Confluence Point (37 page)

"Sir, not answering the Ascendant . . ." he paused nervously, ". . . what if the Ascendant is calling for help sir?"

"Kyle, think about it. The Ascendant has been off line for hours and ignored all orders. Assuming they're alive it can only be the AI controlling things. I don't believe Rubik and the entire crew has gone AWOL, not without some sign. Put what's happened together with losing the other two ships on the way here and it leaves me thinking it may be only a matter of time before we're taken too. The only difference I can see is that we've been running mostly on manual since we got here."

He stood and continued his explanation, speaking up so they all could hear. "If we open up channels to the Ascendant we risk infection from their AI and if we boot up our AI we risk empowering something that may already be in our system. No, if we're to achieve anything on this mission we've got to go it alone."

"What do think that might mean sir?" Kyle asked a look of flat resignation on his face. He wanted to hear it from Tyron, the truth.

Tyron just looked at him and then scanned the room slowly, sad but determined.

"I won't lie to you. We didn't know what to expect on this mission, and it appears we have been outmaneuvered. We have already lost three ships. Some would say run away while we can. It is not in my makeup to run, nor should any citizen of Cora entertain the idea. Merryl came with his ship, the Behemoth, to exact justice and revenge for the Emperor and he clearly failed.
We
will not fail to leave our mark and there will be others after us, you can be sure. We must show that Cora is not daunted by their trickery.

We know they have an Orbital, pitiful as it may be compared to those in our system. That Orbital is at the heart of their ambitions in space. It is the base from which they voyage to our system and, as you know, they have already journeyed there and destroyed two of our own warships in an aggressive act against us. In addition their leader personally murdered the Emperor’s sons." He paused, his own path becoming clear to him even as he spoke. "We must destroy or at the very least set back their Orbital ambitions in order to gain time to build up our defenses at home. The futures of our children are at stake here."

Kyle waited, still hoping for some explanation of what the Commander had planned but it was not forthcoming.  Instead Tyron retook the command chair and resumed monitoring the progress of the enemy. He could immediately see that the fighter formation ahead was readying for attack and just that knowledge sent a charge of adrenalin through him, his excitement building at the prospect.
It's ridiculous,
he thought,
I'm one of the most experienced Commanders in Cora's service and this is my first action in anger.
He shook his head sadly at the thought.

"Kyle, they are looking to attack from the rear and the sides. Ready the side guns and rear missile tubes. We'll hold them off until it's too late for them, even if we get there in pieces we
will
take out that station
!" His voice rose at the end, building to an angry, determined yell.

There was little support from the room. Tech Officer Zelich wiped away tears in order to focus on her screen. Kyle didn't comment, simply tapping away the orders.

Get the defense right and we may well survive. We're all too young to die . . . may the stars draw us away to glory.

* * *

From a distance one could easily have assumed the Mother Lode was working with the ADFs in an organized demonstration of formation flying. Making no evasive maneuvers, the warship seemed a passive dancer around which the stars circled. It looked like some planned precision maneuver, all parties working together and in a sense they were but with quite different objectives. Ham's thirty were now lined up astern of the warship which was also flanked by ten approaching from port and another ten from starboard.

Tyron kept his thoughts to himself. It would do nothing for morale if the crew knew he saw this as a no lose situation. At their current speed and as long as they held their course any breakup of the ship would lead to an incredibly destructive meteor storm, the debris streaking on, hopefully to take out the Orbital. In fact, he reasoned, the more destructive the attack and the more resulting pieces, the more likely success would result. Using command codes he had already prepared for just such an outcome. They would press on as far as possible and only when defeat looked certain would he manually trigger the breakup of the vessel. The fighters would engage first, that much was clear, and he would only attempt to hold them off, buying time to bring them nearer the goal.  

The intentions of the Ascendant were much less obvious although the present intersecting course was a concern. It wouldn't matter now anyway; the engagement would be a sideshow. He readied to send the command.

"Do we have visuals yet Kyle?"

"Zelich?" Kyle barked the name, knowing the Tech officer would have heard Tyron's call.

"Coming through now sir," Zelich replied. "Should I display from astern sir, or from port side?"

Kyle looked at the commander before preempting the reply, "Give us both Zelich, split screen."

"Yes sir."

The large screen switched, lighting up with feed from astern and port. Nothing could presently be seen but reviewing his own feed Tyron could see the incoming fighters. It wouldn't be long. His hand hovered over the touch screen, perspiration beading on his forehead and heart pounding at what he was about to do.

* * *

For the moment Ham piloted all ADFs simultaneously. Once the action started and if communication became impossible, each would operate independently.

Hmm, that seemed like a good idea at the time
. The copying was becoming a worry. As an independent Mind he well knew his capabilities and his tendency to act rashly at times. Thirty Hams independently operating in such a small volume of space was a worrying prospect, even to him.

For now he concentrated on his role as the lead ADF, now making its run at the stern of the Mother Lode. He would deliver this payload, and then fly in the next, and the next, and the next. The thought of firing at bad guys made him feel much better . . .
Places to go, missiles to throw.

Beginning his run he contemplated the potential outcome of the current strategy.
We can't afford for this thing to break up. We must get them to turn.
The important role of the Ascendant was becoming clearer by the minute.
The Mother Lode must turn and divert off line before we can destroy it without risk to Hillary, only the Ascendant can make that happen.

Ham guided the ADF in, beginning on a parallel path out of sightline for the warship’s stern missile tubes, then at the last second curling in to launch before veering away. He calculated the first few ADFs would be able to fire unhindered. It might get interesting by the fourth or fifth. Sure enough, as his first missile scythed toward the warship and he curled away he could see the Mother Lode had fired a return volley.

Ham switched to the number two ADF, enjoying a clear view of the Mother Lode missile. It had still not locked on but was closing at unimaginable speed. In a momentary decision, a rash decision under the circumstances, Ham changed plans.
Bugger it
, he thought.

Rather than veering away as planned he stared down the barrel, eyeballing the approaching missile until the last possible moment and then he displaced, flipped it and sent it back.

* * *

It was an arrogant, and as it turned out, critical decision.

Stunned, Tyron looked around for confirmation of what he had seen with his own eyes. Equally shocked expressions from the control crew confirmed his view. He could see Kyle was already tapping furiously at his screen.

"You'd better remember those disarm codes Kyle . . . but no pressure." Tyron said it with barely concealed disdain, noticing the second officer was clearly panicked - the missile racing toward them was a nuke, the time to impact mere minutes. He by contrast felt calm, even excited. This had been plan A, a first look at the enemy's defense weapon. He had all but abandoned it but now . . .
what does it mean?

"Thoughts . . . anybody, and make it quick." He barked it while scanning the room, seeing only blank faces.

"Missile disarmed sir!" Kyle called out with relief. "Their missile impacted astern, a conventional warhead it seems, with minimal damage. They have four more already on the way and the fighters to port and starboard are making their approach."

"Anybody . . ." Tyron kept scanning the room, encouraging comment, "Come on . . . ideas, what are they doing?"

Comm Officer Riyah nervously held up a hand, "Sir, it looks like they displaced it . . ." he was clearly anxious, his voice trailing away to nothing,

"Go on Riyah." The man appeared to shrink under Tyron's attention.

"Sir, they must have displacer technology, if so they've also worked out how to use it to displace the missile. They are sending our own warheads back to us." His confidence building he continued as Tyron considered the implications. "Sir, somehow they displaced and flipped it."

A look of determination crossed Tyron's face, "Helm . . . bear away to port, and give it everything."

"Yes sir, bearing away."

There was no discernible difference in the control room but the starscape on screen slid across their vision dizzyingly.

"Two more impacts sir, no damage." Kyle called. "Sir, the fighters . . ."

"I know they're coming Kyle, if we take them out it'll be a bonus. Number two . . . I want full power."

"We're already at full power sir."

"Then how soon before we can jump to warp?"

"Sir we're at full power, we can jump any time but . . ." Kyle was interrupted by Tyron's withering glare.

"As soon as you have a clear path, take it, a short jump, that's an order."

"Yes sir."

Kyle fumed as he urgently entered the commands; a short jump, what's that? Any jump in system was a huge risk and a short jump? There is no such thing . . . the distances were still huge with no way of knowing what lay in their path.

. . . And they were gone.

* * *

Three precious ADF, swatted away like flies as the Mother Lode powered away.
Or fleas,
Ham thought ruefully.

Despite his best attempts to follow with the Ascendant, the Mother Lode's jump to warp came too suddenly for attack and once at warp he had no way of knowing how far they travelled, or why indeed they jumped at all. He quietly allowed his circuits to stew, angry at being robbed of the opportunity and more than anything, angry at himself. He'd broken his own rules, wanting to play with the enemy instead of just dispatching them clean and fast.

It was pointless to remain in this area of space. If the Mother Lode Commander was of a mind to take such incredible in-system risks by going to warp then he could do anything. Once out of warp he could realign, jump again, then come back on a completely different line from anywhere. Mind fizzing with decisions Ham commenced reorganizing his resources.

The American fighters currently flashing out from the Step would take some time to slow but could then return. The forty seven ADFs under his command and the remaining EFDFs would make the sad turn back to the initial engagement point. There they would join the Transport in searching for Rod and the other lost crew although it would be an almost hopeless task as what debris remained continued to spread from the collision point. Nevertheless they would try. 

* * *

Much further out in the system Regan's rogue fighter was almost invisible, streaking away at something close to the maximum speed it could reach. Two drones had been passed since the decision to destroy them, two drones annihilated. Up ahead lay the next victim and it would be the last. It had just begun signaling the presence of an incoming vessel . . .
Beria!

Regan had the sense that she now filled the little ADF. In fact she
was
the craft and she enjoyed the sensation, imagining flexing shoulder muscles, bunching and testing them as she prepared to tackle the yacht she knew was out there, the wicked witch flying arrogantly into her space.

She took her time checking information from the drone, analyzing velocity, trajectory and timing. For the first time she allowed herself to consider how difficult, even ridiculous, her plan might prove to be. Any tiny change in the flight path of the yacht would mean she missed, flashing by with millions of kilometers required to slow and begin the process of turning. Worse, a miss would alert the yacht to the danger and they would likely run to warp, a capability she lacked. Regan reflected on the blind faith she had employed to even embark on this venture. Blinded by the protective instincts of a mother, by her love for Marin, and by her hatred for Beria, she needed a miracle.

Decimating the last drone as she approached Regan then made the final tiny adjustments to trajectory, leaving room only for last millisecond tweaking to ensure collision. There was time to settle back now . . . time to think. 

A Dad memory . . . act boldly Regan, and unseen forces will come to aid you.

* * *

The orgy held everyone's attention. Like a queen, Beria prevailed on her subjects to entertain her every whim, poor Mistek in particular being used and abused in unimaginable ways.

She watched as the pilot and navigator took their seats, both co-opted reluctantly to join them; better to have an audience, she had said.

Disgusted, they nevertheless acceded to her demands, grateful only that they had avoided her attentions. The cockpit was empty; a simple AI in control and it had no instructions to alert them of danger.
After all
, the pilot thought,
we won't be long.