The Cresperian Alliance (24 page)

"Approaching first ship, guys,” John pointed out.

"On it,” Jeff noted. “Slow to one quarter solar system cruise speed."

"Slowing,” Doug answered, throttling down the ship.

"Yaw two degrees to port, pitch one degree up; continue speed for fifty klicks..."

"Two to port, one up..."

"Level out."

"Leveling out..."

"New data coming in, guys,” John called.

"Roger. Got it... getting numbers... good. Maintain current course for ninety-eight klicks. Good... good... steady... on my mark, pitch down ten degrees... mark."

"Copy."

Just then the big ship closest to Cresperia opened fire. A faint glow in space grew brighter and became fluorescent green as the beam passed through the atmosphere. Where it touched down, a huge eruption gouged a crater into the planet, sending ejecta flying, even into space.

"Damn,” Gordon muttered, drawing Bang's attention briefly. He saw the scowling Cresperian clench his fists in pain and angry frustration.

"Got some full spectrum recordings on the weapon beam, in space, through the atmosphere, AND at impact,” Mai noted. “Science team, begin analysis, please."

Sira, Piki, Jeri, and Gordon bent over their consoles, and Bang returned his attention to his targeting scope.

"Sending over a new map of ship coordinates,” John called.

"Received,” Jeff noted shortly. “Beginning approximations. Good. Doug, set a radial course for the center of the planet, and punch speed to three quarters cruising."

"Radial course, three quarters cruising,” Doug replied, piloting the ship with all the skill he could manage, almost continually nudging it this way and that as he corrected slight gravitational effects in an effort to remain undetected.

Bang sat tensely, watching his screens intently.
Damn,
he thought.
The suspense is killing me here. We're flying by the seat of our pants, the Invisible Man, hoping we don't get caught by our footprints in the mud. And we're just barely over three quarters of the way to the planet from where we came out of unreality space.

"...On my mark, pitch up ten degrees for thirty seconds, then down twelve,” Jeff noted. “Mark."

"Up... aaaand... down,” Doug noted, working joystick and pedals in conjunction.

"Maintain course and speed for one minute, nineteen seconds, then yaw starboard thirty degrees."

"Annd... yawing."

"Pitch up two degrees, yaw port three,” Jeff ordered.

"Up two; port three."

Hang on, Bang,
the weapons master told himself firmly, momentarily removing his white knuckled hands from the weapons controls in order to flex out the cramps.
Just hang on. Don't lose it. Piki's here. So are Hand, Jan, Peggy, John, and Sira, not to mention Taylor, McAllister and Wang. Don't screw up now, of all times.

Suddenly the ship shuddered lightly. Nearby, a Snapper fighter vessel was hit amidships by what, to Bangler, looked to be an actively camouflaged orbital disintegrator cannon. What was left of the Snapper craft exploded.

"SHIT!” Hand exclaimed. “Take us away from that before any of the debris hits our shields and discloses our position!"

"DOUG! TRANSLATE UP FIFTY KLICKS! NOW!!” Jeff called. Doug's hands almost blurred as he punched several sequences of buttons, then grabbed the joystick again.

Bang watched his screens as the debris appeared to move downward rapidly, although it was still executing an almost slow motion dance outward from the explosion.

"NOW AHEAD FULL! ONE HUNDRED KLICKS!” Jeff instructed. Doug scrambled, pushing the stick of the small craft forward.

The debris on Bang's screen quickly moved to the side and disappeared.

"Okay, we're out of range,” John observed after several stressful minutes.

"All stop,” Hand ordered. “Time to catch our breaths for a second. Anybody see what hit us?"

"Yeah,” Bang piped up. “I'm pretty sure the same disintegrator cannon that took out the Snapper fired at us, too, sir."

"I'd agree with that assessment, sir,” John agreed. “Based on my scanners, I'd say it spotted us, then it spotted the Snapper ship, didn't recognize either of us, and fired sequentially."

"Why didn't it come back after us, then?” Hand wondered. “And how did it detect us in the first place?"

"That's fairly simple, sir,” Gordon explained “Shortly after the original confrontation during the visit of the
Galactic
, we'd analyzed the Snapper defense shields and found them very similar to our own. So when we put in automated ground and orbital defenses, we programmed that in as one of the detection parameters, along with the configuration of all known Cresperian and Earth ships. It undoubtedly detected our shields. But this is a new vessel, and it isn't in the automation system's database. We're much too small to be a recognized Cresperian OR Earth ship. It therefore assumed we were Snapper and fired upon us. Fortunately our improved shields blocked it. The shaking we felt was the response of the shields to the disintegrator—a kind of feedback, if you will."

"Why didn't it come back around for a second shot?” Hand demanded to know.

"I suspect that feedback is precisely why,” Gordon continued. “It is possible that the cannon experienced a similar feedback and interpreted it as our destruction."

Hand let out a long breath; it sounded stressed to Bang. “How the hell much closer do we need to get, to get the damn information D.C. wants us to bring back?"

"We're at about four hundred sixty, sixty-five, klicks now, sir,” John replied. “If we can get about another hundred, hundred and fifty, klicks closer, I can use the spy satellite technology to zoom in on surface areas."

Bang bit his lip. He looked at the tight, pale faces on the flight deck, and watched as Hand drew his fingers across his forehead, which appeared damp. Hand drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, settling himself. “Pilot, astrogator, you two up for it?"

"I think we have to be, sir,” Douglas responded, strain showing on his face as well. “That's our mission. Doesn't do us any good to chicken out now. Somebody needs this information bad, or we wouldn't be here in the first place."

"What he said,” Jeff agreed.

"All right. Maintain stationkeeping. Sensors, track movement of local ships and notify Astrogation of any need for adjustment of position. Tactical,” Hand fired off, “pick Sensors a couple of good targets on the planetary surface, and let Astrogation know where they are."

"Aye, sir,” came the responses.

Both Taylor and McAllister unstrapped from their seats and moved frequently between their own station and the Sensors station, occasionally murmuring questions to Tomlinson or one or more of the Crispies. Finally Taylor looked up.

"Do we want the worst spots, or a general mix?” he asked. “I mean, you can see from here that huge chunks of the planet are scorched, but..."

Hand deferred to Gordon. “Mr. Stuart, it is my understanding that you are considered a Cresperian ambassador at this point, due to your commission from one of the Cresperian leaders. It's your call."

Damn,
Bang thought, astonished, watching the male Crispy straighten and seem to grow taller even as he watched,
is he enhancing right now, or is he just that pissed?

"We shall obtain a complete planetary scan from our current vantage point,” he declared, “then I want a close montage of the planetary surfaces. But I want them to emphasize craters instead of cities, and the worst hit of the rural areas. If we can find any relatively undamaged areas at this point, I will be surprised. If we do, and can obtain video of Snapper interactions with the indigenous populace, we will."

"Understood, Mr. Ambassador,” McAllister answered quietly. “And... I'm sorry."

Gordon let out a long, tired breath, seeming to deflate. “It isn't your fault, sergeant. And Cherry has explained to me that this woman—the Secretary of State—was foisted on your current administration by political machinations. But when I am watching my family and friends—my home—destroyed without compunction, I find it difficult to maintain an emotional equilibrium."

Mai leaned over and gave him a gentle hug. He returned it, and Bang had the sudden strong impression that Gordon was struggling to avoid burying his face in his wife's shoulder. Bang glanced at Piki, who met his eyes and nodded. His eyebrows rose, and she cocked a mischievous blonde eyebrow at him, copper eyes twinkling slightly.
She didn't. Surely she didn't. None of the others knows how. How did she...? Or am I just projecting?

"All right,” McAllister noted, “John, can you initiate that scan while still keeping a watch on the local Snapper ships?"

"With a little help from the gunnery section, I think so, David,” John agreed.

Bang turned to his gunners. “Mike?"

"Go,” Wang answered with a nod.

"Jan?"

"Go,” the big blond man averred.

"Weapons is a go on that surveillance, Sensors, Captain,” Bang declared.

"Then let's get to it,” Hand ordered.

It took an entire orbital period—nearly two hours—to get the full planetary scan, and several times the
Starskipper
had to make a rapid position adjustment to avoid a Snapper runabout, but they remained undetected. In the meantime McAllister and Taylor went over the surface of the planet with a fine toothed comb. All of the Crispies pitched in to help identify cities and other landmarks.

"It's harder than I thought it would be,” Jeri Leverson remarked in a low tone. “So much destruction. It's like trying to find your way through a forest after all the trees have been cut down."

But eventually they had the planet mapped. Then McAllister, with Taylor's aid, picked out eight different locations that appeared to have varying amounts of damage. Said locations ranged from the remains of cities peeking out from deep within craters to mountainous regions to grasslands to once fertile river deltas. Then the Tactical team sent the list of planetary coordinates to Astrogation and Sensors.

"Okay, how close do you need to be, John?” Jeff asked Tomlinson.

"Mm, I need to be in a little lower orbit,” John responded. “Think you can give me another fifty or seventy-five klicks, at least?"

"Roger that,” Doug responded. “Send us the blasted obstacle course and we'll get ‘er through."

"Bang, you guys see anything?” John wondered.

"Nothing you don't see, John,” Bang replied. “We're good to go if you are. We'll be da- uh, awfully happy to get back to Earth without having to do anything other than watch, if you ask me."

"Amen on that,” Hand interjected. “Please proceed, gentlemen."

"'Obstacle course’ to nav comp,” John said.

"Aaand obstacle course received,” Jeff said, a tinge of dark humor shading his voice. “Ready, Doug?"

"Go for it."

"Ahead one quarter speed, prepare to yaw three degrees to port on my mark... in three, two, one, mark."

"Three degrees to port."

"Steady as she goes..."

"Roger, steady as she goes."

"Prepare to yaw three degrees to starboard. Mark."

"Three degrees starboard. Affirm."

"This next one is tricky. Yaw two degrees starboard, pitch down five... pitch up ten, no, twelve... yaw three degrees to starboard... yaw eight degrees to port... pitch up twenty... full stop. Translate up fifty klicks... ahead one quarter... yaw twenty degrees to port, pitch down thirty..."

The rest of the flight crew watched as the two men wove their vessel through a tight maze of Snapper ships, keeping just far enough away that any gravitational forces from the
Starskipper
would be lost in the overall activity of the fleet.

After about ten more minutes of tight maneuvering, they emerged into a relatively open volume of space, which appeared to be a clear zone kept for observation purposes, hence unlikely to be shot or flown through. “All halt,” Jeff noted, and Douglas brought the ship to a stop, initiating stationkeeping. “How's this, John?"

"Perfect,” Tomlinson remarked, already activating the full spectrum spy instrumentation. “When I tell you, put ‘er in orbit and I'll pick up the rest on the fly."

"Copy that."

As the high resolution images emerged on their screens, the Crispy contingent groaned in pain, and Bang felt ill.
If I had my way,
he thought, cold fury rising within,
I'd take out every damn one of these Snapper ships right now, for what they did to Piki's world.
There was no denying it at this point; Bang loved the Crispy woman, and would do anything she needed of him.
But right now what she needs is for me to keep my cool and get her—and this data—back safely to Earth, so we can mount a rescue force.

So he clamped his lower lip between his teeth until it almost bled, and held onto the arms of his chair with fingers that were white from the force of the grip. By now their ship had gone into orbit, and he watched as frame after frame of utter, blackened desolation, pocked with the occasional huge crater, slid past his gaze. He could see the stumps of entire forests, mowed down like grass, the trunks left nearby to rot. Suddenly they encountered a patch of lush, verdant vegetation, and everyone sat up straight.

"What—where?” Hand muttered in astonishment. “How the hell...?"

"THERE!” Taylor exclaimed, pointing at the screen.

"They did it!” Mai crowed. “It's the Crispy Resistance Force! I see Steve leading a Marine force, flanking a group of Crispies using disintegrators and... Gordon! There are your parents!"

"I see them, Cherry! I see them!” Gordon cried.

They kept the scanners focused on the battle, watching until the relatively small Snapper force was driven back and finally obliterated. Then the Crispies spread out, setting some sort of devices all along the perimeter of their green enclosure.

"Detectors and trip wires,” Taylor said, recognizing the devices. “Ooo. The trip wires are mostly being set to what look like hand held disintegrators."

"Nasty,” McAllister said, “but effective. Good for them!"

Suddenly the entire party, human and Crispy, disappeared from view.

"They activated their invisibility bands,” Piki observed. “This is good. That means there are places where our forces can meet up with the... how would you say it? The CRF?"