Torchship (37 page)

Housefly 28 had already vanished. No debris so likely off to
rendezvous with some squadron. Mitchie pivoted
Fives Full
ninety
degrees, hoping to get out from between the clashing forces.

Pilot and captain now had their first view of the enemy. The
near swarm was a simple disk, spreading slightly as the AI craft braked at full
thrust. The larger swarm was huge. Subformations spread out, plumes aligned
neatly, covering more of the sky every moment. It was shockingly beautiful. “Looks
like a
chrysanthemum
,”
said Mitchie. Then she shook her head and turned the ship back toward the
approaching warships.

“Don’t plume them, dammit,” said the captain.

“The Navy’s safe from me for now. I won’t plume anybody who
can shoot back. Or has friends who’ll shoot back.” She started some gentle
evasive action. Enough to make it necessary to use a seeker on them instead of
ballistic shells.

Finding a gap to pass through would be tough. The Navy had a
massive fleet here. Radar didn’t help. Navy electronic counter-measures made the
returns fuzzier than what she could eyeball. After three pings her whole screen
went white with signal overload. Probably some Navy operator telling them to
shut up before their pings gave the swarm some information.

The closest thing she could spot to a gap was a circle with
one ship in the center. That one had a dim plume, as if it ran low thrust so
only the outer fringes of the plume were visible past the hull.

Doing a sharp turn to aim for that would attract attention.
Instead Mitchie varied the evasive action, always going longer on the legs
toward her target.

Sometimes she’d make an evasive turn sharp enough for them
to look back. The Navy’s frigates and fighters had leapt ahead to scout out the
AI swarms. The plumes swirled insanely as the skirmishers maneuvered for
position. There were already casualties visible. Sometimes a ship exploded in a
bright flash. More often a plume just went out. They couldn’t tell which side
they belonged to.

***

“I hate cutting this,” said Billy. “It’s a good rope.”

“Can it,” ordered Bing. “Gimme another five.” The deckhand
sighed and cut off some more one meter pieces. “You and Abdul take some, too.
Hand them out to anyone you see rolling around.”

“Aye-aye.”

She left them to it and started picking her way to the
center of the hold. There was plenty of room to put her feet as long as she
didn’t mind stepping over a head or leg. She’d managed to avoid hurting anyone
when bracing herself against the evasive maneuvers though there’d been some
rude belly pokes.

Bing caught a twelve year old as he tumbled by. Two knees on
the deck and a hand on a cargo net line braced him enough to hold against a
ninety degree pivot.

When the ship steadied he said, “Thanks,” and tried to stand.

“Lie down, kid. You can’t walk around now.”

“I have to! I promised my mom I’d come right back after
using the hygiene.”

“This is a locked room. She knows you’re safe in here. Hook
your belt on to this rope so you don’t roll away again. Just stay put. Don’t go
anywhere.”

“But what if I have to go to the hygiene again?”

“Just hold it as long as you can. And then, well, we can
wash your pants when it’s all over. Stay strong, kid.”

Bing started stepping over bodies again. A few more ropes
got handed out. One refugee got a lecture on why looping a slack bit of net
around her leg was dangerous. She got two ropes.

A tall woman moved to intercept Bing. It was Katie, one of
the volunteers who’d helped settle everyone in. “We need towels,” she said.

“Don’t have any,” answered Bing. She was tired of saying
that.

“Can’t the crew spare some?”

“I can’t climb the ladder with this maneuvering. I don’t
think anyone can.”

“We need something. Some of the little ones are throwing up
from the rough ride. The puddles are sloshing around. When they hit someone
they vomit too half the time.”

“And I was only worried about them messing their pants.”
Bing heard the port thrusters fire. She bent her knees and put a hand on the
deck as it tilted, bending her elbow to absorb her momentum without landing on
the child next to her.

Katie had straight-armed it. She was sobbing in pain on top
of a matron twice her age.

“Let me see that,” ordered Bing. Katie held up her arm. “Sprained
wrist. Let’s get you tied to the net. And stay put.”

“Shouldn’t I have a bandage on it?”

“We’re out of them.” Once Katie was tied down with Bing’s
last rope the mate said, “I’ll check on the pilgrim dorms. There might be some
towels or blankets or something.”

The pregnant women strapped down in the dorm bunks were
pitifully grateful she’d come to check on them. Bing didn’t burst their bubble.
The pilgrims hadn’t left any towels but Bing pulled a bunch of absorbent
looking blankets from under the current occupants.

“Ma’am? Um, ma’am? Please?”

Bing tracked the plea to a middle bunk. “Yes, what is it?”

“Um . . . I think my water broke.”

The bunk was wet and didn’t smell like pee. Bing didn’t have
anything more to go on. Her medic training was purely in trauma. “I’ll get you
someone,” she said.

She ditched the blankets by the doorway and stepped out into
the hold. Deep breath, loosen the throat, from the diaphragm. “Listen up! Is
there a midwife or doctor on board? I repeat, is there a midwife or doctor
here?”

After a long quiet pause someone piped up, “I’m a nurse.”

God be praised
. “Over here, ma’am. Crawl, dammit. You’re
no good as a casualty.” In a couple of minutes the nurse was with her patient.

Bing set to ripping up blankets with her utility blade.
Billy came by to report the rope was all cut up. She tossed a square meter of
soft cloth at him. “There’s your next project. Figure out how to make an
acceleration harness for a newborn.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“Nope. Mother’s started labor.”

“Aw, c’mon,” whined Billy. “That’s impossible. I don’t even
know how to hold a baby.”

Bing had no sympathy. “There’s moms out there with babies in
slings. Imitate one.”

“If they complain about me staring at them I’m sending them
to you.”

“You do that. Now get.” He got.

Bing picked up a pile of blanket squares and headed out to
find moving puddles.
Please, God, let this end soon.

***

Mitchie wished the radar was available. The ship she aimed for
kept up with the rest of the second wave despite its dim plume. Which meant it
was light, but what good was a hollow shell in a battle? Eyeballing her way
past a ship behaving unpredictably was asking for trouble. Unfortunately at
this point any other course might get them plumed.

At close approach she stopped evasive maneuvers. Best to
look safe and predictable when in range of twitchy anti-missile gunners.

That damn ship was still annoying her. They were close
enough to see its side, but it still looked like a nose-on circle. Even the Fusion
Navy’s heaviest cruisers had enough streamlining to land if they had to. This
thing didn’t match any ship she’d ever seen.

Well, they were going to pass each other at over ten klicks
per second in a few minutes. Then she could forget about it and concentrate on
finding their way through the third wave.

At close approach it was still a circle. As they flashed by
Mitchie could see it was actually spherical. Huge. Covered in weapons. And
thrusting at full power—the width of the sphere had hidden the core of the
plume coming out of its narrow base.

“Take the con, sir.” She pulled the logbook out from its
straps under her console. The ship was already a dot again. She focused her
mind on the one good look she’d gotten. Opening the book to a blank page she
started sketching.

“Long? What’s the problem?”

The sketch started as a circle with an equator drawn
off-center. Latitude lines of alternating missile ports and gun turrets
followed. Massive antenna arrays were drawn next.

“What the hell are you—screw it. I have the con.”
Schwartzenberger pivoted the ship to keep her clear of the sphere’s expanding
exhaust.

Mitchie kept sketching. That oversize opening at the zenith.
A bridge dome at the opening’s edge. A lot of maneuvering jet towers. Fighter
bays at the equator. Cryptic notes on the side to help estimate the size of it
later. She closed the logbook.

“Sorry, skipper. Never saw one like that before.
Distracting. I’m ready to take her back.”

“Your priorities are fucked up, girl.”

“Sorry, sir. Back in the groove now.”

His expression was a new one to her.
Is he actually
biting his tongue?
The captain said only, “You have the con.”

The third wave had a clumpier formation. Mitchie didn’t
foresee any trouble finding a place to pass through. Her new main worry was
avoiding flights of missiles. Both sides sent volleys at each other’s reserves.

Evasive maneuvering had gone from “throw off a theoretical
targeting solution” to “stay out of the way of flocks of rockets accelerating
at 200 gravs.” They had a better view of the battle by being forced to look in
all directions for new hazards.

Mitchie noticed a pattern. “Sir, some of the AI missiles are
moving with us.”

“Are they aiming at us?”

“No, I think they’re using our plume as cover.” She called
Guo on the intercom. “I think we need to pull out those drones again.”

“What’s the problem?” asked the mechanic—and, oh God, her
husband. When she explained he laughed. “I found a trick for that. In the
troubleshooting portion of the drone user manual it describes a specific set of
commands you should never do or it makes the drone blow up. That sound useful?”

“Sheesh. The things you pick for pleasure reading. Yes,
very.”

“I can time it between 45 seconds and two minutes.”

She thought a moment. “Make it one minute. Get ready to drop
it on my signal.”

“Right. Might need you to cut thrust while we’re setting up.”

“Let me know when.”

***

Billy met Guo at the lower deck hatch. “What do you want? We’re
going to break an arm moving around in this.”

“We have to launch a drone. You get to help carry it.”

“No way.”

“She’ll cut thrust, it won’t take much muscle.”

“Ain’t the problem. Look at this deck. Can’t carry anything
without tripping over a baby or slipping on shit.”

“Well, we have to launch a drone. You’re the cargo handler.”

“Fine. We use the crane.” Billy had his feet spread wide and
one hand holding a bracket on the bulkhead, so he barely budged as Mitchie
pivoted the ship sixty degrees. “She’ll just have to hold it steady until we
get the drone in the lock.”

“Do it. I have a card to program.”

***

Three minutes of accelerating in a straight line made
Mitchie tense up. When Guo commed, “In the airlock,” she sighed.

“Pivoting starboard,” she warned him. The new angle let her
see the latest missile swarm. Twenty little plumes closing in on
Fives Full
.
She waited for them to get close enough for this to work. “Now!”

“It’s away,” answered Guo.

“Pivot ventral.” She turned the ship to keep their plume
away from the ballistic drone as it fell behind them. Twenty seconds on this
vector . . . another twenty pointed directly away . . . then work back to the
line they were on. She could see the missiles turning to follow her exactly.
She led them to where she wanted them to be.

The exploding drone wasn’t that bright. But half the missile
plumes went out. Two more started stuttering. The rest scattered.

Mitchie smiled in satisfaction. “Not using us for cover any
more.”

“I’m proud of you,” said Captain Schwartzenberger.

“Just trying to keep us alive.”

“No, this makes us a higher priority target for the AIs. We’re
being a player now. But it’s giving the Navy a better chance to win the battle.”

Mitchie chose her words carefully. “I didn’t do it for them,
sir. I did it so some Demeter asshole wouldn’t blow us up to get a better
firing solution.”

“You really think they’d do that?”

“Yes. Oh, they’d feel bad about it. Just as bad as they felt
about using us as bait for their ambush.”

They covered their eyes as the ships ahead of them glowed
with a FLASH-FLASH-FLASH-FLASH-FLASH outshining their drive plumes. Mitchie
blinked, every ship an afterimage. She closed her eyes as it happened again.
The flashes were bright enough to see through the lids.

“What the hell was that?” asked Schwartzenberger. “Not a
nuke. Frequency scanner just shows the same jamming.”

“It was a reflection. Too simultaneous to be something they did.”
Mitchie laughed. “I’m glad we didn’t pick then for a look back.”

“No. Let’s evade a little more gently until we’re clear.”

It took over an hour for
Fives Full
to be past all
the warships. They gave in to the temptation to look back. The battle receded,
explosions dimmer in the distance.

“We’re winning,” said Schwartzenberger. He looked at
Mitchie. “You do want them to win, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. I want them to win. Expensively.”

***

Free at last,
Fives Full
set course for Ossa again.
That lasted six hours until the fleet ordered them to Naval Station Telamon.
Since the orders also directed them to offload the hitchhikers Schwartzenberger
didn’t complain.

Naval Station Telamon, Demeter System. Gravity 7 m/ s
²

As soon as the thrust stopped and she heard the creak of the
ship’s weight settling on the landing gear Bing opened the inner airlock door.
As she locked it behind her the handcomm crackled with Schwartzenberger’s
voice. “Air outside is good. Clear to open the doors.”