Unfortunately helm had other problems as well. Patrice’s assignment was the most complex on the bridge. To cover Punisher’s lost scan bank, her window of blindness, he’d resumed rotational thrust, sweeping the heavens with the cruiser’s other sifters and sensors. That made the task of sustaining Punisher’s battle orientation—and of executing her evasive actions—brutally difficult.
The one advantage of helm’s efforts was that they allowed Glessen on targ to keep the Amnioni under constant fire. As Punisher revolved, all her guns came to bear in turn. They could be recharged when they revolved away.
If this kind of attack didn’t break through the alien’s defenses, no weapon Punisher possessed would.
“How’re we doing, Porson?” Captain Ubikwe’s voice was a comfortable rumble, relaxed and focused, but it pierced the muted din of battle easily. The whole bridge heard everything he said. “Are we making a dent in her yet?”
“Negative, Captain.” Anxious Porson labored over the scan console, struggling to sort out and interpret all the information Punisher needed. As far as Min could tell, his chief worry seemed to be that he would make some critical mistake. “That whole ship must be one big particle sink. We’re hitting her—we’re hitting her regularly—but we might as well be pouring fire down a sump. She isn’t even taking evasive action. She just sits there, shrugging off what we give her and sending it back. If I didn’t know better, I would think she’s using our fire to charge her guns.”
“That isn’t possible,” Bydell murmured. The data officer was scared in a more personal way than Porson, but she concentrated like death on helping scan make sense of everything the instruments registered. “It’s the wrong kind of power. Too random.”
It was more likely, Min thought, that the Amnioni had cross-linked her sinks, trusting that she wouldn’t be attacked from any other direction while she fought off Punisher.
“Keep after her,” Dolph ordered calmly. “If nothing else, we’ll distract her until we figure out what we’re going to do.”
Glessen nodded. He fired constantly, maintaining a steady assault with all his guns instead of concentrating their force in barrages—no easy job, considering the way Punisher hauled and wrenched from place to place. Nevertheless he managed targ phlegmatically, as if he saw no essential difference between his duties now and his training in combat simulators.
“By the way, Director Donner,” Dolph asked over his shoulder, “what are we going to do? If we can’t overload her sinks and start hurting her, what can we hope to accomplish?”
Min considered several answers, discarded them. “I don’t know yet,” she replied, pitching her voice to carry through the noise. “Until we locate Trumpet, our only objective is to keep that ship occupied while we wait for help.”
The Amnioni must have stationed herself over this part of the swarm for a reason. Min couldn’t imagine how the defensive might know any more than Punisher did about where Trumpet was. Nevertheless the alien acted like she knew Something. Min was prepared to trust that oblique information, at least for a while.
VI would send out ships. Then the Amnioni would be trapped. If she didn’t run, she would die.
Assuming she didn’t kill Punisher first—
Another proton beam scorched the vacuum past Punisher’s flank. A clear miss. Patrice did his job well. Fine sweat showed on his temples, his upper lip. His eyes had a glazed cast, almost disfocused, as if he were concentrating too hard to actually see anything. Still his hands ran his board steadily. Thrust vectors sawing and heaving through the ship kept Punisher alive.
And by routing his maneuvers to Glessen as he made them, he enabled targ to hold its fix on the Amnioni. Despite the constant lurch and stagger of Punisher’s movements, she sustained her unremitting assault on her opponent’s particle sinks.
Obliquely Min wondered about the state of UMCPDA’s research into the use of dispersion fields against matter cannon. The physics had looked good in simulation: prototypes had shown promise. But the equipment hadn’t yet been tested in combat. Only a month had passed since Min had authorized installing experimental field projectors on one of ED’s destroyers. And Punisher’s name had never been on the list of candidates. She needed too much time in the shipyards for other work.
Too bad. A dispersion field might have given her exactly what she needed now. Her sinks and evasive maneuvers were adequate against the alien’s matter cannon at this distance; but the emission chaos caused by an effective dispersion field would have covered her while she attacked the defensive in other ways.
Hashi had requisitioned an experimental field projector for Trumpet. Maybe the gap scout would give Min a chance to see whether it was effective.
“Cray,” Captain Ubikwe rumbled as if he were safe where he sat, “I’m still waiting for help from Valdor. What do they have to say for themselves? I refuse to think they’re procrastinating when there’s an alien warship in-system.”
Cray on communications had been shouting most of the time as she relayed messages back and forth between Dolph and VI Security; Dolph and the rest of the ship. However, her loudness sounded like a control reflex rather than alarm or hysteria: she raised her voice because shouting helped keep her fears at bay.
“Captain,” she answered, “VI has eight ships burning in this direction. Gunboats, most of them. One pocket cruiser. But we’re too far off the main shipping lanes. VI Security doesn’t usually patrol out here. The nearest of those gunboats won’t be in range to support us for another eleven hours.”
Eleven hours! Min snorted to herself. She wasn’t surprised. In the ordinary course of events, sane traffic never went near asteroid swarms. Still the delay vexed her.
“So of course,” Cray went on, “there aren’t any merchanters nearby that VI can divert to back us up. We’re on our own.”
“What about our replacement?” Dolph asked. “UMCPHQ must have sent somebody to take over for us when we left.”
The sarcasm in his voice may have been aimed at Min, but she didn’t take it personally.
“Aye, Captain,” Cray answered too loudly; always too loudly. “VI reports that Vehemence arrived an hour before we left.”
Vehemence. Min sneered the name silently. That ship didn’t have what anyone could call “a glorious record” around Massif-5. Nathan Alt had been court-martialed for his actions as her commander. And his predecessor had been patently incompetent. But later officers and crews hadn’t fared much better. Some ships were jinxed—doomed to futility by fates which human will and skill couldn’t alter.
“They say,” the communications officer went on, “she’s been charging around like a juggernaut, trying to be everywhere at once. But at the moment she’s on the far side-of Greater Massif-5.” Occluded by the star. “They can only talk to her if they use mining platforms and other ships as relays.
“Even if she knew we need her,” Cray finished, “she would take forty or fifty hours to get here.”
“Fine,” Dolph growled. “Perfect. So we’re on our own.
“Sometimes I think space is just too damn big. We’re wasting our time pretending we can handle it.”
He sounded almost cheerful.
“So what we need,” he added in a musing tone, “is to know why that ship”—he nodded at the defensive’s blip—“thinks this part of the swarm is special. Ideas, anyone? Porson, are you getting any hints we can use to help us jump to conclusions?”
What Punisher really needed, Min thought, was to break the embedded code of Warden Dios’ message to Angus Thermopyle for Nick Succorso. Obviously the cruiser couldn’t formulate a useful strategy without knowing where Trumpet was. But, more importantly, Punisher couldn’t decide whether the gap scout was worth dying for without knowing what Warden wanted from Thermopyle, Succorso, and their ship.
Unfortunately Punisher’s off-duty communications people hadn’t yet succeeded in deciphering the UMCP director’s message.
That left Min with only one essential question. Di
d she trust him? Even now, after he’d given control over Isaac/Angus to Nick Succorso?
Of course. What choice did she have?
He’d told her that Morn Hyland was alive.
“I can’t see much, Captain,” Porson answered tensely, “if you call what I can pick up through this barrage ‘seeing.’ But there is something—”
Min wheeled her seat, fixing her attention like a hawk’s on the scan officer.
“At this range,” he explained unnecessarily, “the swarm looks like blank rock. Magnetic and gravitic pressures produce a lot of electrostatic energy, but that’s inside the swarm. All we read is an occasional flicker, like heat lightning.
“But I’m picking up some odd stress indications. If the instruments aren’t confused—and the computer isn’t”—his uncertainty made him sound apologetic—“there’s an anomalous kinetic reflection coming off the swarm.
“I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like an echo of something too big pushing through the rocks. Something that violates the normal forces of the swarm.”
“It’s like,” Bydell put in unexpectedly, “a singularity. Like some accident of physics—or maybe a rogue experiment—has created a black hole in there.” Abruptly she caught herself. “Captain.” Weakly she added, “I’m sorry, sir.”
Dolph dismissed her breach of bridge protocol with a flick of his hand. “A kinetic reflection anomaly,” he breathed. “A singularity. Now what do you suppose that means?”
Min couldn’t hold back. Her palms were on fire, and her pulse had begun to pound out distress in her temples. “Never mind what it means,” she snapped. “Where is it? Can you locate it?”
Porson glanced at Captain Ubikwe. “Not exactly, sir,” he replied as if Dolph had asked the question. “But that Amnioni has positioned herself right over it.”
Min gripped the arms of her g-seat, anchored herself against the ship’s evasive thrust. “In that case, Captain,” she rasped harshly, “I can tell you what we’re going to do.”
Without any discernible effort, Dolph swiveled his station through conflicting vectors and g to face her. “I was afraid you might say something like that, Director,” he drawled. His tone was laconic; the glare in his eyes hinted at insolence. “When I suggested I was interested in jumping to conclusions, I was hoping to start from someplace just a bit more plausible.”
Plausible? Min wanted to bark at him. You want plausible? I haven’t got it. Nothing about this goddamn situation is plausible.
Nevertheless she restrained herself. She couldn’t take her frustration and anguish out on him. He didn’t deserve them; Warden Dios did.
Instead she told him the truth. She’d already swallowed enough lies and misinformation to sicken her.
“It’s plausible enough, Captain,” she retorted. “Trumpet is a gap scout—and gap scouts aren’t supposed to be armed. But this is a special case. She has matter cannon. Impact guns. Plasma torpedoes.” A dispersion field projector. “And she’s carrying singularity grenades.”
Dolph’s eyes widened; his jaw dropped involuntarily. Then a look that might have been fury filled his gaze. “Do you mean to tell me”—he gritted his teeth on the words—“you gave a rogue illegal and a cyborg a ship armed with singularity grenades! My God, Min, I thought they were experimental. I thought they were too God damn dangerous to use!”
“Everything’s too dangerous,” she shot back. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re already in a black hole ourselves.” An impossible mass in an imponderably small space. “Just because it isn’t physical doesn’t mean it’s not deadly. We passed the event horizon when we didn’t blast Trumpet while we had the chance, off the Com-Mine belt. Now the only way out is through.”
If she remembered what she’d read of Deaner Beckmann’s theories—and if he was right—
“That echo tells us where Trumpet is. Or was.” A black hole big enough to cast kinetic inconsistencies out this far could easily have consumed the gap scout and everything around her. In order to survive, she must have already fled the effects of her grenade. “If she tries to leave the swarm on this side, she’ll come from there.”
And if we get there in time, we might be able to cover her.
“Shit,” Glessen muttered abruptly. “What—?” Without lifting his head from the targ board, he called, “Captain, I’m losing charge on one of the guns!”
Dolph didn’t glance away from Min. “Bydell?” The anger in his eyes had been replaced by chagrin, as if he feared the ED director had lost her mind.
“I’m on it, Captain,” the data officer croaked, hunting her readouts frantically. “Damage-control computer indicates a drain on the power line. The insulation is failing. There.” She pointed at a schematic no one else could see. “Must be heat breakdown. That line conduits through one of the bulkheads where we were on fire. The leak’s there.” She gulped. “Captain, it’s getting worse. That section of the bulkhead is already carrying a measurable charge.”
Facing Min, his expression hidden from his people, Dolph winced like a snarl.
“Can you reroute?”
“Aye, Captain.” A tremor frayed Bydell’s voice. “But if I do, we won’t be able to maintain a steady current for the other guns. The lines won’t carry that much load.”
Min saw a strange struggle on Captain Ubikwe’s heavy face. His own conflicting vectors—fear for his ship, respect for his director, determination to protect his command, desire for battle—pulled him in too many directions at once. Opening his mouth wide, he drew breath as if he were about to howl. His gaze never left hers.
But he didn’t howl. Instead he exhaled, chuckling softly to himself. Slowly he lifted his hands as if he were surrendering. His eyes glittered like cut gemstones.
“Well, this is fun,” he rumbled. “When I signed on, they promised me adventure and excitement. I guess this is it.
“You’d better disable that line before we electrocute somebody, Bydell. Glessen, you can live without one gun for a while. It’ll make your job easier.”
“Aye, Captain,” they answered together.
Under other circumstances, a tech could have repaired the insulation in half an hour. But now any crewmember who left the protection of g-restraints would be dead in seconds, pounded to pulp by Punisher’s staggering maneuvers.
“All right, Director,” Dolph announced. His voiced filled the bridge. “You’ve convinced me. You say we’re in a black hole. I say we’re up to our ass in alligators. Either way, we haven’t got anything left to try except prayer. Maybe that’ll work.
“What do you want us to do?”
Maybe prayer was the answer. Breathing silent gratitude for Captain Dolph Ubikwe, Min gave him her orders.
Take an evasive course toward the site of the kinetic reflection anomaly. Angle to put Punisher between the Amnioni’s guns and that part of the swarm. Position the cruiser to cover Trumpet’s escape.
Position her to die for the strange game Warden Dios played with Angus Thermopyle and Nick Succorso. And Morn Hyland.
“Got that, Sergei?” Dolph asked the helm officer.
“Aye, Captain,” Patrice responded.
“Then set course and go.
“I hope you’re in the mood for a challenge,” Dolph added cheerfully. “With this on top of everything else, you’ll have your hands full.”
Under his breath Patrice murmured something which might have been, “Piece of cake, Captain.”
Rotational thrust. Evasive maneuvers. Now this. Piece of cake: sure. Min wasn’t entirely confident that she could have handled the assignment herself.
“Captain,” Porson whispered suddenly as if he were amazed—or horrified. “It’s been too long.”
“Too long?” Dolph made the inquiry sound impersonal; almost abstract.
The scan officer strove to be clear. “Too long since the defensive fired her proton cannon. She’s been shooting at us every one hundred eighteen seconds. Exactly. I assume that’s as often as she can. But it’
s been three minutes now. Three and a half. She hasn’t fired.”
Hasn’t fired? Anxiety twisted like nausea in Min’s guts. After three and a half minutes?
Dolph straightened himself at his station, clasped his hands on the arms of his g-seat. “In that case, Sergei,” he pronounced as if he were enjoying himself; as if all his troubles had been lifted from his shoulders, “I think we’d better carry out Director Donner’s orders at full burn. If a Behemoth-class Amnion defensive isn’t using her proton cannon to defend herself, it must be because she’s about to acquire another target.”
Trumpet had been built full of surprises. But nothing the gap scout carried—or could carry—would be able to protect her from a super-light proton beam.
Only Punisher could do that.
And die.
SORUS
Taverner had told her to do it; ordered her. Even though she’d warned him it was a trick. She’d shouted at him that Trumpet was shamming; there was no sabotage; Succorso had been too far ahead of her; if the gap scout struck an asteroid and looked dead, she was doing it deliberately to lure Soar in. But Taverner had insisted that the risk was worth taking. That any chance of capturing Trumpet’s people alive was worth taking. When Soar had finally penetrated the strange storm of distortion—when scan had at last reacquired the gap scout, seen her playing dead—he’d forbidden Sorus to kill the small ship while she could.
This was the result.
Without warning, another ship had appeared. Scan had recognized her at once: she was known from Billingate’s operational transmissions.
Free Lunch. Sorus knew nothing about her except her name. But she’d escaped Billingate scant hours ahead of Thanatos Minor’s destruction.
Instantly Free Lunch opened fire, hitting Soar hard; straining her sinks and shields to their limits. Trumpet had allies in the most incomprehensible places. Soar was forced to throw all her energies into the battle. Otherwise she wouldn’t survive.