StarFight 1: Battlestar (12 page)

She looked back also. Jacob’s young face was tight, tense and intent on watching multiple holos that glowed in front of him. It was now seven wasp ships against their eight. Would the enemy commander do anything different? The large wasp ship was at the bottom of a half-globe of wasp ships, at a range of nearly 11,000 kilometers. It was firing green lasers and yellow lightning bolts from nodes on its front end. Then she noticed something different. The big ship’s beams had shifted sideways to focus on one of the frigates, which lay at the base of their anvil formation. The remaining six wasp ships now did the same firing shift.

“Acting captain,” she called, “the enemy ships are concentrating on the
Marianas
.”

“I see it,” Jacob said, his expression moving to one of worry. “Navigation, hit our belly nose jets. Flip us so we face back toward the enemy ships. Engines, hit full thrust. Slow us down. I want the tip of the anvil to be reversed, with us and the cruisers taking point.”

“Flipping ship,” Louise said, her tone calm.

“Reverse thrust happens once the flip is completed,” called Akira from up front.

Daisy understood Jacob’s aim. Their momentum would remain at eleven percent of lightspeed. In fact, all the battle group ships had ceased active acceleration thrust once the new vector track away from the planetary ecliptic had been achieved. Inertia and momentum would keep them moving up and eventually out of the star system. Until they changed vector to follow after the
Salamis
.

“We are joining you at the anvil tip,” called the voice of Swanson on the
Chesapeake
.

“We’re following also. Flipping over,” Wilcox said over the audio comlink from the
Hampton Roads
.

In seconds their Alpha Anvil formation reversed. The
Lepanto
and the two cruisers now formed the anvil tip that was pointed at the following wasp ships. Behind them were the destroyers
Tsushima Strait
and
Philippines Sea
. Behind those were the three remaining frigates
St. Mihiel, Marianas
and
Ofira
. No longer were the smaller ships taking the bulk of incoming laser and lightning fire. She watched as all eight ships concentrated their green lasers and red proton beams on two of the nearest wasp ships. Those ships jinked and jiggled, working hard to avoid a long-term impact on any part of their remarkable hulls. Those hulls had stood up better than the frigate hulls. But they could die. As she had seen happen five times.

“Captain!” called Rosemary. “The wasp ships are falling back.”

Daisy saw each wasp ship now applying reverse thrust even as they still fired beams at the
Lepanto
and the two cruisers. But the effort was half-hearted. It was clear some wasp commander had ordered the enemy ships to move out of range. Her situational holo had a distance counter in one corner. The wasp ships hit 10,000 kilometers distance, then 10,700, then finally 11,000. But they continued deceleration, not stopping the reverse thrust until they were 12,000 kilometers away. That was beyond the range of even the wasp lasers and bolts. Firing ceased. But the enemy followed after them at a momentum of eleven percent of lightspeed.

“Hostiles have ceased attacking,” said Rosemary, sounding surprised.

“Tactical, thank you,” Jacob said, relief clear in is voice. “All ships, remain at Alert Hostile Enemy status. Cease firing. Assess damages. Perform repairs as possible. However, do not allow EVA repairs. The enemy can reach us within a few minutes or less if it chooses to do so.”

“As you command,” said Swanson from the
Chesapeake
.

“Glad to work on our wounds,” called Wilcox from the
Hampton Roads
.

“Good news,” spoke Zhang from the
Tsushima Strait
. “Our plasma battery needs repairs.”

“Damn!” called Jefferson from the
Philippines Sea
. “Was hoping to get another one of those bastards!”

Daisy smiled at the fight hunger of the woman in charge on the destroyer. Then listened as the acting captains on the three frigates called in their acknowledgments. Was this the end of the battle?

“Navigation, plot a vector track to take us sideways and after the
Salamis
,” Jacob said, surprising her.

“New vector track plotted,” Louise said.

“Transmit new vector track to all battle group ships.”

“Transmitted.”

“All ships, we are turning to follow the
Salamis
. At the edge of the magnetosphere we will aim for Kepler 10,” Jacob said over Daisy’s helmet comlink. “This is a fighting retreat! Stay on full combat alert. Maintain weapons at Battle Condition One. Maintain velocity at eleven percent of lightspeed. However, you may rotate relief breaks among your Bridge and Deck crews. No more than ten percent of any crew is to be out of their vacsuits, doing their business. We will take meal breaks later, if this end of hostile fire persists. Acting captain out.”

Relief filled Daisy. She and Carlos and Quincy and Lori and Jacob and Kenji had all survived their first live fire battle. As had Jacob. Those who had sought their deaths had suffered the loss of five ships, to their single ship loss. The
Britain’s
death touched her deeply. She had known Jane Wilson from trips conveying the admiral to her frigate, while they had still been in Earth orbit. The Brit woman always made her feel welcome, even when it was clear the admiral was the center of everyone’s attention. She would miss the woman’s big smile and friendly hug. At least she had a holo cube of Jane. It had been taken when all the officers of the battle group had gathered for a going away dinner at the orbital shipyard where their ten ships had gathered, before heading out.

Erratic contact with her seat’s armrest drew her attention. Her right hand was trembling, causing her fingers to tap, then pull away from the armrest. Taking a deep breath, she clenched the fingers of her right fist and told herself to stop being afraid. Or at least, to stop showing it. Fear was normal in a battle. Showing it where battlemates could see was not done.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Hunter tasted deep anger. He had lost two more Swarmer nests in his effort to close on the Soft Skins and end their lives. The Soft Skins had fought better than his fellow Swarmers. Their sky light weapons and hard radiation beams had deeply wounded the last two nests, causing the Support Hunters and Servants on those two nests to become erratic and incoherent. Then, just as the combined Swarmer sky light and sky bolt attacks were promising to kill one of the larger Soft Skin nests, the largest nest had moved to block most of those beams. Like his nest, its hard shell was thick and dense and tough. But it could be hurt. When he had seen the water signature of hard shell bite through, the creature had begun to spin, thereby reducing the effect of their beams. It had continued to fire the red heavy particle beams at his fellow nests despite such movement. Then had come the tiny rocks that moved intentionally toward his fellow nests. Those rocks rarely penetrated deep, but their impact disturbed the stinger Servants on each nest. So he had ordered the attack flight to pull back beyond the reach of those terrible weapons. He knew he must attack again, before the Soft Skins reached the outer edge of the local sky light’s magnetic field. Either attack or face defiance from one or more Support Hunters. Now, as his fellow nests attended to tears in their wings and repaired what could be repaired, he must come up with something that would forestall a challenge.

“Servant,” he scent cast a signal pheromone to the Swarmer who studied aberrant social behavior. “How can these Soft Skins still fight as if their leaders still lived? A normal Swarmer cohort that lost its Hunter, Matron and Fighter Leaders would either accept my rule or fly away to a distant land.”

The older male had done little during the swarming stings of this stretched out sky battle. It had simply fixed its five eyes on two perception imagers that were part of his control panel. His posture on his bench bespoke of lassitude, not the eagerness to bite that was common among nearly all Swarmers. The Servant lifted his two antennae, then shifted position so his thorax and head faced Hunter. The white-yellow light of the Flight Chamber revealed the aged look of his body’s yellow hairs. But the dark eyes seemed intent and alert.

“Hunter One, it is strange how these Soft Skins maintain their cohesion as if there were a central leader still living,” the Servant said in a mix of releaser, signal and primer pheromones. “Our flight of seven nests attacks eagerly because of our shared pheromones. This aiming of our stingers at a single Soft Skin flying nest is new to us. But it seems to be normal for these Soft Skins.” The Servant paused, picked up a water bulb and sipped liquid through his mandibles. His complex major eyes seemed brighter. “On our home of Nest, we have similar shaped Soft Skins who infest the trees of the cooler parts of Nest. Those tree dwellers have one or several nest leaders. But in my study of these non-aware creatures, I noticed that their young males often form groups that wander, seek new territory and cooperate among themselves even though they lack a single Hunter leader. Perhaps small group cooperation is normal for these new Soft Skins. Some of their stingers are new to us. It seems reasonable their social behaviors will be new to us.”

Hunter inhaled the mixed pheromones that flowed from his twelve fellow Swarmers. Both sexes, young and old, they gave off the scent of intense frustration. Even the Matron behind him gave scent to frustration. What to do?

“It would seem that these Soft Skins can cooperate even when they lack senior leaders,” Hunter said in a mix of trail, aggregation and signal pheromones. His two wings spread his mix broadly, until it dominated the air of the Flight Chamber. The transmitters to other flying nests would be conveying his scent mix to those Swarmers, who no doubt were also feeling frustrated. “It is a small event. We are Swarmers! We rule on Nest! We have colonized the new world of Warmth! No kind of life can defeat us. Let us study these new stingers of the Soft Skins, how their nests move in cooperation, then I will cast the scent for a new attack!”

The wing pairs on every Swarmer in the chamber now fluttered quickly. The pheromone scents changed to a mix of territorial crossed with trail. They were willing to be led. He would accommodate them. “All Swarmers!” he scent cast strongly with a forelimb gesture to Speaker To All to alert him to the duty to share this new scent mix with every flying nest. “We are seven to their wounded eight. We can prevail! We will prevail! Attend to your wounded ones, repair your nests, and in a single rest cycle we will attack again!”

Rasping came from nearly every Swarmer in the chamber. The scent broadcasters that conveyed the smell of the other flying nests now let loose a wave of similar scent responses. His fellow flying nests were still loyal, though there was a suspicious low scent coming from the craft led by Support Hunter Seven. He bore watching. Meanwhile, Hunter would study the imager records of the recent sky battle, seeking out the hidden crevices by which future success could be attained. He led. All would follow him.

♦   ♦   ♦

Support Hunter Seven inhaled the scent words coming from Hunter One and marveled at how the older Swarmer put the polish of success on the hard shell of disaster. Their colonizing group had arrived with twelve flying nests. Five had been lost in confusing sky battles with the Soft Skins. Now they were seven, including his nest. He had no doubt Hunter One would attack once more, before the Soft Skins could flee from the grasp of the Swarm. But whether he would find success, or more frustration, was a matter of speculation. One did not count the fruits on a tree until they were fruited. And had drawn small hard shells to their nectar. Thus giving the Swarm targets for their englobing attacks. These Soft Skins were far from defenseless. He must study the actions of each Soft Skin flying nest. Perhaps a focus on one of the smaller flying nests would yield success and the death of such a nest. One success was all he needed to make challenge to Hunter One. And success required a healthy nest.

“Stinger Servant,” he scent cast to the Swarmer who led the Fighter Leaders in the operation of his nest’s many stingers. “See to the repair of your stingers. And search out a means for killing those flying seeds that cast forth hard sky light!”

The red and black-streaked Swarmer, younger than Seven, rose up on his bench. His two forearms reached out and tapped his control panel. “Sending orders now!” the Servant scent cast. “Studying now methods of killing the Soft Skin flying seeds!”

Hunter Seven inhaled the mixed pheromones of aggregation, signal and trail as the stinger Swarmer and other Servants bent to their duties. None of them wished to show evidence of fear or worry or defeat. That way lay the bite of death, at his grip or at the grip of a fellow Swarmer. The surprise of a strong enemy must never give way to the scent of defeat!

♦   ♦   ♦

Jacob sat back in his seat, then flipped back his helmet. It was a small luxury, but one he needed. At his action, the Bridge crew did the same, as did Daisy, O’Connor and, behind him, Lori and Carlos. Which reminded Jacob the time of rest was not a time of indolence. His study of the history of war said brief moments of non-war were best used to prepare for the next phase of battle.

“Ensign Antonova, come forward. Ensign Mendoza, follow her,” he called over the comlink shared by everyone on the Bridge. Should he shut down the All Ship vidcom comlink so he could have a private talk? Yes. There was no sign the wasps were moving back to attack and the acting captains on the other ships did not need the distraction of his chatter. “AI Melody, discontinue comlinks with other ships. Chief Warrant Officer Osashi, discontinue All Ship transmission of our Bridge conversations.”

“Linkage to other Star Navy ships discontinued,” the AI said, her tone less tense than during the deadly battles.

“All Ship transmission shut off,” Osashi said from up front. Like everyone else the older man had pushed back his helmet and was enjoying a sense of non-confinement.

The white streaks in the man’s black hair reminded him of his CWO5 seniority. “Osashi, coordinate with your fellow Bridge crewmates on relief break rotations,” Jacob said. “Keep it to one person a time.”

“Yes sir, acting captain!” the man said, sounding pleased.

From below, O’Connor looked up to Jacob, gave a quick nod, then looked interested as Lori and Carlos stopped in front of him and Daisy. The two saluted him.

“Ensign Antonova reporting!” called Lori, her Russian-accented English strong and measured. The woman’s blue eyes fixed on Jacob.

“Ensign Mendoza reporting,” said Carlos, his stance one of ease.

Jacob saluted them back. He noticed Daisy had looked up at the arrival of their two friends, then had focused back on the situational holo that showed the positions of the wasp ships, their ships, the retreating form of planet four, and the small moon that orbited planet four. As the battle group’s speed took them away from the four worlds that made up the planetary parts of Kepler 22, the scale of the holo enlarged and the distances between ships grew smaller. Eventually they would pass through a thin asteroid belt that lay at 10 AU, then a Kuiper Belt-like spread of icy comets that circled the system at 39 AU. Beyond the comets was the system’s magnetosphere boundary at 42 AU. Which was now 40 hours away. Plenty of time for new surprises, more battles and more death to happen. Inside, he promised himself he would do all in his power and mind to prevent the loss of any more ships. That began with these two.

“Antonova, thank you for the black hole gravity warning. That is a field beyond your biology specialization. When we get to Kepler 10, I will recommend a commendation be entered into your permanent record. You are a credit to the Science Deck,” he said.

Lori lifted one black eyebrow, looked surprised, then pleased. “Thank you, acting captain. Gravity plates and gravitational fields are my secondary field of study. My teachers at the institute insisted we be diverse in our knowledge.”

That was pleasant news. Who else knew stuff he didn’t? Jacob fixed on Carlos, who stood at parade rest stance. “Mendoza, thank you for the quick sharing of the Kepler 10 coordinates with CPO Slaughter. You too are a credit to Navigation Deck.”

His fellow chess player grinned. “No sweat. The system lies on nearly the same right ascension and declination track as this system does. And at 564 light years out from Earth, it was the closest colony to us. Leastwise in terms of short travel time.”

Jacob understood that. Earlier he had tapped the Library patch on his seat’s left armrest and scanned the images and data on the system. There were seven planets circling the system’s yellow star, most of them small. It had a single gas giant. Most importantly, it had a small Star Navy base, as was the case for every colony system. There should be at least a frigate in parking orbit next to the orbiting Star Base. Plus a captain in command at the base. Those details were in the future. Right now, he had to plan their survival for the next 42 hours.

“Antonova, give me your read on the cultural patterns and behaviors of the wasp aliens,” he said, looking back to her. “Why did they keep attacking after the loss of two ships? Why do they still follow us even after planting some kind of colony on planet four? Surely they can see we are leaving the system to them.”

She frowned, then put gloved hands on her hips. “Analogy with the insect societies on colony planets and on Earth to these wasp-like aliens is both helpful, and dangerous,” she said.

“How dangerous?” Jacob asked.

She blinked. “Because we will think we understand them better than we do,” she said quickly. “Based on their behavior to date, it is clear these insect aliens are highly intelligent, possess an advanced technology, communicate between their ships as seen in their later adoption of combined laser firing at a single ship, they are aggressive and the presence of stingers on the butt ends of every alien we saw in the tablet images says they are predators.” Lori paused. Jacob noticed that several of his Bridge crew had swung their seats around and were listening closely. Among the listeners were Maggie, Rosemary, Oliver and Willard. His friend licked her pale brown lips. “The dropping of pods from every wasp ship before they attacked us says they were here to establish a colony. That confirms these aliens are a eusocial species with cooperative brood care, overlapping generations and a division of labor.”

“Fine,” Jacob said. “But why did they behave the way they did? Why attack our senior officers? Why attack us? Why keep attacking even after five ship losses?”

She shrugged. “I’m guessing. But early this century a bio study by Dr. Sean O’Donnell documented something strange. Unlike mammals and other animals, he found that the brains of social wasp members were less developed than the brains in solitary wasp species. In short, he argued for what he called distributed cognition. That means there is less need for individual smarts when the group’s cooperation provides most of what you need.”

Surprise filled Jacob. He’d never heard of such a thing. His anthro studies documented that human brains got larger the more humans worked together and hung about in clans and large families. He recalled one prof saying that individual competition for food, shelter and mates was the cause of increasing human smartness. But on Earth, among the social wasps, Lori said the opposite had been documented. Or at least proposed. Weird.