I tried to relax, wondering why I was reacting as though the issue were in doubt. The Dellacondans would succeed in taking the cruisers by surprise. Kudasai would destroy one, and the Corsarius would cripple the other. But a series of strikes would strip her of her screens. And, while the Kudasai hurried to her assistance, the mortally wounded mute warship would finish her off. With a nuke.
Tarien was absorbed in thought. I watched the Corsarius take station about a kilometer away. Briefly, sunlight flashed on the hull. In some trick of perception, the black harridan strained forward. Her weapons clusters were primed and ready, her sensor dishes rotating slowly, the lights on her bridge dimmed. For all that, there was something almost insubstantial about her, as though she were already part phantom.
A klaxon sounded, its deep-throated shriek echoing through the ship.
"Something behind us," said one of the deck officers. She was barely able to conceal her surprise. "Coming fast. Looks like twelve, maybe thirteen destroyers."
"Confirmed," came another voice. "They’ve locked onto us."
"How the hell’d they manage that?" growled the Captain. "Plotting: what’s their arrival time?"
"If present rate of deceleration continues, eleven minutes."
I listened to the ship’s background noises. My overall impression was that the Kudasai was holding its collective breath.
I was a bit nonplussed myself. I’d had no idea they’d run into this sort of problem. And I wondered how, under the circumstances, they could possibly have executed their designs on the main body of the pursuers. Which, historically, they did.
Christopher Sim’s voice shattered the stillness. "Mallet, this is Truculent. Break off attack. Withdraw."
"Wait a minute," I said. "Monitor, there’s something wrong here."
"Mendel." Sim’s voice was strained. "It’s essential that we save the Kudasai. Get it out of here. I’ll try to cover."
"No!" Tarien’s big fist came down on the arm of his chair, and he glared at the overhead screen, across which the oncoming destroyers were swarming. "Proceed with the attack, Chris. We have no choice!"
"Can’t do it," said his brother. "They’ll catch us long before we can get close to the targets. We’re going to fight destroyers today whether we want to or not, and we’d better concentrate on choosing our ground. They’ve got too much here for us to risk getting caught in the open. Head for Barcandrik."
"Wait a minute," I objected. "This isn’t the way it happened."
Please do not interfere, Alex.
"Well, what the hell is going on here, Monitor? I don’t recall ever having heard about a destroyer attack at the last minute."
You were not there. How do you know what really happened?
"I’ve read the books."
LeMara’s voice: "Stand by to divert power to Armstrong units. If we have to, we’ll jump out."
Tarien shook his head fiercely. "That’ll be the end," he rumbled. "Don’t do it."
We moved away hard, and I was crushed into my seat. The environmental support system, which supplies artificial gravity, also negates most of the inertia caused by acceleration. But it apparently wasn’t quite as good as the equipment they have in the modern interstellars.
"Alex?" It was Tarien’s voice on my link. It was also something of a surprise: participants aren’t supposed to converse with an observer.
"Yes?" I said, struggling to form the words. "What is it?"
"We aren’t going to survive this. Save yourself, if you can." He looked up at me, gave me a bail-out signal with his hand, and then turned back to his display.
That did it. "Monitor, pull me out."
Nothing.
"Monitor, where the hell are you?"
I was getting scared now.
The captain went to battle mode. I’ve found out since that ships of the period, during emergencies, could boost power temporarily. Systems drained more quickly, but for a limited time you could pour a lot of juice simultaneously into weapons, shield, and propulsion.
The planetary atmosphere in which we hoped to lose our pursuers looked hopelessly far away. We were picking up speed quickly. But on the displays, the destroyers were coming fast, and fanning out into a wedge.
I pressed my headband. It was wet with perspiration. "Monitor, get me out."
Still nothing.
A carapace closed over my observation port. Lights dimmed.
The instructions tell you that if everything else fails, you can escape from the software simply by removing the headband. You’re not supposed to do it, because it’s hard on the equipment, or the head, or something. I don’t remember. But I pulled it off.
Nothing changed.
I shut my eyes, and tried to feel the overstuffed sofa in the downstairs living room. I was prone on that goddam sofa, but the only connection I had between this world and that was the headband. Even my clothes were different. (I wore the uniform of the Dellacondans; and they’d given me two silver circlets. I was an officer.)
Our own rear batteries opened up. The ship shuddered under the discharge. What the hell was going to happen here?
What I knew: if the ship were ripped open, if I were severely injured in the scenario, or killed, my physical body would certainly go into shock. It had happened occasionally. And people had died. "Jacob! Are you there?"
"Destroyers commencing evasive maneuvering. At least, we’ll pick up some time."
On the overhead, I could see that Corsarius was still with us. Another screen sketched the paths of whatever the Kudasai had fired. Someone was reading off power projections. But most of the talk on the commlink had stopped.
The weapons tracks passed harmlessly among mute ships.
"All miss. Charged for second volley."
"Wait," said the Captain. "Hold it until they get closer. I’ll tell you when."
For a long time after that no one spoke. The only sounds came from the electronics and the life support ducts and the throbbing of power deep within the ship. The combat officer reported that the destroyers had fired, and that we had enacted countermeasures. They were using nuclear-tipped photels, which travel at lightspeed and had, fortunately, already missed.
"We’ll be into the hydrogen in about four minutes," said the Captain.
There was a second exchange of salvos, and two of the destroyers blew up. Another wobbled out of formation. Someone cheered.
"Might make it yet," said a woman’s voice on the commlink.
The Captain was frowning. Tarien was watching him curiously. "What’s wrong?" he asked after a moment.
"'Corsarius hasn’t fired yet."
"Captain," said the navigator, "check the port screen."
We all looked. It was a visual of Corsarius, and though I saw nothing unusual, everyone else seemed to. At first, there was perplexity, then anger, and finally dismay.
I looked again: and I understood. The weapons clusters were pointed at us!
The Captain hit a switch on his chair. "Corsarius," he said, "What the hell’s going on?"
No response.
"Ridiculous," said Tarien, leaning over his own link. "Chris!"
"Full power to port shield," said the Captain. "Evade. Go to autolock. Break the commlink with Corsarius. At my command, come to zero three eight, mark six."
"No!" roared Tarien. "We need to talk to him. Find out what’s happening."
"We’ll talk later," said LeMara. "For now, I don’t want a beamrider honing in on us." He turned impatiently to the officer at his right. "Helmsman, execute!"