Refuge

by Glynn Stewart

  “It won’t cost you that much time. Three months to build the kind of ship you’re talking about is already going to be an insane schedule, and you’ll be there for the last forty days even if you wait until I arrive.

  “Our priority is and must remain the preservation and protection of the Vistans,” he concluded. “I understand the temptation and the value of the offer that the Matrices have put on the table, but we have warp drives and the Creators’ ship doesn’t. If we have to track her down over the long run, we can. We can’t save people who freeze to death on Vista.”

  Isaac shook his head.

  “But given that one codicil, I authorize your redeployment,” he stated. “President Lestroud already backed you up on this one, so I don’t have much of a leg to stand on in any case. The chance to talk to the Matrices’ Creators…” Isaac shivered.

  “It’s worth it. But it can wait if it has to. If everything goes well, I assume I won’t see you in Hearthfire in thirty-two days. Good luck, Captain.”

  He closed the recording and sent it to the coms department, checking the time.

  Five minutes left. Just enough to grab a coffee and brace himself for what was coming.

  Just because it wasn’t as bad as it had been didn’t mean it didn’t still suck.

  37

  “In the potential arrival window. All ships standing by.”

  Octavio nodded silently as Das’s report echoed across Scorpion’s bridge.

  The Matrices had returned twice since their initial visit. The first time had been exactly one hundred and twenty-one hours after they’d left.

  That had been the same seven combat platforms, and they’d found themselves blocked by their cousins. The incursion had lasted less than twenty minutes, like they were testing the defenders.

  The third incursion had been one hundred and twenty-three hours after the second had retreated. Octavio figured they’d been aiming for a hundred and twenty-one hours—a time frame that “his” Matrices seemed to think was perfectly logical—but had waited for reinforcements.

  Six recon nodes had accompanied the seven combat platforms that time—but eight recon units had arrived to reinforce the defenders. Once again stymied by the presence of ships they couldn’t shoot and that refused to get out of their way, the Rogues had danced around the system for eleven hours, trying to get to Vista…and then finally withdrawn.

  That had been one hundred and twenty hours before. If the Rogue Matrices showed up in the next four hours, Octavio suspected they were going to be seeing incursions every four to five days until they could beat one back.

  “No tachyon signatures except our allies,” Das reported. “Current count is nineteen, if anyone cares.”

  Octavio snorted. He did care, mostly because their robotic allies were still producing the lion’s share of the orbital habitats. The extra twelve recon nodes added to their existing seven—three combat platforms, two recon and security units and two recon units—hadn’t really increased the production of those stations much. They had, at least, helped offset the production lost to playing blocker to the incoming Rogue ships.

  If the Rogues had the same six additional ships this time, then they had enough blockers…but the Matrices rarely tried the same thing twice without bringing more force to the party.

  “All stations report green,” Renaud told him. “Scorpion is prepared for battle.”

  “We will stay at status two for twenty-four hours,” he announced, reiterating the plan in case someone had managed to forget. “If we see any tachyon signatures, we go to full general quarters.”

  The calm silence on his bridge told him that nobody had managed to forget, and he leaned back in his seat. A repeater screen attached to the arm of the chair was tracking the position of every armed ship in Vistan orbit.

  Hopefully, the Matrices would block this attack, too…but the back of his neck was itchy and he wanted to be sure the guardships and bombers were in position.

  It wouldn’t take many mistakes to risk the planet—and even fewer to risk the fragile clusters of orbital habitats and greenhouses.

  “Tachyon pulses.”

  There was an almost-disturbing lack of urgency to the report. That was reasonable, Octavio supposed. The burst of faster-than-light particles only really told him that Matrix ships had entered the star system and where.

  It didn’t tell him much about those ships. And in this case, with the enemy very much expected, there wasn’t really any surprise at their arrival.

  “One hundred twenty-one hours and fourteen minutes,” Renaud concluded. “I suppose that’s the advantage of fighting robots. They’re certainly punctual.”

  “That they are…which is nerve-wracking, given that they certainly aren’t uncreative,” Octavio replied. “Distance and numbers, Lieutenant Commander?”

  “Three light-minutes,” Das told him. “Looks like eighteen signatures. I’ll have details in, well, about three minutes.”

  Octavio ignored her amused smirk. Eighteen Matrix ships was one fewer than the minimum he’d expected, though more than the defenders had possessed during the last clash.

  “Inform ZDX they are clear to proceed as per the plan,” he said aloud.

  The combat Matrix was only so good at pretending that Octavio was in command and was probably already in motion.

  “Matrices are moving out. ZDX has left one of the recon and security nodes to reinforce the orbitals,” Das reported. “That leaves him eighteen units as blockers. Vectors align as expected.”

  “So, the same old trick without enough ships,” Octavio murmured. “Does it feel right to you, Commander Renaud?”

  “No,” she told him. “The Rogues aren’t stupid or uncreative. They might have been restricted in their reinforcements, but usual Matrix protocol would be to wait until they got more. We’re certainly not going to get any more Matrices than we have, so waiting for reinforcements wouldn’t hurt them.”

  “They don’t know that,” he pointed out. “But it doesn’t feel right to me, either. Africano.” He turned to his coms officer. “Get me Sings-Over-Darkened-Waters. Renaud, Das—get us into a higher orbit and make sure all the capacitors are charged. Keep us to an acceleration the locals can match for now.”

  “What are you expecting, sir?” Renaud asked, but she was clearly running through the same chain of thought.

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. “If you have any ideas, let me know. For now, I want the Star-Choir at full capacity.”

  A grayed-out hologram of Sings-Over-Darkened-Waters appeared above the right side of his command seat.

  “Captain Octavio Catalan,” she greeted him. “We see the enemy. The Guardian-Star-Choir is at full preparedness.”

  “We’re going to move out to clear our firing lines,” Octavio told her. “I want to borrow…twenty of your bombers. We’re moving slowly enough that they should be able to rendezvous and latch on to our hull.

  “Once they’re attached to the hull, our compensators will protect them from our acceleration, and we’ll go to full power.”

  “Toward what, Captain?” Sings asked, but he saw the hand gesture she used to tell her staff to do as he asked.

  “I don’t know,” he confessed. “But this doesn’t add up. I’m expecting a second wave…one that’s counting on our Matrix friends to be out of position dealing with their first force.”

  It was the first time he’d put it into words, but as soon as he said it, he was sure it was right. Twenty bombers would give him an extra forty bombs— a hundred and twenty X-ray lasers—in the opening clash, enough to change the tide of a battle.

  And if he was lucky, he might even get the bomber crews out.

  After thirty minutes of maneuvering away from the planet with twenty bombers attached to Scorpion’s hull, Octavio started to wonder if he was just being paranoid. The Rogues were doing the same dance of attempting to dodge past the blocking Matrices that they’d done for hours last time.

  The two robotic flotillas
had identical ships with identical engines. There was no way the Rogues were going to get past, not without greater numbers or some maneuver Octavio couldn’t picture.

  He wasn’t entirely comfortable with their understanding of the reactionless drive the Matrices used, but he thought he knew its capabilities. Inside those capabilities, the blocker force could intercept every course the Rogues tried.

  In their place, he’d either have snuck in scouts and waited until he had a numerical edge or tried something clever.

  “Tachyon pulse!” Das exclaimed. This report was much more concerned than the first one. “I have multiple signatures at twelve million kilometers.”

  Less than a light-minute. That was the closest emergence they had on record for a tachyon punch. They’d apparently really pissed off the Rogue Matrices.

  “Get me details, Das,” he ordered.

  “Six signatures four still active,” she snapped as the light trickled in. “One combat platform, three recon nodes…and two debris fields.”

  “Debris fields?” Octavio demanded.

  “Mass and materials spectrometry suggest they jumped in with five recon nodes and two disintegrated on emergence,” she told him. “We have missile la—”

  “GUARDIAN PROTOCOLS ENGAGING.”

  The loud alert of the warship’s AI cut through the bridge like a hammer. New warnings and icons cascaded across Octavio’s screen. Dozens of missiles were flashing out from the Rogue Matrices at a high percentage of lightspeed.

  All of them were targeted on Scorpion, and her AI had taken full control of the lasers and pulse guns flagged for missile defense. None of the missiles were getting through.

  “Lieutenant Daniel—take us out to meet them,” he ordered. “Make sure we’re accelerating at a rate that won’t hurt our carry-ons. The compensation field doesn’t give them full coverage out on the hull.”

  The field stretched beyond the hull to protect any humans or robots doing exterior work while they were under thrust. It was less reliable, which was why the preference was always to do that kind of work by remote.

  “Das, Renaud; get me a work-up on our best time to drop the bombers. We want them to survive, but I want them backing up our first exchange. I’ll face three recon nodes in a fair fight if I have to, but I want to stack the scales in our favor against the combat platform.”

  Even with an extra forty X-ray laser cartridges, that fight was going to hurt.

  It would take them over five minutes to reach weapons range. The Matrices were going to keep throwing missiles at him, aiming for the lucky hit that would clear his defenses and potentially cripple his ship.

  Octavio Catalan had no intention of making that hit any easier to get.

  “All right. Cut acceleration for thirty seconds and cut the bombers loose,” Octavio ordered. “They’re to deploy their munitions and stand by for my order to fire.”

  The Vistan small craft flinging themselves clear of Scorpion’s hull couldn’t manage even one hundredth of her acceleration. Now that she wasn’t bringing them along with her, they were rapidly left behind—which was exactly where Octavio wanted them.

  Any hit would take out one of those bombers. His ship was far more capable of protecting herself than were the miniscule weapons platforms.

  His ship also had a lot more people aboard. Everything was a trade-off, but right now, he needed the bomb-pumped lasers those bombers deployed, or he’d never have brought them.

  “Estimated effective range in forty-five seconds,” Das declared. “Enemy is beginning testing fire with their grasers.”

  “Daniel?” Octavio asked.

  “Evasive maneuvers in progress; nothing is even coming close,” his helm replied.

  “Optimal range in thirty seconds,” Das chanted. “Hit probability is now above ten percent.”

  “Continue holding fire. We have both turrets?”

  “Both turrets online, fully charged,” his tactical officer replied. “Fifteen seconds.”

  A graser passed close enough to his ship to trigger alerts. Octavio spared a moment to check the power level of the beam and shivered.

  The range that Das was waiting for was where they estimated their particle cannons had any chance of punching through a combat platform’s armor. The energy reading on the enemy graser told him they were inside the range where the combat platform’s weapons would do that to their armor.

  “Range. Firing!”

  There was a pause, a barely perceptible gap as the order was sent to the Vistan bombers and their beams flashed forward.

  Then Scorpion’s turrets fired. Both were aligned perfectly, and four packages of near-c particles flashed along with the X-ray lasers. Seconds passed.

  “Direct hit!” Das reported. “Fifteen of the lasers and all four particle-cannon beams. We’ve cracked the hull!”

  Unlike a manned ship, there was no atmosphere leakage from a breached Matrix combat platform. There was a lot more electromagnetic radiation coming out of a ship with broken armor—the technological equivalent of blood in the water.

  “Hit her again!”

  Now the recon nodes were moving forward, weaving around in front of their damaged—but still deadly—bigger sibling. They’d been hanging back before, throwing missiles at Scorpion.

  Now they lunged toward Octavio’s ship, grasers flashing in the night. Missiles were flying again as well—but these weren’t targeted at Scorpion.

  They weren’t even targeted on the bombers. A chill ran down his spine as he realized that the Rogues were now targeting the guardships. He’d left them behind as a second line of defense, mostly because they couldn’t keep up…and they were well beyond the effective range of their own weapons.

  “Daniel, get us between them and the guardships,” he barked. The Guardian Protocol had shattered the first salvo, but missiles had made it through. Hopefully, they’d stopped enough.

  Somehow, despite the twisting gyrations of Daniel’s maneuvers, Das managed to line up the turrets for a second salvo. The Matrix ship managed to take the hits on a different part of the hull, preventing Das from opening up the original wound, but she still managed to land half of her shots.

  And she clearly hit something, as half of the combat platform’s grasers suddenly stopped firing. That still left six grasers peppering the space around Octavio’s ship, and they were going to run out of luck eventually.

  They got a lucky hit in first, one of the recon nodes dodging into the path of Scorpion’s fire. Octavio wasn’t sure if the recon node’s AI had chosen poorly or if it had been intentionally sacrificed to save the bigger ship.

  Either way, it took a full four-shot salvo from the warp cruiser and disintegrated. One fewer enemy on the field.

  Then one of the combat platform’s grasers slammed home. Barely missing the lead arrowhead holding Scorpion’s bridge and main weapons, the beam hammered into the rear half of the ship. Damage alerts flashed across Octavio’s screens…and the engines died.

  “Tran,” he snapped. “Report!”

  “Fuel lines to the engines are down,” she told him. “I’ve got teams on their way; I’m heading down to join them. I don’t know long it’ll take!”

  “Daniel!”

  “I’ve got maneuvering thrusters and that’s it,” his helmswoman replied. “Continuing to evade, but the odds just turned against us.”

  “Got the fucker!”

  Das’s exclamation was a spark of desperately needed hope, and Octavio glanced at the displays to double-check it. Only half of the latest salvo had hit the enemy combat platform…but both of them had hit right where the last rounds had.

  The previous hit had probably severed critical power connections, rendering half the guns useless. Octavio wasn’t sure what this one hit, but everything stopped. The grasers stopped firing. The engines cut out a few seconds later.

  One moment, the combat Matrix was charging them, all guns blazing. The next, it was a dead hulk drifting through space at ten percent of lightspeed.


  “Hit the recon nodes,” Octavio barked. “Daniel, keep us out of their line of fire. Keep the Guardian Protocol up and feed those fuckers particle guns.”

  Scorpion wasn’t completely immobile without her main engines. Her maneuvering thrusters could easily match the acceleration available to their Vistan allies, in fact.

  It just wasn’t enough to let them dodge graser fire at close range. Multiple new scars of red flashed across his damage report displays as the recon nodes closed—but closing made them vulnerable.

  A recon node flew straight into Das’s fire, and suddenly, there was only one ship left. It took one more shot at Scorpion, which missed, and then its AI gave up the fight as lost. It flipped on its end and ran for the outer system at ten percent of lightspeed.

  “Das?” Octavio asked softly.

  “Our bogey is maneuvering pretty hard,” his tactical officer said quietly. “But…more importantly, we just lost power to Turret B, and that last hit took out Turret A’s cyclotrons. We’ve got burnouts running through the entire plasma and power-distribution systems, and what guns I have left are dying. I really hope they keep running, because I have nothing left to shoot them with.”

  Octavio exhaled, then his gaze went back to the crippled Matrix still hurtling through space.

  “Renaud, please tell me that wreck isn’t going to hit anything important,” he said plaintively.

  “It doesn’t look li—”

  The combat platform’s matter-conversion cores destabilized. One moment, it was a hurtling wreck.

  The next, it was simply gone, and Octavio shook his head as he looked at the fireball.

  “Someone please tell me we have a shutdown protocol for that thing,” he said aloud.

  No one on the bridge replied. There was only one person on the bridge who understood the shutdown protocols for their own matter conversion core well enough to reassure anyone else about them…and that person was Octavio Catalan.