TAV Dewdrop Midway
Tweetie watched the Compact chase after Grant’s phantoms with satisfaction. They’d been utterly fooled, even going so far as to recombine their two formations into one to better threaten what they thought was the Terran fleet.
“Mind if I duck in?” asked Leil. “Spik nodded off just before the gravity cut out, and Whep’s getting suited up with Naomi to help with the jump-starts. I need something to keep my mind off the fact that my mate’s about to be drifting through open space.”
“By all means,” said Calloway. “We’ve got the best view on the ship.”
The backup fusion reactor spit out just enough power to run the main display and passive sensors in addition to life support and rad shielding. Leil hauled herself over to the rear bulkhead and slipped her arms through two of the zero-g ladder loops, floating in place. The Nyctra’s ears twitched with amusement at the Compact’s maneuvers.
“You can always count on an Ooquir to take the most straight-line approach towards a given solution. Look at them, matching Grant’s moves step-for-step. We’re playing them like a fiddle.”
“There were more than a few clever Ooquir on Mylar,” said Tweetie.
“Yeah, but none of those were more senior than a High Fist, all young and hungry. By the time one of those shitbags makes Greater Overlord, they’re fat and ancient. Couldn’t think their way out of a hairpin turn.
“Now, swap out one of those rats for an Alpier and you’ve got a different story entirely. They like their deceptions. Some of the stuff they’ll pull is– hold up. What was with that vector?”
“Which vector?” asked Cromley. He leaned back over his tac console and started tapping in commands.
“The one that third Compact superdreadnought just took. Only held it for about ten seconds, but it was pretty damn close to a straight-line shot back at us.”
“It’s probably just a coincidence–“
“Remember what I was just saying? If they’ve got an Alpier running things — and we can’t assume anything else — there’s no such thing as a coincidence. Pull up the sensor logs.” Leil’s ears were pressed low to her skull with worry. “We might have a problem.”
TAS Relentless Midway
“Priority message from Admiral Hugh, sir,” said Yu. “It came over the tight-beam.”
“Put it on my private terminal,” said Grant. He missed his implants. Before the refugee fleet had jumped into Midway, the entire message could’ve been played back in his head. He wouldn’t even have needed to look away from the tac plot.
“Rear Admiral Grant,” said Hugh’s recorded head, “when you receive this message, it will have been eleven minutes since the Galactic Compact launched a heavy cruiser squadron on a ballistic course towards the refugee fleet. Their estimated course has been transmitted along with this message.
“They have not yet pierced the illusion, but will do so at fourteen minutes past launch unless action is taken. Adjust your formation accordingly.
“Also, be advised that at ninety-eight minutes past their launch, the heavy cruiser squadron will detect the civilian fleet and inform the Galactic Compact commander. At maximum burn, Bogeys One and Two will still be capable of an interception upon our detection.
“Their approach is inevitable. If we fire on them, we betray our position, and they’re too distant for your grasers to penetrate their screens. I was asked to remind you that the survival of the civilian population is paramount, but I’ve known you for eleven years. You don’t need that reminder in the slightest.
“Do us proud. Hugh out.”
Looks like the Admiralty wouldn’t get the clean, casualty-free escape they’d hoped for. A pity, that. They could’ve used Grant’s dreadnoughts once they made their escape.
“Yu,” said Grant, “I’m passing some coordinates over to your station. Tell the math geeks to find us a new formation this whole charade airtight from two angles again.” He started to walk back to the tac plot, then paused. “Oh, and Parker? If you’re not going to be able to finish those modifications, now’s the time to tell me. You’re now about as mission-critical as it gets.”
TAV Dewdrop Midway
“Bloody hell,” whispered Tweetie. “Leil was right.”
“I was?” asked Leil, ears shooting up with satisfaction. Then, a few seconds later, they drooped back down. “Of course I was.”
“The Admiralty’s bouncing around an update on the tight-beam network. One squadron of heavy cruisers on a ballistic intercept course. They haven’t passed out their estimate of the vector, but Flaring should be able to manage something crude.”
“Already on it,” said Flaring. The Nedji’s beak was buried in the navigation console. “Computer’s still whittling down the possibilities, but we’ve got about about an hour and a half until we’re on their scopes. After that…”
“After that, we’re royally fucked,” said Cromley. “We weren’t supposed to go active until the Compact was a good three hundred million klicks out of position. They won’t even be half as far.”
“Plus the gate’s acting up,” said Leil.
Every head in the room swiveled the Nyctra.
“The what?” asked Tweetie.
“The gate,” said Leil. “Look at those readings you’ve got pasted in the bottom-left corner. Grav spikes every forty seconds, and periodic light emissions from the rings. Neither of those are supposed to happen. Something’s up.” She glanced around the surprised room, ears standing straight up. “You mean you hadn’t noticed?”
TAS Relentless Midway
For the first time in his life, Grant was going to make the Chairman’s paranoia work to his advantage. The thought made him feel almost as giddy as the fact that the nearest Marshal was more than a hundred and fifty million kilometers away. He’d like to see them try and sink their dirty claws into his squadron now.
Parker popped his head out of the access panel and, seeing Grant watching, gave a thumbs-up.
“Almost there, sir. The tablet’s patched in, and most of the physical safeguards have been safely bypassed. We can join the rest of the crew on the FAC as soon as I’ve cut the redundancies.”
“Thank you, Ensign. Yu, are the rest of the dreadnoughts ready?”
“They have been for some time, sir. None of them had to make quite as many modifications as Parker.”
“Thank you for the update. It’s good to know that at least one thing’s gone our way today.”
It was just like the Chairman to insist that every Terran warship bigger than a light cruiser be built with an override system, albeit a limited one, that could be used by a Marshal to wrest away a Terran Alliance fleet from rebel hands.
Like any system designed by committee, it was widely regarded as a broken mess. It couldn’t be triggered remotely, or turned over to an AI — that would have violated an archaic law restricting autonomous spacecraft over a certain tonnage. In fact, in order to actually use the damned thing to control a squadron, there needed to be two Marshals present in every CIC and flag bridge, and both men had to approve every command before it could be executed.
Small wonder the system had never been used. Right now, Parker and a score of other engineers across the squadron were busy turning the override into something halfway effective. Grant had plans for the modified tool.
Big plans.
HAV Machina Midway
“Can we go now, sir?” asked Charles. His voice dripped with sarcasm, and he was still wincing whenever he took a step. “I just want to make sure I won’t get shot for following along with the rest fleet. We can stay here and wait for the Compact if you so desire.”
“The move order’s gone out, then?” asked Jenkins. He was holding a rag to his broken nose, trying to keep the blood from leaking out into the zero-g cabin. Billy was staring at him, steadily chewing.
“Yes,” said Charles. “We’re to swing around and hit the gate on the Bluestar vector. Our squadron’s near the back.”
“Then don’t let me stop you.”
“Thank you, Captain,” said Charles. “Mance! Get the reactor back up!”
A grunt echoed through the ship. A few seconds later, the artificial gravity came back online and dropped Jenkins back into his seat. The goat landed primly on all four legs.
“Liam,” said Charles, “drop us into formation right on the Dewdrop‘s ass. I don’t want to spend even one extra second in this god-awful solar system.”
“She’s not up yet,” said Liam.
“Fuck. Well, kill the plant or something, maybe her captain’ll think…” The man’s gaze rested on Jenkins. He seemed to have forgotten about Walsh again. “So we’ve done this a few times. We’re smugglers. What’re you going to do, arrest us?”
“Later, maybe” said Jenkins. “For now, do your fucking job and help get our squadron jump-started. Might help sway the jury waiting for you at your court-martial.”
“As if,” muttered Charles. The man probably thought he was being quiet, but Jenkins had always had exceptional hearing. “Ain’t nobody managed to catch me yet.”
Nobody on the small bridge paid much attention to the gate.
TAV Dewdrop Midway
Since defecting to the Terran Alliance, Whep had discovered that he loved EVA work. Working outside of a ships hull, with only a thin suit between you and the vastness of infinity, terrified him in a way that he just couldn’t get enough of. It made him feel alive.
The effect was a little ruined by his suit’s helmet. It pressed down on his ears, nearly flattening them against his face. He’d caught himself scratching absently at the outside of the helmet more than once since leaving the Dewdrop‘s airlock.
His radio crackled and Naomi’s voice filled the suit. “How’s it coming?” she asked.
“Almost there,” said Whep. “Hundred meters to go.”
Whep adjusted his course with a slight burst from his thruster pack. The power conduit, secured to his belt, kept pulling him off-target, but it was easy enough to manage. The Maxwell‘s hull loomed large in his vision.
He feathered his thrusters before he hit the hull, landing with a barely perceptible impact. Whep used magnetic clamps to crawl towards the external access panel, which slid open at a touch. Connecting the conduit took less than four seconds, and the safety checks were the work of a moment.
“Link established,” said Whep. “Tell Calloway that he can fire ‘er up.”
“Roger,” said Naomi. “Should be happening any moment now. Feel anything?”
Whep’s paws were suddenly pulled towards the Maxwell‘s hull. “Yep. Another flawless jump-start. I’m kicking off as we speak.”
He oriented himself towards the approaching Compact squadron as he floated back towards the Dewdrop. They should be entering into engagement range any second now. If the Terran countermeasures performed as advertised, it would be quite the show.
He was rewarded by six sharp flashes of light. He tried and failed to flick his ears into a smile. The moment wasn’t really that significant — the Compact’s suspicions would have been confirmed the moment the first Terran ship fired up her matt-ann plant — but Whep felt that at least one person should witness it.
Something else caught his eye. The revolving rings of the distant gate, normally matte-black and invisible to the naked eye, were flickering a bright blue. He couldn’t think of any reason why.
“Whep,” came Calloway’s voice, “stop dawdling and get your ass back into the ship. The Admiralty’s passed out the course for our jump, fluctuations be damned, and I’m afraid that if you’re not in here before we go Leil’s gonna skin me alive. She’s pacing.”
He twisted around and triggered the thruster pack. Calloway’s words had reminded him that, in his excitement at getting outside the hull, he’d completely forgotten about Leil. That had been a mistake. His mate hated it when he went EVA.
If he didn’t get back soon, she was going to be pissed.
TAV Relentless Midway
The Compact was just beginning to accelerate back towards the civilian fleet when Grant struck. For a brief moment, his formation devolved into barely-controlled chaos as the unmanned FACs and cutters that had built the illusion raced into new positions. Hundreds of small craft buzzed around the prows of the torpedo-shaped Stalwarts, forming the most expensive ablative shield in the history of mankind.
Then the dreadnoughts charged.
Seven capital ships streaked towards the four clustered Compact superdreadnoughts. The Terran’s acceleration blew well past their stated maximums as they pushed their impellers to the max.
Grant felt acceleration bleed past his ship’s dampeners, slamming him against his crash-couch. Black spots swam in his vision as he fought to remain conscious. He didn’t want to miss a thing.
The Compact turned to face the threat, halting their advance towards the fleeing civilian fleet. Grant forced his face into a weak smile. That was good. Even if everything else went wrong, he’d have still bought a few precious minutes.
Slowly, painfully, the gap between the formations closed. Grant clung to consciousness for forty long minutes as the dreadnoughts continued to accelerate. Then, when Grant thought he couldn’t stand any more abuse, the force crushing at his chest double as the Terran’s pushed their impeller drives even further. Without his air tube, he would have started to suffocate. Instead, he hovered on the brink of consciousness.
Then the weight lifted and Grant could breath easily again. His FAC had been jettisoned from the Relentless, hopefully without the Compact noticing. He’d made it. He’d get to watch the show.
The Compact’s grasers lashed out at the oncoming Terran warships, overwhelming the screens and boiling through layers of small craft and steel. None of Grant’s dreadnoughts fired back. They just kept piling on acceleration. By the time the enemy realized the Rear Admiral’s intent, it was too late for them to try and dodge.
The prow of the Relentless hit the hull of the first Compact superdreadnought. The relative velocity between the two ships was 0.35c, and the dreadnought weighed millions of metric tons. The Terrans didn’t need to overload the reactor, or even aim their strikes particularly well. They only needed to manage one glancing hit on each enemy capital ship.
All seven dreadnoughts struck home.
From the bridge of Grant’s Payload-class FAC, there really wasn’t much to see. The force of the explosion burnt their sensors out. Alarms blared as their screens struggled against the sudden blast of radiation, and the FAC shuddered as debris from the inferno battered the ship. Grant felt the first breach in the hull, could just make out the hiss of their air as it fled into the vacuum of space.
At least I managed to save the crews, he thought.
Then the spots returned, overwhelming his vision, and Grant’s world went black.
RFS Heartbreaker
Kyla caught herself against a bulkhead as the Heartbreaker translated into the system. She glanced around frantically, half expecting there to be a catastrophe waiting for her, but her fears were unfounded. Gate translations were trivial for a Compact-built ship.
There was a haunting song playing through over the ship’s internal speakers. The tune hovered halfway between a mournful dirge and a fierce rallying cry, with bright trills of hope dancing among the minor chords.
A voice came over the ship-wide intercom, speaking Human Common in the trilling accent of a Nedji . “Our translation to Bluestar was successful,” it said. “The fleet is regrouping for an immediate second jump. We’ll be taking this one even slower.
“I’m now authorized to tell you that we do, in fact, have a long-term course. Over the part five years, elements of the 3rd Fleet have been conducting surveying operations along the fringes of Compact-controlled space. They’ve compiled quite the list.
“We’re going to shake the Compact off, and then we’re going to have ourselves a little tour of the galaxy. We will not drift forever. We will find ourselves a new home.”
A weak cheer rang through the cargo hold. Well, weak by human standards. To Kyla’s sensitive ears, it was deafening.
She limped through the throng towards a wall display, feeling a sudden pang of self-consciousness as Benjamin cleared a path for her. It vanished as soon as she saw saw the screen. Squadrons of ships were still pouring out of the gate, and a little more than half of the arks had survived, but there were gaps in the orderly formations. Big gaps.
Maybe there’d been a catastrophe waiting after all.
HAV Machina
The Machina shuddered as it cleared the gate, even more violently than during their high-speed escape from Sol. A force pressed down on Jenkins chest, slamming him back into the tattered crash couch. He struggled to breathe.
The artificial gravity cut out. Lights died, and the red emergency lighting kicked in. The comm station went up in sparks, and smoke started to trickle out of the seams in the deck plating. Emergency bulbs shattered one by one. Then, finally, the weight lifted.
“Should any of that have happened?” choked out Jenkins. His left arm still burned and his nose was bleeding again, but at least the blood was falling to the ground. The artificial gravity had stayed online against all odds.
“No,” said Charles and Walsh. They shared an awkward glance.
Charles broke the silence with an exaggerated cough. “No, it shouldn’t have. That gate transition was well below the maximum. It should’ve been smooth as an escort’s–“
“Uh, boss,” interrupted Fingers. “You may want to take a look at the tac plot.”
Jenkins watched Charles’s eyes defocus as the man’s implants kicked in. He started subvocalizing his own commands by reflex, then cursed as he remembered that his own implants were still inactive. Instead, he turned to his own still-working console.
The system was empty. Well, almost empty. There was a bare handful of impeller signatures speeding away from the gate, but no more. The escaping fleet had been more than four thousand strong. There should have been a traffic jam, for fuck’s sake.
“Mance!” bellowed Charles. “Mance, you get your sorry ass out onto the hull and fix the goddamn comm arrays! They’re on the fritz again.”
A deep bass grunt echoed through the ship. Charles walked to the back of the bridge and slumped against the wall.
“They’d better be friendly,” said Charles, “’cause I don’t think the old girl’s got much fight left in ‘er.”
At least one of them had better be the Dewdrop, thought Jenkins, because if I’m stuck on this rusty piece of shit for the rest of my life, I’m going to snap.
“Bleat,” said the goat.
TAV Dewdrop
The Dewdrop‘s gravity had cut out again. Anyone on the bridge who hadn’t been strapped in was drifting awkwardly through space. An overjoyed squeal had sent Leil hurrying from the bridge, muttering something about wrangling a Spik who wasn’t stuck to the ground. The rest of the crew were conducting a hasty survey of the system.
“One of the ships seems to be the Machina,” said Cromley. “At least, their impeller signature matches. They’re not transmitting anything on the IFF band.”
“And the rest?” asked Calloway.
“All from our squadron,” replied Cromley, “though the tug’s missing some hull. Back third got sliced clean-off.”
“Shit. The crew–“
“Are still in the flight deck. At the ship’s prow.”
“Good. We don’t need any more senseless deaths today. Anyone answered our hails?”
“Nope,” said Tweetie, “and it’s not likely that they will. Our military comms array survived that jump, but a civvy rig like the Machina‘s is just an antenna bolted onto the hull. With the amount of bleed-through we got–“
“Yeah, we’re lucky we still have atmo,” said Calloway. “Cromley, you’re absolutely sure that our sensors aren’t on the fritz? We’re not mistaking our short-range picture for the whole system? Because there should be a lot more ships here than just our squadron.”
“Nope,” said Cromley. “Board’s green. The Dewdrop took that turbulence like a champ.”
“So where the hell are we, then?”
Nobody had an answer. Outside the Dewdrop, their small squadron drifted through space. The gate loomed over a deserted system. The expected Terran Fleet was nowhere to be found. Nothing was, really. No probes, no stations, and no other ships.
They hadn’t emerged from the jump with the rest of the fleet. Instead, they’d found themselves alone.