All That Bedevils Us, page 21
She gave him a little bow and they went their separate ways. In less time than Costa expected, he was aboard the Dewey, and at the appointed time watched the tactical display as their modest fleet formed up. They made best possible speed toward the node, and the Radials had no trouble keeping up. The alien embassy kept up a constant repetition of an animation that showed the GC ships closing the gaps between them and the embassy. As they approached the node, Costa gave the order to slowly duplicate in real time what they were seeing in the animation. When all the ships were only a few thousand meters apart, and far too close for the comfort of the Dewey’s pilot, a sudden jolt shuddered through the ship.
“What the hell was that?” Costa demanded as the ship switched to red alert.
“I’m not sure,” the pilot replied. “But we’re no longer closing on the Radial ship.”
“Captain, reports from the rest of the fleet say the same,” said the comm tech. “The T’lack are reading a loss of thruster control.”
“Pilot?” Anderson said.
“I don’t think that’s it, sir,” the pilot replied. “We have thrusters but they are ineffective. I can’t explain it.” His hands danced over his control board, then froze. “It reads that thrusters are firing. Everything is green. But — nothing!”
“Is our position relative to the Radials stable?” Costa asked.
“Yes, sir,” was the reply. “And we are maintaining course and speed. We should enter the node in six minutes.”
“Scan, what can you tell us?” Anderson asked.
“Plain truth, Captain, I have no idea,” their scan tech replied. She swiveled her station around to face them. “Sirs, whatever they’re doing doesn’t register on our instruments. There’s nothing.”
“That nothing is steering the ship,” said the pilot, looking and sounding vexed.
“We’re otherwise secure?” Anderson asked. He sounded calm but didn’t look happy with their situation.
“So far as I can tell, Captain,” the scan tech replied.
Anderson glanced at Costa who gave him a nod. “Okay, people, let’s relax and go along for the ride. These people seem to know their business. Might as well trust them at this point. Cancel the alert.”
“Agree, Captain,” Costa said. “But it might be wise to have the fleet on yellow alert, all the same.”
“Bring the fleet down to yellow alert,” Anderson said.
The minutes ticked by and the cluster of spacecraft slipped into the node. There was no deceleration on nodal approach, and the pilot of the Dewey was practically twitching in frustration. They all felt it, when the transit happened, the dropping, lurching sensation in the pit of the stomach, the burning itch at the roots of teeth and fingernails. Given what they all knew of the combined mass involved, and the power readings the Hroom had picked up earlier, the discomfort of the transit should have been excruciating. Disabling. Costa felt nothing worse than he would have expected had only the Dewey been involved.
In the instant that he realized this, the warship seemed to slew sideways; his vision blurred and someone let out a startled shout.
“The hell…?” Costa started to say, then heard Anderson calling for status reports.
“That reads as a cross amp,” said the pilot as reports came in first from their ship, then the others. “A large one.”
Costa felt an icy chill of alarm. A cross-amplification happened when ships departed and arrived through a multidimensional node in the same moment. It was a rare event, but dangerous in the extreme when it did happen. Ships were known to be hurled out on random, empty vectors during cross amps, lost with all hands aboard. “Must have been the Phobics,” he said. “Damn! Are all ships accounted for?”
“Yes,” said Anderson. He half turned toward Costa, his face pale and expression frozen. “In the same configuration as before. A cross amp that strong should have scattered little pieces of us halfway across this sector.”
“Apparently the Radials have a way of dealing with such things,” Costa said. “We have no idea, really, what their tech can handle. But if it can damp down a cross amp…”
“We have a lot to learn from these people,” Anderson said quietly.
“We’re turning,” the pilot said. “Looks like we’re headed back to the node.”
“Another jump,” Costa muttered. “Hope this one isn’t as bumpy. Dorgnas?”
“I am here.”
“Does this turnaround match the data your AI has from the Radials?”
“It does,” she replied. “According to our AI, we could backtrack easily if we so desired. It also says we will do this one more time before we move on to our actual destination.”
“Well, just now backtracking is the last thing we want to do,” said Costa.
“Sir, we couldn’t if we wanted to,” the pilot replied. “I still have no control over the ship. And we’re making a fast turn back to the node. Next transit is imminent.”
The pilot barely got the words out when they endured a fresh but manageable set of discomforts. The pilot called out a successful transit, and Costa was thinking he was glad this was the next to the last transit, when the scan tech shouted a warning, even as the tactical display flashed the new data for the star system they were in. Costa stared at the tactical display, filled with dreadful recognition.
They weren’t going any further on this trip.
“Damn!” Costa snapped.
“Red alert!” Anderson shouted, and the alarm sounded loud and shrill. “Combat stations, all hands!”
Their fleet had flown into a war zone.
~24~
“Pilot, status!” Anderson demanded.
“Whatever had us is gone,” was the reply. “We are free to navigate.”
Costa was once again grateful for the crew of combat veterans aboard the warship. All their ships, except for those of the Rusalas, carried comparable crews. In a matter of seconds they were ready for a fight. In a minute more, they knew how their part of the fight would go.
The tactical display revealed a heavily developed nodal region, where shipsign would have been commonplace without a fight going on. A trio of enormous and identical star stations dominated the scene and formed a triangle around the node, with a bewildering variety of spacecraft around them. Some were variations on the Radial ship with them, being either larger or smaller. Beyond the innermost station that drifted between the node and the system’s yellow star, a fleet of similarly mixed ships, one design matching their smaller escort, engaged a larger number of T’lack ships. Deep scan had not yet assembled, so Costa didn’t waste time wondering how the enemy came to hold the position it did. There was surely an alternode or two in this binary system. The other stellar component of the wide binary didn’t show in the scan yet, but it had to be there. The Phobics hadn’t come through the nearby node, not given their current positions. They’d come trans-system from elsewhere. One or more of those alternodes were surely now held by the Phobics, which meant things were not going well out here for the Radials and their friends.
The fleet of fifteen ships appeared to have fought the Phobics to a standstill, but the Phobic fleet was their equal in number, and twenty more T’lack warships were some thousands of kilometers away, a reserve force awaiting just the right moment to move forward and overwhelm a weakened defense. The defenders were not falling back, but from what Costa could see it was only a matter of time. As he watched, a ship much like their smaller escort blew up, adding its remains to the faintly glowing cloud of debris spreading slowly through the field of battle.
Their larger escort braked as the smaller ship surged forward toward the battle.
“Admiral?” Captain Anderson swiveled his chair around to face Costa.
Costa’s gut tightened and sweat dampened his palms. For a moment it was the Faceless War all over again, the repeated nightmare, battle after battle. But only for a moment, and with that flashback came old reflexes. These were matters Costa understood on a gut level, a matter of instinct. He ordered their plan of attack without missing a beat. He didn’t order the ships to combat stations; Anderson had given that order already and his colleagues had surely done the same. “Rusalas ships are to hold position. The rest of us will sync cheat drives and move to a position behind the first Phobic line. The Phobic reserves are currently beyond effective range. By the time they can advance, this round will be decided one way or another.” He tapped at his keypad and a data frame showing his hasty plan appeared, with the icons of his ships suddenly at the rear of the attacking Phobics.
“All ships report ready,” the comm tech announced.
“Cheat drives are synchronized.” The pilot sounded as calm as he had been vexed just minutes before.
“Give us a ten,” Anderson told the pilot.
“Ten seconds, sir, on my mark. Mark!”
Costa braced himself. This was the worst part. He was surrounded by data frames and images, tactical displays and status readouts. And he was helpless. He had given the orders that others would carry out. He could monitor every missile launched, every hit taken, but he could do nothing more.
I’m getting too old for this shit…
The count hit zero and the cheat drives discharged. This was a longer jump than before, and Costa felt it, a buzzing sensation somewhere back behind his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it came on. The display showed their ships neatly arrayed exactly where he wanted them, facing back the way they’d come. A wave of missiles leaped out at the Phobic cruisers and thrusters burned to close the gap between the GCEF ships and the Phobics. There was no reaction at first from the enemy, and Costa knew they’d been caught off guard.
The Phobics recovered quickly, launching a mass of fire nets that formed an almost solid wall of scintillating energy, destroying most of the missiles launched at them. Most, but not all, and at least a dozen made it through and found their marks. As they had done during the earlier engagement, two more staggered missile groups were already burning toward the enemy, and as the fleets closed, the Phobics ran out of time to relaunch their defensive weapons. Lasers flicked out, invisible except for their effect, marked by missiles that detonated short of their targets. Particle beams were another matter, great sparks of energy that lashed out as the ships closed on each other, scarring armor, burning it away. A battle of attrition, layer by layer, until a missile found a mark.
A Phobic ship blew up, then another, converted in an eyeblink to hellish nebulae of war. Every ship in the fight was being hurt, and with the system defenders surging forward to take the advantage Costa had handed them, it was inevitable that another would die. It was a melee, and lines between opposing fleets swiftly blurred. Yet another Phobic ship died, this one destroyed by the Philic ship Zetlestuk; the odds began to shift in favor of the defenders. The first Phobic wave could not fall back, trapped between enemy forces as they were. The second wave was coming, and coming fast, but they would not arrive in time to save their comrades.
Long scan was finally framed, and it was not encouraging. The Phobics had clearly crossed the system on a diagonal from an alternode. The signs of battle stretched a third of the way across the outer reaches: pockets of radioactive plasma and more substantial debris. The fight had clearly been going on for months. The Radials and their allies had fought the Phobics all the way. The alternode was weeks away, even with a cheat drive, but two Phobic fleets were on their way, and the nearest was a few days away at most.
There was nothing but T’lack shipsign to be found at the alternode, and there was no shortage of them. They might win this fight, in fact Costa was quite sure of it, but the star system was half lost already.
Costa’s ships took damage, gave damage, and there were no cowards in the fight on either side. A cold knot of fear tightened within him. They’d been lucky so far. Luck never lasted. Ships allied to the station died. Ships of the Phobics died. It was inevitable. The Grahlin warship Heltip took a direct hit, lost power, and in moments released a swarm of escape pods. Heltip was a ship that had fought the Faceless a dozen times on behalf of the old Concordance, and again on behalf of Humanity when the true purpose of that now extinct enemy had been revealed. Heltip suffered the fate of all who fight one battle too many. Costa counted the pods, and felt a weight settle over his heart. They were too few, all too few.
The Phobic ship that Heltip had been fighting launched fire nets after the escaping pods.
“Feckin’ bastards!” Costa lunged a moment against his restraints, then fought to master himself.
“Damn them all,” said Anderson.
They all watched helplessly as the shimmering webs of energy swept out at the fleeing pods. Then a shout went up on the Dewey’s bridge as one of the original defenders fired its main engines and rushed into the gap between the escape pods and the onrushing fire nets. It launched a salvo of missiles that detonated within the lead net, distorting it. Particle beam cannons lashed out, and the T’lack fire net dissipated in a cloud of scintillating sparks. The other net, damaged but still dangerous, swept on. But by then another system defender had entered the fray, standing between the Grahlin escape pods, firing thrusters and taking the net broadside, sustaining visible damage, but effectively screening the pods. The escaping Grahlin were saved.
The first ship to aid the Grahlin found itself badly positioned for defense and the Phobic ship launched a volley of missiles at her. Lasers from the other two Grahlin ships made short work of that volley, and then together they made short work of the Phobic ship.
Ships from behind the line raced forward and began to shepherd the Grahlin escape craft away from the battle. One ship of Radial design parked itself in the path of the escaping life pods and one by one the Grahlin craft were taken up by it. Costa watched it all, wondering if data about his task force had spread far enough that they knew of Grahlin environmental needs. But then, if they merely gathered the escape pods to shield them that would be more than enough. That they were in good hands was obvious when a signal came from the Grahlin that they were secure. Costa could see nothing else to be done beyond hoping their trust was not misplaced.
A pair of Phobic ships broke from the attacking fleet and charged the rescuers of the Grahlin, destroying the damaged Heltip as they passed. The Philic ships, all three commanded by Takak, were within range and did hard burns that placed them in the path of the attackers, at the same time unleashing a withering volley of fire that swept both Phobic ships into oblivion.
The tide had truly turned. The remaining Phobic ships turned and fired main engines, each on its own path away from the battle, but not before their force was reduced to a quarter of what it had been. Costa watched the remnant of the attackers recede at full power burns. He would have preferred a complete victory, but was reluctant to send his battered fleet in pursuit. He gave the order to hold position, his ships still mingled with those of the Radials and their allies.
“Status,” Costa demanded.
“We still have reports coming in,” Anderson replied, shifting his gaze from one data frame to another. “The Phobics, what’s left of them, are in full retreat. We lost the Heltip. There were casualties as they abandoned ship, but we don’t have a number yet. Other ships are also reporting casualties.”
“That second group of Phobics is still headed toward us,” Costa said. “What’s our combat readiness?”
“We’re still a force to be reckoned with,” Anderson replied. “Damaged ships are reporting ready even as they effect repairs.” He looked at Costa. “We’ll be ready for them.”
“Good,” Costa said. A thought occurred. “Any sign the stations behind us are being evacuated?”
“Not unless they did it before we got here,” Anderson replied. “Lot of shipsign still here, if they bugged out.”
“That’s a huge set of stations,” Costa replied. “Up to me, I’d be rushing assets in here to hold it. I’m betting they mean to hold this node.”
“It would have been a near thing, if we hadn’t come along,” Anderson said. “We definitely spoiled someone’s party.”
“We got lucky,” Costa said. “We won’t be a surprise to this next bunch.”
“They’re regrouping,” Anderson said.
Costa saw it, saw the surviving Phobic ships come to a stop with the second Phobic wave bearing down on them. The two groups would join forces and counterattack. Costa directed his ships to move into gaps between the resident defenders, to form a more effective defensive screen. As the GCEF ships maneuvered, he watched for any sign that their intentions might be misunderstood. Hell, if they haven’t figured us out by now...
Enemies of their enemies, that — at the very least.
“New signal,” said the comm tech. “Looks like it’s coming from one of those stations. More images.”
“Dorgnas?”
“We have it,” she replied. “It is another animation, in two parts. The first shows our ships and theirs in their current positions while ships come through the node. A large number of ships.”
“What kind of ships?” Costa asked.
“A mix, such as what we found here when we joined the fight.”
“Reinforcements, ” said Anderson. “You were right.”
Costa nodded. “And the second part?” he prompted.
“It moves the point of view trans-system to the nearest alternode,” Dorgnas replied. “A motley fleet of ships, a larger fleet, appears there and attacks the Phobics holding the abandoned facilities there.”
“Counterattack,” Costa said, nodding again. “Good. Any sense for when all of this is due to happen?”
“No, there’s no time counter in this sequence,” Dorgnas replied.
“Smart money is on them not knowing for certain,” Rory said into the channel. “They’ve been consistent with time counters, the last couple of messages. Can’t be sure what the symbols are on those illustrations, but I know a countdown when I see one. There’s no countdown on this.”
“So we know help is coming,” said Anderson. “But not when.”
“That is how my crew interprets the message,” Dorgnas replied.
