StarFight 1: Battlestar (17 page)

“Acting captain, we have lost lock-on from the AM emitter,” called Oliver. “Same for our forward lasers. Your orders?”

“Concentrate your laser fire on the left flank wasp ship,” Jacob said quickly, realizing the plasma haze created by nine atomic blasts now hid the five central wasp ships from target lock-on. “Communications, give the same order to all battle group ships.”

“Transmitting order,” Osashi said quickly.

“Enemy is now outside the range of the antimatter cannon,” Oliver said, disappointment clear in his voice. “No evidence of black hole field. Largest wasp ship is now firing at our battle group ships. Which are continuing to fire back.”

Jacob saw that in his situational holo. While they could not fire on the central five wasp ships due to the plasma haze, the same applied to the enemy. Which gave him time to think beyond simple attack and response, so he could look ahead.

“Life Support! Send damage control and firefighting teams to the punch through hull breaches on the nose and belly of the
Lepanto
,” he ordered . . . Joaquin Garcia it was, he recalled.

“Sending orders,” the American Latino said, his voice gruff.

“Acting captain,” called Louise. “The five enemy ships are moving further out. So is the left side wasp ship, which is diving to join the main group. They are at 8,432 kilometers. Range is increasing. They are paralleling us at 12 psol.”

That news from Navigation drew his attention back to the situational holo. The giant wasp ship was leaking water from its massive nose hull breach and its front ring of tubes were silent. But its middle and rear rings of laser and bolt tubes were now spitting out deadliness at the other ships of the battle group. As were the other wasp ships. Except the attacking beams were not concentrated on a single ship, thank the Goddess! He noticed that
Chesapeake
and
Hampton Roads
had adjusted their vector track to intercept most of those incoming beams, acting to shelter the three destroyers and three frigates. But their thick armor could only take so many direct hits from yellow lightning bolts and green laser beams.

“Navigation! Flip us so our nose is aimed at the battle group. Engines, fire all three primary thrusters at maximum yield. Bring us up to a thousand klicks per minute on intercept,” Jacob said firmly. He looked at his situational holo, then over to Rosemary. “Tactical, how soon before the
Lepanto
can intercept those beams hitting the two cruisers?”

“A few minutes or less,” she said quickly, her gloved hands tapping her control pillar’s touchscreen. “The battle group was not that far ahead of us. And we all shared the same sideways vector track. The enemy is shooting along the hypotenuse of the triangle formed by the group at top, us at bottom angle and the wasps at the left end of the right triangle,” she said.

Her words matched the picture in Jacob’s mind and the images on the situational holo. Clearly the enemy was aiming to get beyond the reach of human proton and CO
2
lasers. Could they do more? His mind picture told him that as soon as their vector track toward the hypotenuse line passed beyond the plasma haze, their left side proton laser could fire on any wasp ship. Which might be a wise thing to do. He could not use the ship’s belly hull to block more incoming beams thanks to the deep hole already cut in the middle of the hull, just ahead of the belly plasma battery. Nor could he angle the top hull toward the enemy, or he would lose the AM node. Which left exposing one side or both sides to enemy beams in order to reduce the damage to the cruisers, destroyers and frigates. Which were all firing at the enemy. But like the wasps, the battle group’s counterfire was dispersed. Well, time to fix that.

“Weapons, fire our left side proton laser at the giant wasp ship,” Jacob ordered, noticing they were just clearing the haze. “And signal to your fellow Weapons chiefs on the other ships to join their laser and proton fire on the giant ship. Maybe we can make the enemy move further out if big mama starts hurting more than she is already hurt!”

“Firing left side proton laser at ship’s rear,” Oliver said hurriedly. “Sending co-targeting orders to other battle group ships. Yes! We have punch through on the rear of the giant ship, back where the CO
2
lasers had been hitting its engine area!”

The news pleased him. But they were still in danger, even from a retreating enemy. He looked down. “CWO O’Connor, what do you make of the enemy’s movements?”

The white-haired Marine leaned forward a bit as he concentrated on several holos that faced his captain’s seat. “They aren’t giving up on attacking us,” he said. “But the loss of another ship has made them pull back. That and seeing the impact of our antimatter beam. They are now six ships to our nine. Some battle group ships have hull breaches. But all have operational weapons and full thrust capability. My guess is the enemy commander is assessing his or her options. While still hitting at us. Attacking us is likely the wasp way of pretending they are not retreating.”

That sounded familiar. Very human familiar. “We will continue to fire on the wasp ships so long as they are in range,” Jacob said. “Any suggestions?”

The older man looked up at Jacob. His gray eyes fixed on him. Thin lips opened. “Recommend that all ships reduce fusion pulse thrust to normal ten psol, sir. No need to risk sudden failure when the enemy is not closing on us.”

A good idea. One he should have seen earlier. “Engines! Reduce thrust to ten percent lightspeed. Communications, pass on my order to other battle group ships to reduce speed to standard fusion pulse thrust.”

“Reducing thrust,” Akira said, her black-skinned forehead shiny from sweat.

“Passing on your orders to the battle group,” Osashi said quickly and professionally.

Interesting. “Andrew,” he called to the senior crewman. “How are you feeling?”

The Japanese-American jerked his head to the side, looking directly at Jacob. He seemed shocked by Jacob’s use of his first name. Then his face relaxed. An amiable look now filled his high-cheeked face. “I’m feeling fine, acting captain. Ready to stay at this for another 30 hours!”

Which they just might have to do in order to reach the magnetosphere boundary and the safety of Alcubierre space-time travel. An image in the situational holo drew his attention. “Navigation, we are coming up on the direct line of beam attack on the battle group. When we hit that line, turn our nose so we are following the rest of the battle group. Also, tilt the ship’s nose down a bit so the incoming beams hit the rear of the ship’s bottom.”

Louise frowned, nodded and touched her control pillar’s touchscreen. “Adjusting ship’s vector track. Top hull thrusters are pushing the nose down by ten degrees.”

He looked back to Oliver. “Weapons, fire missiles from the rear missile silos. Create a thermonuke warhead spread behind us at about 80 kilometers. Shortly we will do a plasma haze event by touching off those warheads.”

Oliver grinned. “Firing eight missiles from our stern, vector track to the rear. Will advise you when they are 80 klicks behind us.”

Jacob nodded. “Engines, add our fusion pulse exhaust to that plasma haze.”

Akira looked back his way. Her dark brown eyes were bright. “Three primary thrusters are down to ten percent lightspeed acceleration. Our fusion flame tail reaches out 60 klicks to our rear, acting captain.”

That was something he had not known. Like anyone in space who had watched spaceships maneuver in the black vacuum, he knew every ship's thruster engine produced a plume of plasma from the implosion of pellets of deuterium and tritium isotopes. But the giant tail produced by the Battlestar was new to him.

“Taking laser and lightning bolt hits,” called Rosemary from Tactical. “Rear belly taking the hits. Adaptive optics deflecting much of the incoming energy. We are not yet down to the ablative skin. The lightning bolts, though have ruined our rear sensor array.”

So be it.

“Warheads are at 80 klicks out,” Oliver called.

“Weapons, detonate all surviving warheads,” he said, his voice echoing in his helmet.

“Detonating twelve warheads,” Oliver said softly.

The front wallscreen that showed the view of the enemy wasp ships now filled with twelve yellow-white stars. The plasma balls quickly spread out and joined each other, forming an oblong haze that drank in the incoming laser and bolt beams.

“Hits on the hull have stopped,” called Joaquin from Life Support.

“Most hits on battle group ships have stopped,” Rosemary said, sounding pleased.

He had bought them some time. Jacob checked the distance counter in the situational holo.

“Enemy is now beyond 11,000 kilometers,” called Louise from Navigation.

He looked up. “Melody, do you project any further enemy attacks on us?”

“None projected. The enemy ships are moving close to each other. They are assuming the six-sided formation from before they attacked the battle group,” the AI said, her tone sounding pleased and surprised.

Jacob was not surprised. He’d spent plenty of time watching wasps swarm about their hexagon-chambered nests under the eaves of the barn on his home’s property in Binghampton. These aliens were close enough to Earth wasps for him to understand some of how and why they behaved, as a group, the way they did. Still, at home, no wasp colony had ever left its eave home unless the nest was knocked down by water or burned out with fire. Clearly this star system was a home nest to the aliens. Would they follow his nine ships out to the magnetosphere? If they did, would they follow them to Kepler 10? They were two questions he needed to pose to Lori and to Science Deck chief Alicia Branstead.

“All ships, change ship status from Alert Hostile Enemy to Alert Combat Ready. All decks on the
Lepanto
, change to Alert Combat Ready. Crew are allowed breaks in groups no larger than ten percent of each deck. No break lasts longer than one hour,” Jacob said.

The overhead alert lights went to blinking red. The ceiling speakers gave out a high-pitched siren. Jacob heard acknowledgments from the command centers for each deck. Seven people replied for the ship’s seven decks. The voices sounded relieved, worried, busy and routine. Should he go there? Or have Branstead come here? Maybe the better spot would be the conference room in the admiral’s quarters. Where this had all started. He scanned his armrest. It showed the All Ship vidcom was still active.

“Science Deck chief Lieutenant Alicia Branstead, please join me in the admiral’s conference room. I have need of your advice.”

“Acting captain, I’m heading your way,” came the Aussie-accented voice of the woman.

“Acting captain,” called Daisy. “May I join you? I have ship issues that need discussion with Lieutenant Branstead.”

Her request did not surprise him. His friend was a forward thinker. That was why she had asked about the sudden silence from the meeting site in the first place. There were some others he should have there too.

“Ensign Antonova, Ensign Mendoza, join me at the admiral’s conference room. All Ship, acting captain orders Spacer Blackbourne to join him at the admiral’s conference room on Command Deck. Acknowledge.”

Acknowledgements came.

He unsnapped his seat straps, took a last look at the situational holo, and noted the wasp ship cluster was now 15,000 kilometers out to one side and receding even as they matched the battle group’s vector track out to the boundary of the magnetosphere. They had also slowed to ten percent of lightspeed. The wasp ship thrusters now stopped accelerating, just as the battle group thrusters had stopped once the new vector track had been set. Both groups held outward momentum at 10 psol. Stepping down, he nodded to O’Connor, then faced forward.

“Chief Warrant Officer Osashi, will you accept command of the Bridge in my absence?”

The man’s vacsuited form turned his way. His black eyes fixed on Jacob. The man stood and saluted him. “Change of command accepted, acting captain.”

Jacob saluted him back. “Good. You know where I will be. Allow Bridge crew to take breaks, one at a time, as before. Command transferred.”

Jacob turned, gathered up Daisy with his eyes, then headed for the exit door, where Carlos and Lori were already awaiting him. Briefly he gave thanks for friends who stood by him. Then he felt the chill of being responsible for their lives. It was a new feeling. But a welcome one.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Support Hunter Seven felt satisfaction as his nest settled into the standard Swarmer defense formation. His flying nest was the sixth to come close to Hunter One’s larger nest. Then again, his nest had had further to fly to reach the other five nests. Looking ahead at the perception imager that displayed images of the other nests, he felt deep surprise at the massive hole on the head of Hunter One’s nest. The hole was nearly as wide as his nest and clearly the Soft Skin heavy sky light beams had cut deep. The lack of stinger fire from the front ring of tubes now made sense. Energy to power the front ring was clearly dead. But why had Hunter One not used his Pull Down device to shield his ship from the Soft Skin black beam?

“Hunter Seven, the Soft Skin flying nests slow the pace of their flight,” scent cast the Servant who handled the nest’s propulsive devices.

“Then let us slow to match their flight speed,” he scent cast in a mix of signal, primer and territorial pheromones, reminding the Servant and all in the Flight Chamber that he was the Swarmer who led their flight.

“Obeying,” the servant scent cast back in a mix of primer and aggregation pheromones.

His three small eyes noticed a change of colors on the control panel before the Servant who was Speaker To All other nests. “What scent arrives?” he scent cast strongly.

The older male’s two antennae bent forward. “Hunter One accepts your Challenge. He sets the encounter site as being in the Practice Chamber of his nest. He requires you to arrive with only your natural weapons.”

Seven flapped his two wings, sending forth a strong scent of trail pheromones. It was his way of saying his path was set. “Respond to Hunter One that I will arrive within nine hundred wing beats.”

“Responding,” the Servant said, lowering his aged abdomen to his bench. Though his four leg limbs shook.

It was clear the Servant had feared his response to the news from Hunter One. Good. Fear in one’s Servants guaranteed maximum stinging effort and full loyalty. He stood up from his bench. He scent cast to the Matron at the back of his chamber. “Mistress, lead these newly hatched ones until my return,” he said with strong trail and signal pheromones.

“Until you return as prime leader,” she scent cast to him, her aggregation scent distinct in its aroma.

She was fully loyal. That was why he had chosen her to be the Matron of his flying nest. Now, soon, he would meet his other ally, Support Hunter Four, whose air bubble was even now leaving his nest. Seven moved past the Matron, then through the chamber’s opening that split apart the way two flaps of soft shell opened on a Soft Skin’s eye. Entering the round tube, he flapped his wings and flew toward the chamber which housed the air bubbles used to move Swarmers and dead matter between nests. As he flew, his mind considered many possible attack angles for forcing his stinger into the head of Hunter One.

♦   ♦   ♦

Daisy sat at the long table in the admiral’s conference room, with Lori on her left and Carlos on her right. Jacob sat at one end of the table, with his back to the Food Alcove. This was the room where, hours earlier, she had shared her concerns with Jacob about the loss of tablet comlink with Admiral Johanson and the other officers of the battle group. It felt strange to be here, a place she had only seen briefly when arriving to meet the admiral for a trip somewhere in her Landing Craft Assault transport. Now, she and her friends had survived two space battles, she was the ship’s new XO and Jacob had shown a side to him that she had never before seen.

Watching him as they all waited for the arrival of Quincy and Lieutenant Branstead, she noted he was focused on his personal tablet. What was he reading? Or seeing? Messages from the other acting captains? An image of his mother, who was the only family he ever mentioned during the times they all shared a beer in the Mess Hall or met for games of chess? Did he possess an image of his father, Earth’s only five star admiral and the hero, to some, of the Callisto Conflict? Whatever Jacob thought of his father, it was now clear to her that the young, shy man she’d come to like had inherited the daring genes of his father. And maybe the ruthlessness the man was reputed to have shown to some mining rebels who tossed Star Navy captives out of an airlock without a vacsuit. In violation of the updated Geneva Conventions. At the academy, while the Callisto Conflict space battles were required study, no professor discussed the admiral’s handling of rebel captives. Rumors floating through Colorado Springs said the admiral had similarly ejected the rebel ship captain and four men who had killed the Star Navy captives. Watching Jacob over the hours since they had gone to the Bridge, she could believe her friend had inherited both the daring and the ruthlessness of his father.

“Acting Captain Renselaer, Spacer Blackbourne requests admission,” came her British friend’s deep voice from the speaker patch over the slidedoor that gave access to the Command Deck’s hallway.

Jacob looked up, his face still as serious as when he’d sat down. His gray eyes fixed on the slidedoor. “Door, admit Spacer Blackbourne.”

The slidedoor slid into the wall. Quincy scanned them all quickly, nodded and stepped inside. The short, stocky East Londoner, whose ancestry traced back to Kenya, saluted. “Spacer Quincy Blackbourne, laser gunner’s mate, right side outrigger pod, reports as ordered.”

Daisy and her two friends sat on one side of the antique walnut table, with Quincy standing to the right and Jacob seated to the left. Jacob now saluted Quincy with his right hand as his left held the tablet he’d been studying. “Spacer, take a seat where you wish. When Lieutenant Branstead arrives, I’ll begin this discussion.”

Quincy looked startled by Jacob’s serious expression and short words. “Sir, thank you,” he said, his bass voice filling the room.

Lori waved to him. “Quincy, sit here with me. Gotta let the lieutenant have the other side of the table all to herself.”

Quincy grinned, raised curly black eyebrows as he looked to Jacob for a reaction, then shrugged his thick shoulders when their friend looked back at the tablet in his hand. “Thanks, gal, coming your way.”

As Quincy sat beside Lori, Daisy looked past a thoughtful Carlos to the slidedoor. It had closed right after Quincy stepped in. She looked back and studied her programmer friend. Was Carlos jealous of Quincy being next to his girlfriend? He shouldn’t. They were all friends first. Romance happened however it happened. Should she bring out her own tablet and study it? She’d downloaded the
Lepanto’s
deck layout, cross-section, weapons emplacements and the last holo image of the enemy ship cluster. Which now lay 30,000 kilometers out, but still paralleled the battle group as their nine ships headed north of the ecliptic along the track previously taken by the
Salamis
. The destroyer’s captain had said little since arriving with multiple blasts from his CO
2
and proton lasers. His ship had fallen into formation with the other destroyers. Did the man now accept Jacob’s authority? Or was he just covering his butt against any future Star Navy inquiry? Politics. It was a topic she had spent much effort to avoid ever since gaining admission to the academy. Pilots should pilot, not engage in—

“Acting Captain Renselaer, Lieutenant Branstead requests admission,” came the soprano voice of the Science Deck chief, a woman who hailed from Melbourne and the Sorbonne in Paris.

Jacob laid down his tablet. He looked up. His expression changed to thoughtful. “Door, admit Lieutenant Branstead.”

The slidedoor hissed open.

The woman, dressed in a clear vacsuit over her officer’s dress blues jacket and pants, stepped into the room. She saluted Jacob. “Lieutenant Alicia Branstead reporting as requested.”

“Thank you for coming,” Jacob said, his baritone sounding firm and determined. He saluted her back. “Please have a seat wherever you wish.”

Without another word Branstead, who carried her personal tablet in one hand, strode over to the opposite side of the table and sat down on the wooden seat that was fixed to a support pedestal. Like the old Navy ships that traveled the seas, most furniture on the
Lepanto
was permanently attached to something. The advent of inertial dampers had not changed that tradition. The lightly tanned woman nodded to Lori, a member of her deck staff, then her amber eyes scanned Daisy, and next moved on to Carlos and Quincy, before finally meeting the intense gaze of Jacob.

“How can I help?” she said, her voice firm, her manner that of a manager of people who did not care for wasting time on minor chatter.

Jacob’s gaze fixed on her. His clean-shaven face, now exposed thanks to his helmet being pushed back, grew a small smile. That quickly disappeared. “Lieutenant, your Bridge representative CPO Willard Steinmetz and Ensign Lori Antonova of your deck have been of vital help to me as we coped with two attacks from the wasp-like aliens. Earlier I told Ensign Antonova I would put her in for a commendation for her warning about the black hole weapon of the aliens. You have very good staff. Thank you for the loan of them.”

Branstead blinked. She nodded. “Thank you. Glad they could be of help in these unique circumstances. How can I help?”

Jacob laid both hands on the table and leaned forward, his expression almost fierce. “You can help by sharing with me, and with my brain trust people, your impressions and analyses of the wasp-like aliens who killed our senior officers and have now attacked us two times.”

Branstead’s serious expression did not change. Her brown eyebrows lifted. “From the imagery and words shared over the All Ship vidcom, I gather that Ensign Antonova has already made some basic analyses about these insect-like aliens. I support what she has said,” Branstead said, nodding to Lori. “I would add these insect aliens are remarkably similar to the yellow jacket wasps of Earth. Similar to our wasps, these aliens have hard shell bodies adorned with red and black stripes on a yellow exoskeleton. They have both compound and simple eyes, again like our wasps and spiders. The aliens may see well in ultraviolet, unlike us humans. They have mandibles and antennae, but unlike our wasps the midbody or thorax of these aliens is upright. That allows their upper limb pair to work as arms and hands do on us. Since they are planting a colony, they are likely to have perennial life patterns like the
vespula squamata
species in the south of the wasp range on Earth. There is no way an alien wasp species could develop high tech with every generation dying each winter, like some wasp species do on Earth.” The woman sat back, though her posture remained stiffly upright and almost formal. “What issues matter most to you?”

“My issues are four,” Jacob said quickly. “Will these wasps follow us all the way out to the magnetosphere? Will they follow us to Kepler 10? Will they attack us again? And can you suggest any means for communicating with them?”

Branstead pursed her lips, her oval face going thoughtful. “As Antonova said earlier, these aliens are predators, the bright colors of their body indicate an aposematic warning to other lifeforms to stay away, they are eusocial and it is highly likely they communicate using pheromones,” she said, her light tone sounding almost musical to Daisy. “They have chosen to fight us, they have at least one primary leader, along with leaders on each starship, and they are in this system to plant a colony on planet four. All of those characteristics are background to my estimate of their intentions.”

She licked her lips. “As for your questions, the wasps are now following us out to the magnetosphere. Their behavior to date shows a consistent purpose. Which is to attack and defeat us. So yes, I believe they will follow us out to the magnetosphere. I suspect they will follow us to Kepler 10, if only out of curiosity, which they must have in order to have developed spaceships, beam energy weapons and the remarkable black hole weapon. As for attacking us again, yes, I think that will happen. But not soon. Losing half their attacking force while we lost only a single ship has clearly caused their prime leader to pull back and assess her or his options. It is likely they are trying to figure
us
out, much as we are trying to figure them out.”

Jacob nodded slowly. “How do we communicate with them?”

Branstead frowned. “By using the image frequency which they used to propose the meeting of our two peoples down at the meeting site. My people, despite applying the Topol linguistic analysis algorithms, have been unable to make sense of whatever signal was being sent by the satellite we encountered upon first arrival. The signal contained polarized emissions. Beyond that, we know nothing.”

“I had hoped you might think of some other means to communicate,” Jacob said, sounding distracted. “Lieutenant, will you please use your top people to develop a cartoon-like video that depicts the six wasp ships turning back to planet four, landing, being greeted by wasps on the planet, while our nine ships travel to the magnetosphere edge, then disappear, with some kind of dotted path or arrow or whatever indicating we are leaving this system, never to return?”

“I can do that,” the woman said. “What’s our timeline?”

“Get it done well before we reach the magnetosphere,” Jacob said. “We are 29 hours out from reaching it. I am concerned the wasp aliens may attack us again right at the boundary. And do you really think the wasps can figure out which star we are jumping to?”