links instead of planetary commlink.
Now there was more. Recordings showed a civilian vessel evading fire from League warships. Ascaro wasn't aware of its importance until a horrified university professor introduced herself as Dr. Ana Ribiero. "That star is TR-209," she said.
"TR-209?"
"Yes. It's a star system near here, within one jump of most Lawrence drives," Dr. Ribiero said.
The idea shocked and horrified Ascaro. "Then… the League's military ships are within one jump of Lusitania?"
"Yes," the woman replied emphatically. "Any astronomer familiar with our region of space knows it. TR-209's layout is known to everyone."
