Guardsmen of Tomorrow (8 page)

It was the second drawback, however, that had caused the
Sabre’s
cancellation after only a single experimental flight, a flight Dawes himself had piloted. Something about the drive system, or about that brief moment in fold-space itself, destroyed a human’s optic nerve, leaving a person blind.

Now alone, speeding between the orbits of Uranus and Neptune, Dawes sat once more at the controls of his one-of-a-kind vessel. He trembled as his thoughts returned to that first flight. Out beyond the range of Pluto he’d sat, the same point toward which he was heading now. Then, his thoughts had been on far Proxima Centauri. He’d triggered the
Sabre
, experienced a moment of blinding whiteness such as he’d never known, followed by congratulatory voices from his communications console. Voices rising out of darkness.

He’d barely kept it together long enough to make the re-turn flight home. After that-his shot glass had never been empty.

Through Hookah’s eyes, he stared at the trigger control. The little creature stirred restlessly on his shoulder as if it sensed his nervousness. It wriggled, and the view shifted from the control to his own ear, then to the back of the cabin.

It didn’t matter if his new pet looked around a little. He didn’t need eyes to fly this ship. He tried to settle more comfortably into his seat as he considered his mission and the New Hope congregationalists frozen in sleep in their antiquated vessel. The
Via Dolorosa
, they had named their ship,
the Road of Sorrows
. An agnostic himself, the symbolism wasn’t lost on him. At the end of their journey they hoped for resurrection and a new life on a new world.

He ran a finger along Hookah’s back; the creature began to purr.

Dawes, too, had unexpected hope for a new life. “Port Authority,” he said, activating the communications console. “Redesignate
Sabre
.” That had only ever been the project’s name anyway. “Record new designation,
Archangel
. Register.”

He waited, pleased with himself. The archangels were heaven’s warrior class.

A voice that sounded like Straf’s came back over communications. “
Archangel

-authorized and registered. ”Now get your butt moving, civilian.“ Yep, the old man himself.

At seven-tenths the speed of light, he streaked by Pluto. Beyond the orbit of the Oort Cloud he pushed his vessel into translight.

He continued to pet Hookah, drawing reassurance, even courage, from the contact, and the creature rewarded him by watching the view screen where stars blazed like fiery beacons. Each one called his name; he’d thought he’d never see them again.

His hand hovered over the fold-drive trigger. He was far enough beyond Sol now, and the computer had his destination coordinates. Still he hesitated. Fold-space had blinded him before. What if it hurt him some other way this time?

And what about Hookah? Doctor Halama-the woman in Straf’s office-theorized that nothing would happen to the mind-worm, that the creature’s biology was too different. Still, it was only theory. What if he lost this second set of eyes? Hookah shivered on his shoulder, picking up on his fear.

Five thousand lives.

Another trip through fold-space, or another trip to the bottom of a bottle.

He knew which one he couldn’t face again.

He hit the trigger.

With eyes or without, a burning white light swallowed him, a tiny instant spark that went supernova in his brain and expanded to engulf the stars in the viewscreen, the control console, the ship. Everything vanished into whiteness. He fell, fell, blinded by that light. And he screamed.

Then, he was looking at himself screaming, his mouth wide open, jaw straining.

Sweat beaded on his pale face. The muscles in his neck stood out tight as cords, veins bulged.

He looked foolish. Ridiculous. Hookah scuttled to his other shoulder and nuzzled his ear. Dawes thought he looked just as“ silly from that side and shut his mouth.

Hookah began to purr again.

“I think you’re laughing at me,” Dawes said, drawing a finger along the creature’s furry back.

His trembling slowly ebbed as did the adrenaline fear-rush. He marveled that, even blind, he had experienced the white light phenomenon, and he wondered again if it was even light at all, or some property of fold-space itself. It suggested a new direction for his research.

Archangers
computer voice reported their position in Burnham space.

“Scan for the
Via Dolorosa”
he instructed.

The computer answered: Two point four parsecs to starboard. Just crossing the border into Kaxfen-claimed territory.

Through Hookah’s curious eyes, Dawes watched himself scowl. While he congratulated himself for the pinpoint accuracy of the fold-space jump, he cursed Straf, who had assured him the New Hope congregationalists were two days from Burnham space. Dawes had hoped for time to turn around, reach the
Via Dolorosa
, and reprogram its course computers to skirt the region.

“
Archangel”
he addressed the computer, “scan for approaching vessels, known or unknown.”

A pause.
Archangel
answered: Five vessels of unknown configuration approaching at maximum translight.

Kaxfen ships. It took only a moment more to determine that they were heading straight for the defenseless
Via Dolorosa
. Dawes considered that he might do the Stellar Guard a favor while he was out here and instructed the computer to backtrack probable trajectories for those ships. If they were flying a straight course for the congregationalists, perhaps he could discover the location of their home world, or at least one of their bases.

Meanwhile, he ran some hasty calculations and weighed his options. Six ships, and no idea of the arsenal he faced. But then, the Kaxfen knew nothing about him either.

They had to be wondering where the
Archangel
had come from. Better, he decided to engage the Kaxfen out here as far away from the congregationalists as possible.

“
Archangel
.” The computer answered Dawes promptly.

“See if the
Via Dolorosa’s
computers will respond to a hailing signal.”

The computer responded: Affirmative. Contact established.

Dawes relaxed a little. Hookah, growing restive, crawled down the front of his shirt and gave him a glimpse of his own knees. He picked the little creature up and returned him to his shoulder. He gave his attention back to the computer.

“
Archangel
,” he called again. “Transmit a continuous recognition signal to the
Via
Dolorosa
.” Dawes’ mind raced. He had to assume that since some form of contact had been established with the Kaxfen, the aliens could read his transmissions. “But piggyback an encoded Stellar Guard priority override command with that signal. If the
Via Dolorosa’s
computers acknowledge, seize control of that ship. Then re-program its course computers so that it exits Burnham space as quickly as possible. Determine a new course to its destination, and inform me the instant the ship begins to turn.”

That left Dawes to deal with the aliens. At sublight speed, there was no chance the
Via Dolorosa
could exit Burnham space before the faster Kaxfen reached it. His fingers danced over control panels. Even blind he could have piloted this vessel; he’d designed every circuit, programmed every data crystal.

He directed
Archangel
straight for the approaching Kaxfen.

Five of the alien ships turned to meet him. One broke formation with the others.

Dawes cursed; he didn’t need a computer to guess that lone ship’s intent. In the view screen, through Hookah’s eyes, he watched its energy wake, sizzling like a burning lance across the dark of space.

The remaining five also changed formation. One took point and came straight for him; two moved to attack from the port side; two more from starboard.

Archangel’s
computer addressed him. The
Via Dolorosa
had accepted the encoded priority override.
Archangel
now controlled the ice-wagon, and the lumbering vessel was turning.

“Get it the hell out of here!” Dawes muttered as much to himself as to his computer.

He thought of the five thousand people whose lives depended on him, of Straf’s sleeping parents, all unaware of the danger unfolding.

He drew a deep breath, and stroked a finger along Hookah’s back. “Okay, little fella,” he said, “it’s you and me.” And, he added silently, the finest ship ever designed. He resisted a laugh. For the first time in three years he felt alive!

He raced toward the aliens’ point-ship. It fired on him, but from a distance beyond the effective range of its weaponry. On the
Archangel’s
instrument panel, an energy spike registered, then dropped off sharply.
Archangel
was untouched.

“My turn.” He brought the Kleinowskis on-line and counted down ten seconds. Ever closer he drew to the alien point-ship. Then, “
Archangel
, fire!”

The Kleinowski planet-killers drew on the translight engines for their power. That had no effect on the vessel’s present velocity, however. Across space twin beams of searing light stabbed. The Kaxfen ship exploded in a titanic fireball.
Archangel
sailed through the heart of its vaporizing debris. Dawes watched it all in grim black-and-white.

He placed his palm on the communications console. “Attention, Kaxfen ships,” he said with a calm he didn’t feel. “Break off your attack. The sublight vessel you came for is under my protection. Break off now!” He grinned suddenly as Hookah gave him an exploratory view of the in-side of his left ear. He took the creature in one hand and pointed it at the view screen.

Archangel’s
computer informed him-the four alien ships continued to close. One of them fired, still too far away to effectively harm him. He touched the communications console again.

“Final warning,” he said. “Break off. Or I will seriously fuck you where it hurts the most.” He shrugged, wondering where that might be on alien anatomy.

Though he kept the communications channel open, no response came from the Kaxfen ships. They plunged toward him, drawing their squeeze play tight. An energy beam lanced across the bow.

A clean miss. However,
Archangel
estimated the aliens were now within weapons range to inflict damage.

“Looks like they need another demonstration,” Dawes instructed the computer.

“Target the vessel that just fired on us and destroy it.”

A second time the Kleinowski planet-killers lanced outward. To starboard, a Kaxfen ship went nova in a horribly beautiful twinkling of disintegrating debris. But unlike the first time, the
Archangel
shuddered as its lasers fired.

“What was that?” Dawes demanded. His vision reeled suddenly with rapid views of the console, the view screen, the back of the cabin, his own nervous face. Hookah squirmed in Dawes’ too-tight grip. He forced himself to relax; he returned Hookah to his shoulder and stroked the creature to calm it. “Sorry,” he apologized.

Archangel
was speaking. The planet-killers were offline-cause undetermined.

Dawes slammed his fist down on the instrument console. At the same instant, another energy spike registered there. Laser beams danced just beyond the view screen as the

Archangel
took automatic evasive action. He couldn’t dodge them forever, though, he knew that.

“Computer,” he called, “where’s the
Via Dolorosa
now?”

Just exiting Burnham space, it answered.

“And the pursuing alien ship?”

Still in pursuit.

“Try the planet-killers again!” he ordered. He cursed Straf and himself; so confident had they been in the big guns they hadn’t installed any secondary armaments. With the Kleinowskis off-line, he was as defenseless as the ice-wagon he’d come to save.

The
Archangel
rocked under a glancing laser blast. On his shoulder, Hookah quivered. Through the creature’s anxious eyes, Dawes did his best to watch the view screen. The Kaxfen ships drew near. He could almost feel the heat of their beams on his face.

Unexpectedly, two of the enemy ships slowed and hung back, covering him. The remaining ship came on. An electronically distorted voice crackled across his communications console. “You have invaded our territory,” it stated coldly.

“Surrender your vessel, human, and prepare to be boarded.”

Chilson Dawes experienced a moment of dread and an almost overwhelming sense of failure. He saw himself reflected in a bottle of despair as five thousand corpses tumbled through space amid the ruptured ruins of their cryo-ship, never to achieve their sought-after miracle of a new life in a new world. Through it all came Donovan’s condescending cluck and Straf’s accusing eyes burning in his brain.

He shook himself and forced himself to think. Planet-killers be damned-his brain was his best weapon. He couldn’t let the
Archangel
be boarded, couldn’t let its revolutionary technology fall into the hands of hostile aliens.

Abruptly calm, he sat back down in his chair and placed his hand on the communications console. “I warned you,” he said angrily. “Our two species might have been friends, but you forced this debacle. The result is on your heads, you bloody bastards.”

He triggered the
Sabre
drive system. In the split-instant before the white light blinded him, he saw the resulting fold-space ripple, strike, and shatter the three Kaxfen vessels.

When the white light subsided, he took a moment to assure himself that he was all right, and that Hookah was all right, too. Then, by touch alone, he examined the controls.
Archangel’s
computer spoke up to tell him what he already knew.

He was back where he’d started from, beyond the Oort Cloud, just at the edge of Sol’s diminishing gravitational influence. He’d programmed the ship to bring him home in case of an emergency, or as close to home as the
Sabre
drive system allowed. He turned Hookah toward the view screen. Sol winked in the center of it, only a little brighter than the surrounding stars.