Flagship (A Captain's Crucible #1) (16 page)

Three hundred meters.

He pointed the nose upward and engaged the thrust so he wouldn't slam into the array. Then he swung the nose back down and fired the Cobra during the flyby, prepping the impact site for the X90.

A flash came as the missile struck the array.

The Avenger abruptly shuddered and was sent into a tailspin. An alert sounded.

"Report!"

"We've been hit by slugs from the pursuing fighters!" Lin said.

"Countermeasures!"

Wolf swung his body hard to port. The outline of the nose ghosted over his display—but the ship refused to respond to his motions.

"We've lost all control," Lin said. "We're drifting helplessly through space."

"AI!" Wolf said. "Take over."

No response.

"Did we get it at least?" Wolf shut his eyes: the spinning stars were making him dizzy.

"We did." Lin said.

"Thank—"

The cockpit shuddered again and the inertial compensators abruptly deactivated. His body was racked by G forces. He gritted his teeth, his lips curling into a rictus. He tried to say Lin's name but his features were completely frozen and only a grunt emerged.

He blacked out shortly thereafter.

* * *

Robert stared at the tactical display in disbelief.

"Sir," Ensign Lewis said. "The first segment of the laser array is down!"

They'd done it.

Well done pilots!

"Enemy fighters are breaking away from the wreckage," Miko announced. "They're headed toward us."

Robert nodded slowly. "They're going to make a strafing run." He glanced at the second wave of Avengers on the display. The fighters were still twenty thousand kilometers away from the main group. "Recall all Avengers. We're going to need them protecting the task unit."

"Recalling Avengers."

Robert watched the blue dots of the
Callaway's
squadrons pursue the red on the display. Those Avengers quickly lost ground, moving significantly slower than the alien fighters. Meanwhile, the enemy was gaining on the retreating squadrons from the
Aurelia, Dagger
, and
Linea
. 

"Instruct the second wave of Avengers to intercept and engage the enemy when they come within range," Robert said.

Miko echoed his orders.

"Sir," Ensign Lewis said. "The two targets from group one have started accelerating. They're on an intercept course with the task unit."

Robert studied the computed trajectories of the box ship and the dart ship.

"Can we outrun them?" Robert asked.

"Negative," Miko replied.

"Status on the remaining segments of the laser array?" Robert said.

"The pieces are drifting. Looks like they're abandoning the weapon."

"Let's hope so." Robert rubbed his ear lobe. "When the main enemy ships reach the two hundred thousand kilometer mark, launch a round of mortars fleet-wide. I want a noose ten kilometers in diameter around them by the time the vessels reach the fifty thousand kilometer mark. Deploy five kinetic kills and three nukes along with the mortars, timed to arrive at the same time. Separate the missiles by ten kilometers each on the Y-Z plane, within the mortar noose. Let's see how well their point defenses handle that. Oh and, none of those weapons are to come from the
Callaway
. We're already running low as it is."

Fresh yellow dots appeared on the display, indicating the weapon launches.

A moment later the red dots of the enemy fighters passed right through the blues from the second Avenger group. Two blues vanished from the display. All the reds remained intact. The blues pursued. The first wave of Avengers was about five thousand kilometers behind them.

According to the latest estimates on the HUD, the enemy fighters would arrive a good seven minutes ahead of the pursuing Avengers.

Robert shook his head. Perhaps he should have kept some of the fighters in reserve after all.

I'm not cut out for command
, he thought.

He considered tapping in Jonathan so that the real captain could command the task unit from the brig, but under the current state of affairs, Maxwell would only countermand the order. The damn intermixing of AIs into the chain of command.

He took a deep breath.
I can do this.

He watched the enemy fighters pass the twenty thousand kilometer mark.

"Have all capable ships rotate their noses ninety degrees," Robert told Miko. "I want our port Vipers facing those fighters. Instruct each vessel to target one enemy each. Prepare to fire on my command."

Miko echoed his orders.

When the enemy fighters reached the ten thousand kilometer mark, Robert said: "Fire broadsides."

At that distance, the concentrated laser broadside from the
Callaway
would have a spot area of four centimeters squared. At one hundred percent charge, that equaled a combined intensity of one hundred megajoules per pulse, with three pulses in total firing. Enough to eat through a meter of hull material in an ordinary ship, it would definitely cause some major damage to a fighter.

The five able vessels in the task unit concentrated on one target each. On the 3D display, white lines instantaneously joined each ship to a corresponding red dot. The lines vanished a half second later—a timeframe not indicative of the nanosecond lengths of the pulses themselves. When those white lines disappeared, the red dots they had struck went with them.

"Five enemy fighters eliminated," Miko said.

"And only another forty-two to go," Robert said sourly. "How long will it take to bring the nose projectors to bear?"

"About four minutes," Miko said. "But we only have five Vipers on the nose. We'll do the same damage with the half-charged port Vipers if we maintain our current orientation."

"All right. Maintain current orientation. Prepare to fire at the four minute mark. Target two enemies per ship this time." Since the range would cause the intensity to shoot up by four times, Robert was confident the task unit members could take down two enemies each by that point. "Fire on my mark."

Four minutes later the red dots reached the fifteen hundred kilometer range.

"Fire broadsides," Robert said.

Ten white lines appeared on the display.

"Two enemy fighters eliminated," Miko said.

"Only two?" Robert demanded.

"They're adapting," Miko said. "I believe whatever AIs are aboard those ships detected the rise in thermal temperature preceding our blast, and initiated evasive maneuvers. As our own fighters would do."

"Damn it."

The red dots closed to within a thousand kilometers.

"Enemy fighters are dispersing," Miko said. "It looks like they're dividing their forces equally among our five warships. Eight per vessel."

"Fire point defenses at will," Robert said.

Eight red dots reached the
Callaway
. The bridge shuddered as the enemy fighters made a strafing run.

The mag-rail point defenses fired, as did the undamaged laser turrets with charge remaining. Perhaps unsurprisingly, none of the red dots indicating the enemy fighters disappeared.

"What's going on, Miko?" Robert said.

"The fighters are dodging the mag-rail slugs. And at this range our lasers are only scoring partial hits, nicking the surfaces of their hulls. Their fast maneuverability isn't helping matters."

"I can see why our Avengers had so much trouble with them," Robert said.

The bridge stopped shuddering when the last of the red dots had passed.

"Damage report!" Robert said.

"We have breaches on decks eleven, twelve, thirty-two, thirty-three, and cargo bay five," Lewis said. "Twenty-three crew members missing and presumed dead."

"Four of the fighters are looping back to make another run at the
Callaway
." Miko paused. "However, the other four are continuing toward the
Selene
,
Grimm
, and
Marley
. The same thing is happening with the other four warships—half the enemy fighters are breaking away toward the latter ships."

"Damn it," Robert said. "They're going after the very ships we were trying to protect. Order half of the Avengers to give chase when they arrive. In the meantime, have the able warships charge up their starboard broadsides and fire at the receding enemy fighters when the Vipers reach fifty percent. Let's see if we can take down a few more of the bastards before they reach our wards. Which two ships are the fastest in our unit?"

"That would be the
Dagger
and
Linea
, sir."

"Dispatch both ships to give them a hand." The bridge shook as the fighters made another run. "And keep firing the damn point defenses!"

"Sir," Lewis announced. "We have breaches on decks eight to ten, and nineteen to twenty-two."

An alert flashed on Robert's aReal.

Intruder. Intruder. Intruder.

"What the hell is going on!" Robert said. "Ops?"

"One of the fighters crashed into the
Callaway
," Lewis said breathlessly. "The craft aimed for a hull breach and wedged itself inside. Sensors are reporting an alien intruder on deck ten."

"Do we have a visual?"

"Negative," Lewis said. "Power is out in that section."

"Damn it," Robert said. "Dispatch the security forces immediately. I want MOTHs down there. Contain the intruder!"

"Dispatching security forces," Lewis said.

"Please tell me we don't have any critical systems on deck ten."

"No, but—" Ensign Lewis looked up urgently. "That's where the brig is."

Jonathan gripped Bridgette's hand in the darkness. The power was completely out in the brig, and the dim illumination from the emergency lights outside didn't reach them. The comm nodes were inactive, rendering their aReals useless.

"Are we going to die?" Bridgette said.

"Shh," Jonathan said. "Listen. It's gotten louder."

A soft sound issued continuously in the background, a noise similar to the hiss of air from a pneumatic tire.

"It seems the same to me," Bridgette said.

"Sentry?" Jonathan said. "Are you back yet? Sentry?"

The cell shuddered, and the terrible sound of moaning metal momentarily reverberated throughout the passageway.

A moment later he heard footsteps. A cone of illumination lit the passageway beyond the bars.

"Found a flashlight in the tool closet," the sentry said. "The neighboring compartment is definitely breached. The atmosphere is venting. Though the breach is minor for now, I don't think it's going to remain that way for long. We have to get the two of you suited up."

Jonathan heard the metallic thud as the sentry lowered the outer access panel so that he could manually retract the door bars. That was followed by a repeated winding noise as the MA pumped the access lever. With each pump the bars retracted slightly in the dim light.

"What's your name, son?" Jonathan said as the sentry worked.

"Jim, sir," the sentry said. "Jim Wilder."

"Well Jim, when this is over, I'll see that you get a commendation."

"Thank you, sir," Jim said. "But none is needed. I'm simply doing my duty."

When the bars had retracted halfway, Jonathan and Bridgette were able to squeeze outside.

"This way," Jim said. "Hurry!"

The hissing was definitely louder by then.

The MA led the two of them through the metallic passageways to the equipment closet where spacesuits waited in four lockers. Jonathan quickly stripped down to his skivvies and pulled on the liquid cooling and ventilation undergarment, affectionately known as "cool vents." There was no time to feel self-conscious in front of Bridgette or Jim, who had similarly removed their utilities to don the undergarments.

Jonathan slid into the leg assembly of the suit and shrugged on the chest piece with Jim's help. He attached the provided utility belt, pulled on the boots and gloves, and then secured his helmet. He activated the headlamp and turned to assist Jim, who was just finishing up with Bridgette. As Jonathan helped shove the chest piece over Jim's garment, Bridgette opened the small canister near the front of her utility belt and produced a three-meter long carbon fiber cord. She clipped it to Jonathan's utility belt so that they were linked.

Jonathan's body abruptly shifted sideways and he was pulled from the equipment closet. Jim was yanked from him before he could react. The two of them ricocheted from the bulkheads outside, plummeting down the passageway. Jonathan flailed his arms, trying to find purchase.

Abruptly he halted, the cord connecting him to Bridgette becoming taut at his waist.

Up ahead a long, manhole-sized tunnel had been carved into the hull. It led to outer space.

Jim was sucked outside.

Seconds later, hatches activated behind him to seal off that area from the rest of the ship and the outflow of air ceased. The artificial gravity took hold and Jonathan dropped to the floor, hard. Bridgette landed three meters behind him.

He glanced at her. She had saved him by grabbing onto the edge of a side passageway. Her suit-enhanced grip had helped, no doubt.

Her voice came over the helmet speakers.

"Jim?" she sent.

"He's gone," Jonathan said.

"So what now?" Bridgette said. "Will we be able to override any of the hatches bordering the breached area?"

"No," Jonathan told her. "And even if we could, it wouldn't be a good idea. Not unless you wanted to cause more explosive decompressions. The only way to get back to the main ship at the moment is to go outside and find an airlock."

"Is that a good idea in the middle of a battle?" Bridgette said.

"Probably not. I suggest we wait it out."

"Won't the repair drones have the breach fixed in a few hours?"

"Depends on their priority," Jonathan said. "It could be anywhere from a few hours to a week."

"And how much oxygen do we have?"

"A standard day's worth," Jonathan said. "If it comes to it, we'll space walk."

The two of them retraced their steps, heading back toward the brig, where bunks awaited. The cones of light from their helmets illuminated the vacuum-exposed passageways, casting eerie shadows. They passed several sealed compartments, including an airlock.

After a few minutes they were near the passageway that led to the brig. Jonathan turned down it and abruptly halted.

"What is it?" Bridgette said.

"The darkness," Jonathan said simply.

Up ahead, at the edge of their light cones, a dark mass flowed through the passageway and into the illumination. It moved like a living mist. In its depths, tiny flashes of light, signifying the release of photons, occasionally erupted. He thought he glimpsed something solid inside that blackness. It reminded him of a reptilian claw.

"Back!" Jonathan said.

He and Bridgette retreated through the passageway, making their way toward the airlock. He kept looking behind, expecting to see that flowing darkness in pursuit, but he saw only the empty passageway. So far.

"What was that thing?" Bridgette said.

"No idea," Jonathan said. "All I know is we're getting the hell off this deck."

He reached the airlock. He knelt beside the small control panel at the center of the hatch, retrieved an extension cord from his utility belt and plugged it into the provided slot.

The HUD on his helmet displayed a message:

Searching for interfaces...

The device list updated to reveal a new entry:
External hatch 10-145-19-H
.

Good. Power was still active to vital systems on that deck, then.

He entered the global override code. He hoped neither Robert nor Captain Scott had changed it yet.

The hatch shuddered and collapsed inward, then slowly moved aside. Jonathan disconnected the cord and glanced over his shoulder. The dark mist had come.

"Go!" He shoved Bridgette inside and followed after her.

Jonathan accessed the inner control panel the same way and issued the global override. The hatch sealed behind him. A few moments passed while the mechanical systems attempted to vent air that didn't exist from the airlock, and then the outer hatch spiraled open.

Jonathan glanced back. The window on the inner hatch clouded over as the darkness reached it on the other side. The glass abruptly spidered as if struck.

"Out!" Jonathan shouted.

Bridgette pulled herself outside and Jonathan quickly followed.

He grabbed onto the provided handle and swung himself onto the hull; his stomach tossed as he transitioned from Earth gravity to the zero-G of space.

He planted his boots on the metal surface and activated the supermagnets inside the footwear with his HUD. He took a tentative step: those magnets were set up to vary their intensity based on the pressure and angle of each foot, so as to simulate a walk in a one-G environment. It worked, somewhat—it felt like trudging through molasses. He raised one foot, then the other, slowly moving forward.

"Keep moving," Jonathan said.

He looked back, worried that the darkness was in pursuit, but the external hatch had already resealed.

"Where to?" Bridgette said.

"We wander until we find an airlock. They're usually noticeable as a small protrusion in the Whittle layer. I think that's one up there, at your eleven o'clock, between the superstructures. Three hundred meters away."

"I see it."

Still linked, the pair continued their spacewalk above the Whittle layer, wending their way between the various superstructures. There were no sounds out there: each step was eerily quiet. All he heard was the noise of his own rapid breathing. He felt a slight sense of claustrophobia because of the way the helmet encroached on his vision.

The occasional flash of light in deep space, plus the streak of a passing fighter reminded him that a space battle was ongoing. Thankfully the inertial compensator field extended a couple of meters around the hull and would spare Jonathan and Bridgette from any extreme Gs. Their biggest danger at the moment was from micrometeors. Speaking of which, Jonathan noticed how pocked the Whittle layer was: the hull was literally covered in micro impact craters. It was almost like walking on the surface of a small moon or asteroid.

He proceeded forward in claustrophobic monotony. Lift one boot. Set it down. Lift the other boot. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

"We're about halfway there," Jonathan said.

A shape streaked past above. All of a sudden slag erupted from the superstructure just ahead. Jonathan ducked, but he was sure a piece of molten metal had struck the life support area of his suit.

A flashing message appeared on his HUD, accompanied by a soft, repetitive beeping.

Air release malfunction.

The entire superstructure bent sideways.

"Get back!" Jonathan said, retreating painfully slow.

The structure slammed into the deck behind him. He continued moving backward, but then the cord linking him to Bridgette grew taut.

He turned around.

She lay prostrate on the hull; one of her boots was pinned underneath the collapsed superstructure.

He tried to access her vitals on his HUD but didn't get a connection. More damage from the slag impact?

"Bridgette!" He hurried to her side. "How's your suit pressure?"

"It's fine," she said.

He wrapped his gloves under the armpit of her torso assembly and tried to haul her out from under the structure.

"Careful!" Bridgette said. "You'll tear my suit!"

He let her go and then tried to hoist the metal piece from her leg instead, but even with the strength enhancements the suit endowed him, it didn't budge. She was thoroughly pinned.

"Go on without me," Bridgette said. "I'll be fine. Get help."

"No," Jonathan said.

"Jonathan, come here. Look into my eyes."

He knelt and gazed into her face plate.

"I'm fine," she said. "Get help and come back for me."

That was when he noticed mist coming from the oxygen canister at her back. The flows emerged from several spots and were almost unnoticeable because they vanished a centimeter from the metal.

"Your oxygen tank is pierced in multiple places." Jonathan produced the suit-rep kit from his utility belt.

"I know."

"You know?" Jonathan said in disbelief. "And yet you still tried to get rid of me? Foolish girl!"

He applied the patch to the canister. It only covered two of the holes. He opened up Bridgette's suit-rep kit and attached the remaining patch. She still had one hole.

"How are your oxygen levels?" he asked her.

"I have three minutes left, apparently. Then I'll switch to reserve."

"Reserve only lasts fifteen minutes," Jonathan said.

"Then I guess you'll have to be quick," Bridgette said resignedly.

"Rescue teams will never make it back here in eighteen minutes," Jonathan said.

"Well, time's wasting away."

"Shit." Jonathan got up, disconnected the cord that linked the two of them, and hurried forward.

The distracting message continued to flash on his HUD.

Air release malfunction.

His suit had the ability to vent oxygen—a useful feature in a situation requiring emergency thrust. He tried the release. Didn't work. The slag had damaged it. Not that he needed that capability anyway.

He continued onward, making it a full ten paces. Then he froze.

Famina stood there on the hull, her winter jacket half pulled off. She stared at him accusingly.

"Can't leave her," Jonathan said softly.

He turned around and retraced his steps.

"Jonathan, no," Bridgette said when she saw him. "I told you to go."

He knelt beside her. "I found a woman on that mountain. Her name was Famina. She was barely alive. The exposed portions of her skin were frozen so that she looked like a porcelain doll. Hartford Knox refused to help her—he wanted to reach the summit at all costs—and he continued up the mountain with our guide. Meanwhile the sherpa and I turned back with the woman. But we ran out of oxygen and eventually had to leave her. I've lived with the guilt of that day for a long time. And I swore I'd never abandon anyone like that ever again."

"Oh Jonathan. I'm going to die anyway."

Jonathan clenched his jaw. "You're not going to die."

He flipped open the tip of his gloves, producing the small laser cutter. He applied it to the steel frame near her boot. The laser was meant for burning through spacesuit fabrics during emergency suit repair, not for penetrating steel, and it served only to weaken the frame in that area. Nonetheless, he cut a vertical line up the half-meter thick structure, hopped on top of it to carve a groove into the upper section, then dropped down the other side to finish his work.