Cookie’s attempt at humor didn’t work. Romano’s face grew dark. “I don’t think I can take another attack. I don’t think-”
Cookie had an idea. “Come on, Romano. I’ve got a job for you.” She turned and walked down the corridor, Romano in tow, until they reached the entrance to Shuttle Bay 3. Two armed Marines stood at the doorway. One had his arm in a sling, the other’s head was bandaged.
“Open up, Billy,” Cookie ordered the one with the head bandage. The Marine looked curiously at Romano, but said nothing as he punched in the code to open the hatchway. Cookie and Romano walked onto a catwalk about twenty feet over the deck of the shuttle bay. There were three more armed Marines inside. They all turned towards the newcomers, blasters swinging up, then stopped when they recognized Cookie.
“Corporal, Sergeant Zamir said no one is allowed down here,” one of the Marines said, eyeing Romano suspiciously.
“It’s okay, Specialist Romano is going to help us with our little problem,” Cookie said.
“Corporal, I’d be a lot happier if Sergeant Zamir-”
“And I’d be a lot happier if I tore your head off and played soccer with it,” Cookie snapped. “And since I’m the corporal and you’re the private, which one of us do you think is going to be smiling one minute from now and which one is going to be sorry he was gave me some lip? Now move!”
Romano waited until the guard had stepped away before turning to Cookie. “You said I’m going to help you with a problem?” she asked apprehensively.
In reply, Cookie led her to the edge of the catwalk. She waved her hand to the deck. “See these?”
There, nestled side by side on the deck, were three black cylindrical tubes, each about three hundred feet long and twenty feet in diameter. They were matt black and made of something that so effectively absorbed light that Romano had to squint to keep them in focus.
“Know what they are?”
Romano nodded. “The ships the commandos used, the Savak.”
“Yep, that’s right. Supposed to be top secret and all that happy horseshit, but I suppose you know damn near everything Gandalf knows. And you know how the Savak got on board the Yorkshire?”
Romano pursed her lips. “W-e-l-l-l-l, they didn’t cut a hole in the hull, and they didn’t come through an air lock, so it’s got to be something our big brains back on Cornwall say is impossible.”
Cookie blinked, a bit taken back at how easily Romano figured out that the Savak had transported onto the ship. “We found these ships after each of the Savak attacks. We tractored them in here and opened ‘em up. One of them was booby trapped and killed three crewmen, but we got into the others okay. One was empty; each of the other two had a dead woman aboard, ‘Pilots,’ from what little we understand of their ranks.”
“Tell me what the problem is, Corporal, please. This other stuff just makes me want to crawl into a corner,” Romano said, no trace of humor in her voice.
“Okay, Artificial Intelligence Interface Systems Specialist Linda Romano, here is the problem: If we’re right, each of the Savak ships has a device that allows these bastards to transport themselves from this crappy little ship to its target without killing them in the process. The problem is that we’re not sure which set of controls relates to the transporter. Nothing is labeled. We can’t figure out how to make it work. And, truth be told, we’re scared shitless we’re going to push a button and there will be a big ‘boom!’ followed by intense unpleasantness and death.
“So, Romano,” Cookie continued. “Can you figure out how to make the transponders work?”
Romano eyed her impassively, but Cookie could almost hear the gears turning. “Can I look inside, please?”
“Sure.” Cookie led her to a small hatchway near one end of the cylindrical ship. Once inside they could see two longs rows of bucket seats facing each other. Above the seats was a curious mesh of wire and what looked like flood lights. At the end near the hatchway there was a waist-high partition, then five more chairs in a single row, facing a console with banks of dials, knobs, switches and computer screens.
Romano stared at the consoles for a long time, then gracefully stepped over the petition and sat in one of the chairs. For a minute or two she just sat there, looking, then she reached out and brushed her finger tips along the surface above and below several of the controls. Romano turned back to Cookie. “When do you need this?”
“Yesterday would be good,” Cookie replied.
Romano snorted. “Only a ship’s Captain can command completion of a task before it has begun, Corporal, and you’re not a Captain.” She gazed at the console. “I’ll need a hand here, maybe Nancy and Jimmy.”
Cookie nodded. “I can get whoever you need.”
Romano didn’t reply, and after a moment Cookie left her, gazing intently at the console and humming quietly to herself.
Chapter 57
On the D.U.C. Vengeance
In Pursuit of Space Station Atlas
Admiral Mello stood in front of the holo display with Commander Pattin, watching as the Victorian Home Fleet swept in. “They’re concentrating on the hedgehogs,” Commander Pattin said. Two were already dead. As they watched, another died under a hundred lasers. Mello only had fifteen ships to support them because he had sent the others back to the rear to save the supply ships. Without the rest of the warships to protect the hedgehogs, the Victorians could come in close and use their lasers to advantage. Whenever Mello sent a wing forward to support them, it came under withering missile fire.
“Sensors report that some of the Vicky ships are towing missile platforms. That explains why their missile attacks are so heavy. But it means they can’t keep this up much longer,” Pattin said.
On the holo display another hedgehog died.
Mello scowled. “They won’t have to keep this up much longer. If they kill another couple of the hedgehogs, they’ll be able to fire all their missile platforms and we don’t have the weight to stop them. We need to pull back.”
“The hedgehogs are slow. If we pull back fast enough to save the rest of the First Attack fleet, we’ll lose them,” Pattin protested.
Mello wanted to scream. They were so close. “Orders to the carriers,” he said briskly. “Launch all fighters and attack the Vickies.” The carriers were his secret weapon, and he had intended to save them for the moment of maximum impact. But needs must, he thought bitterly. Needs fucking must.
On the H.M.S. Lionheart, the Sensors Officer stiffened in alarm. Suddenly his screen showed a hundred fast moving objects coming straight at them. Too slow to be missiles, but accelerating harder than any war ship he had ever seen. “Captain!” he called. “Something is coming, but I don’t know what it is. A hundred small vessels, smaller than gunboats. They came from those two big ships just behind the Dominion line.”
Captain Eder squinted at the holo display. Whatever they were, they were very small and closing rapidly. He scowled. He did not particularly care for surprises. In his experience, surprises meant something unpleasant. A thought nagged at him, something from one of the history courses he took at the Academy.
The fighters launched from five hundred miles. One hundred missiles targeted the cruisers Brisbane and Tasmania, which had been in the van of the Victorian attack. Anti-missile defenses lashed out in a desperate effort to protect the two ships, but the cruisers were too far in front. The missiles struck.
“Gods of Our Mothers have mercy!” Eder groaned. The Tasmania was a shattered hulk; the Brisbane turned sluggishly away from the threat, vomiting air and bodies. “Those are fighters! The Dominions have carriers with a fighter wing!”