Fall of Angels (2 page)

  
A blinding line of light flared through the screens, through Nylan's mind, shivering him to the tips of the nerves in fingertips and toes, and leaving his eyes watering.

  
When his mind cleared, long before his eyes, he could sense through the net that that blinding line of light from the tower ships had shattered the first line of attacking angel forces, nearly a dozen fast destroyers.

  
Still, without so much as a flicker in the overlapping screens, the Winterlance, and the second line, dropped its darkness toward the mirror-lights of the demons, and Ryba squared the ship on its tower-shattering course. "De-energizers."

  
"Charging," came Gerlich's affirmation across the net. The screens of the Rationalists' tower ships flared and merged, creating a shimmering wall that seemed to reflect all electronic signals and visual images back through the Winterlance's neuronet.

  
Ryba winced as the signals knifed through her skull; Nylan dropped off the top level of the net. So did Ayrlyn. "Activate D-one." The captain's thoughts were cold, even though Nylan knew she trembled in the command couch, even as the combined signals of the angels' fleets and the demons' towers flared back through her mind and her body.

  
"D-one is activated."

  
"Activate D-two."

  
"D-two is activated."

  
Nylan moistened his dry lips, finally opening his eyes, then easing back onto the neuronet's top level, where his senses slipped across the screens and inputs that the captain juggled as line two began the sweep through the probing disruption lines cast by the demons.

  
With twelve towers and only fifty angel ships, he didn't expect too much from the de-energizer beams of line two, except that the demons' towers would have to draw on their own power, rather than use laser or solar energy to hold the reflective focusing against the angels' fleet. It often took four lines to even get the reflective shields of the demons to dim.

  
Nylan watched the representational screen-no visual scans would show the intertwinings of energies and positions that marked the angel-demon conflicts. The energy draw beams converged on the selected nexus point, the two from the Winterlance, two from the Deepchill, and one, of course, from the struggling Polar/low.

  
"Three! Get that D-beam in position."

 
 
There was no response from the Polar/low, but somehow the demons' towers shifted in space, and the D-beams flared into nothingness.

  
The captain flattened the propulsion fields and slewed the ship sideways at a right angle to the course line, then even before the frigate was reoriented, pulsed the de-energizers twice more on the nexus linch point between the shields of two towers.

  
Another pale amber de-energizer beam struck the same linch point, then another, and then a fourth.

  
"Power, Nylan. Power!"

  
The engineer dropped into the neuronet, and a hundred flashes of energy ripped at him, enough that his whole body burned, as he boosted the fusactors to nearby twenty percent over rated maximum and channeled everything but the power to the ship's screens into the de-energizers.

  
Two disrupter fields bracketed the Winterlance, and Nylan dropped his senses into the lowest power sublevels, smoothing fields and trying to anticipate the feedback effects.

  
Somewhere, on the neuronet levels above him, he could sense the implosion as the Polarflow was sucked into over-space chaos.

  
Ryba dropped the frigate's ambient gravity to near-null while lifting the Winterlance almost on her tail. The demon disrupter brackets faded. Sweat poured from Nylan's forehead and down across his closed eyes as he eased the flux lines into smooth lines of power from each fusactor and merged them. He let the right fusactor rise to one hundred ten percent rated output and the left to one hundred nine percent until just before the hint of electronic chaos began to appear. Then he dropped both to just shy of max.

  
Even so, the system telltales began to flash amber, like pinpoints of pain through Nylan's body, and he took the ventilation system off-line to compensate, knowing the two dozen marines would start cursing even as the cold air stopped flowing from the ventilator jets.

  
The flight crew members were used to the loss of ventilators in combat, and were usually too preoccupied to worry, but the backup combat troops weren't. They hated serving as backups, but ever since the Icewind had captured a demon tower, the angel high command had insisted on two squads of marines on each cruiser. Of course, reflected Nylan, no other cruiser had even come close to a tower ship, and the angel scientists had yet to figure out how the damned tower worked, except that it somehow both created chaos perturbations and used them to distort realspace.

  
Two sets of disrupter beams probed around the Winterlance.

  
Ryba dropped the external energy levels to nil, then pulsed screens.

  
Nylan scrambled through the mid-level powernet, cooling feedback, and unsnarling the energy loop from the second fusactor, always more sensitive to field effects.

  
A third beam switched to the Winterlance as the Deepchill went to chaos.

  
The captain dropped the nose and most of the screens, jamming all the powerflows into acceleration, and demanded, "Power!"

  
Nylan rammed the fusactors into emergency overload, nearly one hundred twenty percent of rating on each, letting his nerves burn as he damped the swirls.

  
The third line of angels began to attack the towers, but the disrupter beams all seemed to remain searching for the Winterlance, bracketing the cruiser on all sides.

  
Nylan swallowed. With no gravity in the Winterlance, the ship warming rapidly, the ventilation off, and the captain playing spaceobatics to avoid the Rats' focused ion disassociators, his guts were twisted into knots, his eyes pools of pain, and all he had to operate with were the net and his senses.

  
"Shields!" Ryba dropped the acceleration to nil.

  
The fourth line of angel ships, including the heavy cruisers, swept in from below, and dozens of de-energizers licked at the towers, but the disrupters still slashed at the Winterlance.

  
Nylan reshifted the power flows into overshields, calculated, and recalculated. The Winterlance's screens were strong enough for perhaps two simultaneous demon beams-once, twice at the outside.

  
One disrupter slid across the screens, and Nylan moaned as the power burned into his brain, even as he shifted the screen focus to blunt the dull, aching, and chaotic combined power drain and overload.

  
A sound like splintering glass, shattering static, and pure chaos screeched through the comm bands as the mirror ships' nexus point collapsed and fundamental chaos back-surged from the disintegrating Rat picket line.

  
Angel ships scattered, some underjumping blind, others swallowed by the chaos vortex unleashed by the nexus point's collapse.

  
Ryba dropped the shields and pulled full acceleration.

  
The fundamental chaos-a white vortex swirling in no directions and all directions-glittering with the focused and reflected energies of the Rationalists' tower ships-slammed through the Winterlance, twisting and tumbling the frigate through a dark funnel-into a red-tinged whiteness framed with black order.

  
The same blackness flooded over the overloaded engineer.

III

NYLAN SHOOK. HIS head. He hadn't expected that he'd be able to shake his head-or that he'd even be alive. Then he tried to access the neuronet, but nothing happened. He concentrated on the power system, and got the mental image of the board. The mental readouts matched the visual console before him, but he had no feeling of being on the net, just the mental picture.

  
Both status images revealed that the fusactors were dead-almost as if they did not exist.

  
He frowned.

  
"Darkness! Look at you ..." murmured Ayrlyn.

  
"What?" asked Nylan.

  
"Your hair is silver-not old silver, just silver."

  
"Enough on hair color! Where are we?" Gerlich's words growled from the speaker.

  
"We're trying to find out!" snapped Ryba. "It takes longer manually."

  
Nylan stared at the captain-whose dark brown hair had clearly turned black-a dark jet-black. Jump transits didn't change hair color-that he knew. He turned toward Ayrlyn, whose brown hair had become a fiery red, not orange-red or mahogany-red, but like living flame.

  
Were they all dead? Was this some form of afterlife?

  
"So... where are we?" asked Saryn, her hair still brown, perhaps slightly darker, a shade more ... alive.

  
As he waited for the captain to answer, Nylan glanced at the board before him, where half the displays were either dead or showing meaningless parameters, and then back at the captain. Finally, he shrugged and waited.

  
"Nowhere I've ever seen," Ryba finally answered. "The nav systems don't match anything, but we're practically on top of a planet, and I'll have the orbit stabilized in a bit."

  
The engineer frowned. The odds on underjumping, especially blind and unintentionally, and ending up near a planet, any kind of planet, were infinitesimal.

  
"Nylan, is there any way to get more power?"

  
"The fusactors are dead, Captain. I'll try again." Nylan concentrated on the fusactors, ignoring the dead net, trying to call up and replicate the feeling of smooth power flows.

  
For a moment, perhaps several units, some form of power flowed, but Nylan felt as if it were flowing from him, not the fusactors, and the blackness began to rise around him.

  
He let go of the image. "That's it, Captain." He didn't know why, but he couldn't do more.

  
"Might have been enough." Ryba's words were grunted.

  
The engineer returned to study the readouts before him, regretting the slowness of the manual inputs. Since the captain said nothing, Nylan began to use the long-range sensors to gather data on the planet, cataloguing each piece of data as it hit the system. A warm water planet with no electronic emissions; clear day-night rotational pattern; no moons of any size; no light concentrations on the dark side; roughly Heaven-Sybra-standard gravity, assuming that the mass balance was somewhere near norm.

  
He trained one sensor on the sun and swallowed.

  
"Stable orbit... I think," announced Ryba, wiping her forehead with the back of her black shipsuit sleeve. She turned in the couch and frowned. "You were right, Ayrlyn. About the hair color."

  
Nylan nodded to himself. Was the spectrum, the visible spectrum, different? How could it be? The ship's lights were still the same. Or were they all different?

  
"Where are we?" asked Saryn. "Does anyone know?"

  
"A demon-fired long way from anywhere-that's certain." Ryba wiped her forehead again, looked back at the screens once more, and then at Nylan. "You were doing something with the sensors, Nylan. What do they show?"

  
"I'd have to say that we're not in our universe."

  
"Not in our universe? How could we not be in our universe?"

  
"Would you prefer dead? The afterlife of the demons? Those are your choices. Personally, Captain, I prefer the alternative universe."

  
"And what might lead you to this conclusion, Ser Nylan?" Ryba's voice was chill, the polite voice of disagreement that Nylan hated.

  
"A number of little things, beginning with the odds of blind underjumping and emerging near a planet. In our universe, that kind of jump would have turned us into dust and energy. The fusactors are both dead, and they shouldn't be. The indicators show that the firm cells are discharging at half their normal rate, despite twice the emergency load."

  
"At least there's a planet down there."

  
"That's another problem. It's a water planet, and it's in what would be a habitable zone-assuming that such a thing existed with a yellow-white star this hot. But it's on the fringe for most of us."

  
"You're half-Svennish, aren't you?" snapped Gerlich over the speaker. "Trust a Svenn to pick a hot planet."

  
"He didn't pick it," pointed out Ryba. "How hot is it?"

  
"If the sensors are accurate... the sea-level surface is like Jobi, but warmer. Too hot to be comfortable for us, but fine for demons. There are a couple of high-altitude plateaus that would be perfect-especially in the smaller continent, but setting a lander down there would be murder."

  
"Trying to live in a place hotter than Jobi would kill most of us-except you and Ayrlyn," responded Gerlich's voice.

  
Saryn swallowed in the background, but Nylan said nothing.

  
"It wouldn't be a revel for us." Ayrlyn's brown eyes seemed to flash blue.

  
Ryba nodded curtly, but not quite so coldly. "Anything else?"

  
"I think there's some form of life down there, and there shouldn't be, not without some form of moon, or unless we're looking at a planoformed world. But there aren't any electronic emissions."