Desolator: Book 2 (Stellar Conquest) (24 page)

Chirom stumbled his way to the console, trying to make sense of the readouts. Many of the telltales showed levels much higher than normal. “Anyone with mechanical knowledge, take a look at this. The engine seems to be operating far above capacity. I need to know how long this can go on.”

The youngling Svim pushed to the front, then began tapping at keys with abandon. “Elder, all power is being diverted to the photonic capacitors at emergency levels.” The earnest adolescent looked up into his elder’s face with wide eyes and upthrust ears. “I cannot tell how long the system will function. One smallspan, one year?”

A voice from Chirom’s ankle spoke among the hubbub.
Input shutdown code. Input shutdown code
. Shoving Ryss aside, he looked down to see the maintenance drone. “What is the code?” he asked the machine.

Before it could reply, an explosion caused the band of Ryss to turn and witness a hole appear in the bulkhead two hundred strides from where they stood. A moment later a shiny metal vehicle shoved its way through, turned toward them, and fired its cannon.

Ryss dove in all directions, rolling away from the blast that blew their machine guide to bits. Shrapnel scythed down several warriors, then the rest began returning fire with their maser carbines.

Sparks flew along the attacker’s glittering new panels, but it seemed undamaged and accelerated toward the console. For a moment Chirom thought it might fire at the control panel, but perhaps that would have shut down the fusion engine, and clearly Desolator, or whatever part of the AI controlled this machine, did not want that to happen.

Inspiration struck him then, and he rolled to his feet, running painfully to mount the steps that scaled the outside of the fusion drive, toward the fuel flow valve access above. He stopped halfway up, heedless of the attacking machine. “You with tools – we need a cutting torch up here!”

None of the warriors moved from their positions in cover behind machinery, afraid of the war-drone bearing down on them. “Run here, quickly! It will not fire if you are close to the engine. It will not damage the reactor!”

Chirom waved his arms at the war-drone, which turned and aimed its cannon at him, then turned away again. “You see? To fire on me it would blow a hole in the reactor wall.” He slapped a paw against the hot surface next to him. “Come on!”

Four of the tool-carrying Ryss leaped to their feet and ran toward the base of the steps. The war-machine fired, blowing the rearmost warrior to bloody shreds, before the other three reached the base of the metal stairway and ran upward. “The rest of you get away, now! Run for the warm-room. We are going to cut the fuel line. Go!” With that, Chirom dragged himself upward, his wounds shrieking with pain.

The double pawful of Ryss on the deck below scattered, firing their masers or rolling grenades at the drone as they retreated. Some got away, but most were so slow from their injuries that the war-machine shot them down or crushed them under its heavy wheels.

At the top of the spherical reactor housing, twenty strides above the deck, Chirom helped the three exhausted Ryss to the top. The youngster Svim helped carry the cutting torch.

“Employ the cutter, my brother heroes,” Chirom urged. “Use it on the fuel line here.” He placed his hand on a pressure pipe as large as his thigh.

“Elder…” Svim said earnestly, “if we do so, the hydrogen will explode. We will all die.”

Chirom ignored the frustrated war-drone below, which spun about, aiming here and there, but not firing its gun. “I know, youngling, and I am sorry. This is what warriors do. We live for the Ryss and we die for the Ryss. We will soon be with our ancestors, and all will be well.”

“But Elder,” Svim persisted, “only one need make the cut.” He pointed along the elevated walkway, deeper into the nest of machinery that fed and controlled the huge engines. “The rest can run there and escape to the next level.”

Chirom looked, and saw that it was true. A maintenance hatch showed in the overhead, with a ladder leading to it. “Very well. You three heroes must go. Run and escape, before Desolator sends a legged drone that can climb these stairs and spear us with its blades.”

One of the other two growled deep in his throat. It was Bhligg, the grizzled old male that had questioned him before. “No, Chirom. I will do it. I am old and tired, and I long for a hero’s death. You must guide the Ryss, and teach Trissk how to become a great leader like you. And young Svim here has never been glorified.” The ancient warrior cuffed the youngster good-naturedly, then put his gnarled paws on Chirom’s shoulders, to speak face to face. “I will stay.”

Chirom looked in Bhligg’s eyes and saw steely resolve there, so he did not argue. He leaned toward the old Ryss and rubbed his forehead to the veteran’s, saying, “I am the ship’s Recording Officer. You will be remembered in the Rolls of Glory. Die well, Bhligg.”

Turning away resolutely, Chirom motioned Svim to lead them to the access panel. He knew Bhligg would wait until they were far enough away.

Five smallspans later, as they hurried through the broken maze that formed
Desolator
’s innards, they heard the rumble of the blast as hydrogen spewed and caught fire in the oxygen atmosphere of the engine room. Immediately the vibration of the fusion drive died away, leaving them in cold silence.

“Let us hurry to the warm-room, before we all freeze,” Chirom said to the others.

He raised a hand in greeting to the decorated officer that stood before him. “General Khrom,” Absen said, “I greet you. What is the status of the unknown ship?”

The general responded in English, “Ship has appeared inside orbit of Enoi, at rest. Now it begins to fall onto Koio. Also it spins.” Koio was the natives’ name for their own planet, what the humans called Afrana, and Enoi their common name for its moon. “Sad it is that the Weapon now faces outward.”

The Hippo’s voice held no accusation, but Absen blamed himself anyway. He had ordered the moon rotated so that the enormous ground-based laser they had captured, powerful enough to destroy a warship at a range of ten million kilometers, aimed itself away from the planet instead of toward it.

The weapon had been the sword the Meme held above the Hippos’ heads, to ensure they did not rebel, therefore it had seemed utterly sensible to fix powerful fusion engines on the surface of the moon and slowly, over the course of the last three years, rotate it. Now that the laser faced in a direction that simultaneously assured it would not be used against the planet, and improved its apparent usefulness.

Absen never thought he would now face a situation where an enemy ship would use an unknown high-technology drive system to bypass the allied defenses and appear above Afrana, within the moon Enoi’s orbit, like magic.

If I’d have just left the weapon as it was, we could blast the thing.

He wondered then whether this was another reason the Meme laser had been pointed inward rather than outward – a last-ditch defense against Ryss ships that would use their super-fast drive to get in close to Meme planets, fire their weapons, then run away? His tactical mind had been running through scenarios for the last several hours, trying to figure out how such a drive system could be used in combat.

The possibilities were staggering. No wonder the Ryss had given the Meme fits; his intelligence experts were now of the opinion that the new aliens must be the so-called Species 447, which had fought a bloody war and caused the Bite to come into being.

Dragging his mind back to the Hippo officer in front of him, Absen said, “The past cannot be changed. Let us deal with the present. How soon until this ship will be in weapons range of the bogey?” Absen hoped the general understood that term.

It appeared he did. “Bogey is presently four standard hours from primary engagement range. Sorry I am that this fortress can accelerate at no more than two standard gravities.” He meant Earth gravity units, since the Hippos used a different system entirely. “We do have one hundred experimental nuclear missiles available.”

Based on human designs, Absen knew Hippo ships and installations were being fitted with guided drones and missiles, but only a few as yet. The Meme had denied their subject races such powerful long-range weapons, limiting them to beams only.

“Can you launch missiles but hold them away from their target, under positive command?” Absen asked.

“Yes, we can. But to do so, the missiles will be, how do you say, ‘sitting ducks’ for counterfire. They give up all speed of launch. The farther away they wait, the longer the reaction time, but the faster they will be going in terminal phase.”

Absen nodded. “I would suggest several layers of perhaps ten missiles each, to take up positions around it. Then you will also have a reserve to fire when the time comes.”

“I am happy to carry out your
orders
, Admiral.” The general cocked his head slightly at the emphasized word, and Absen wondered again at the political undercurrents the Hippos sometimes saw fit to reveal. Why would the general  want him to have given an
order
rather than a suggestion? Perhaps he was trying to avoid responsibility for failure? But in his experience the Hippos did not seem to have that foible. A very straightforward and matter-of-fact people, were the Sekoi.

“Fine, then make it so.” The crew of the battle-station’s bridge turned to their consoles as one, and soon fifty icons curved out and took their places on the main display, surrounding the bogey. He could order those nukes to attempt to destroy that ship whenever he wanted, but for now, they had time.

“How long before the bogey impacts the planet?” Absen asked.

Khrom turned to his staff to ask a question, then replied, “About three standard hours.” All “standard” measurements meant human measurements. Apparently the Hippos felt no resentment about this, seeming to regard it as the just desserts of conquest – or alliance.

Absen nodded. “I got a sketchy report relayed from my Marine assault sleds before I came aboard. My forces are trying to disable the artificial intelligence that controls the ship. I have told them that if they cannot, they are to evacuate as many people as they can on the sleds a half hour before it hits atmosphere. That should give us enough time to destroy it with your nuclear missiles.”

The general nodded, a gesture he had learned to use in the presence of his allies. The Hippo version consisted of ear-flicks in a certain pattern; the human nonverbal was much simpler. “And if it counterfires all the missiles?”

Absen answered the question with one of his own. “Are there any other forces that can reach the bogey in time to attack it?”

“The cruiser
Klel
is under construction in the orbital shipyards. It has no weapons, but can be rammed into the enemy.” The Hippo crossed his arms and looked away, as if embarrassed at his people’s helplessness.

“That won’t do much, as I suppose you know. Is there any indication where the bogey will impact? And how much energy it will release?”

A map of Koio-Afrana appeared on the main screen. “Here,” the general said, pointing to a large blue icon near a Hippo port city. “We estimate ten million casualties up and down the coastline, though we are evacuating now. The
Klel
’s impact may knock it farther out to sea, but that will only reduce problem. Many still die.”

“We must destroy the ship, and all on it, before we let that happen, General,” Absen promised. “Hundreds against millions: there is no other choice.”

“Even though your troops die?”

“That’s their job, General.” Absen held the Hippo’s eyes until the other looked away.

A bleeping sound caught his attention, and the general received a report in his own language. “The ship has begun its fusion drive,” Khrom said. “It is accelerating toward Koio at one-half standard G.”

“How long until planetfall?” Absen snapped.

“If acceleration continues, now one hour.”

“Please open a channel on the following frequency,” Absen requested, and relayed the details. In a moment he was speaking with the chief of the assault sleds, the only section of the assault he could reach. “Flight Warrant Butler, what’s going on?” There was transmission lag of a dozen seconds between each side of the conversation.

“Admiral, the Marines got control of most of the interior and they’re trying to disable the AI, but the vault where the computer lives is well defended. Gravity’s variable and the ship’s spinning up slow. No matter, we’re trained for all this.”

“Butler, listen. The ship’s fusion drive just came on and you’re accelerating toward the planet: impact in about an hour if that engine keeps firing. It’s only generating one-half G. Think you can fly out and attack the drive with breaching charges and lasers?”

Silence reigned for a moment on the comm, then the answer came back. “No problem, sir. Aero Forces will get the job done.”

“As expected. As soon as you do, prep for evac. If we have to, we’re going to blow that ship to kingdom come before it impacts the planet.”

“Ah. Sir, what about the Ryss?”

“Bring as many off as you can, Butler. Stuff them in like sardines if you have to. All you’ve got to do is get away from the nukes when they hit, and have enough air for an hour or two. We’ll be there to pick you up as fast as we can.”

“Yes, sir, will do. I’ll pass the word to the major and the commander.”

By his voice, Absen thought Butler was holding back. “Something else, Chief?”

“Aw, not really sir. Just we fought so hard to take this thing over; got a bunch of good men killed. Now we’re jumping ship.”

“No choice, Butler. The bogey is heading for a hard landing that’s going to kill a few million allied civilians. We can’t let that happen.”