Or maybe not, he thought sourly. One of the drives had been destroyed in the attack and two more were showing alarming harmonic fluctuations, which suggested they were on the verge of burning out. Losing one wouldn’t be fatal; losing both of them would mean that Enterprise would have to drop out of formation, exposing her to the tender mercies of Admiral Justinian, who might not feel like taking prisoners. Roman’s trick of waiting until the enemy battlecruisers had come within point-blank range would hardly encourage the enemy to accept an offer of surrender. They’d be more likely to put a missile in the carrier’s hull instead.
He pulled up the starfighter display and shivered. There were no organized flight groups and squadrons, not any longer. Instead, pilots were flying with whatever wingmen they could find and rearming at whatever carrier could take them. The perfect organization of the Retribution Force was a thing of the past. If Enterprise fell out of formation…Admiral Drake hadn’t mentioned it, but Roman knew what his orders would be. Enterprise’s fighters would transfer to another carrier and the fleet’s former flagship would make its final stand alone.
“The CAG is reporting that they’re having trouble transferring supplies from the holding bays to the flight decks,” Sultana reported. At least she sounded calm. Maybe she really was; Roman saw nothing more than a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead. “The damage control crews are asking for permission to cut through the bulkheads and transfer the supplies directly.”
“Check with the engineer,” he ordered. It felt like an abdication of responsibility, but he didn’t know if cutting through the bulkheads risked damaging the ship. “If he agrees, tell them to go ahead with it.”
He turned back to the main display. Enterprise wasn’t being targeted directly—he suspected that Admiral Justinian still wanted the carrier intact—yet there was always a possibility that one missile would lose its target and lock onto Enterprise as a substitute. Or perhaps the admiral would change his mind and decide to end Enterprise’s charmed life.
“Two hours to the mass limit,” the helmsman reported. “Once we cross, we can escape.”
Sultana looked over at him. “And go where? Can we double back and find a chain of Asimov Points leading home?”
Roman said nothing, as she was right. Asimov Points were far quicker than the stardrive. It would take years to get back to Earth without re-entering the Asimov Point network, which meant that Admiral Drake would have to head for another Asimov Point. And Admiral Justinian could certainly guess where he was going, and perhaps have a fleet in place to block their retreat…
“Stow it,” he ordered sharply. “We will concentrate on getting out of here. The rest we leave to the admiral.”
Marius wanted a shower desperately as his fleet crawled towards the mass limit. It felt as if they had been fighting for days, not hours, and he was alarmingly aware of his own stink. The crew looked tired and worn, looking to him to get them out of this nightmare. He rubbed the side of his chin and felt stubble, taunting him. The only consolation was that Justinian’s fleet had to be in the same condition.
“Admiral, they are launching starfighters,” the tactical officer reported. He should have been relieved long ago, but the secondary tactical officer was needed on the secondary bridge. “They seem to be preparing a final strike.”
“Prepare our own fighters for launch,” Marius ordered slowly. The fighter jocks were exhausted. He’d given the order to have stimulants issued to the pilots, even though they knew that stimulants could impair judgement and coordination. There hadn’t been any other choice, even when one of his remaining pilots had nearly killed a second one under the impression that he’d been an enemy. “Combine our squadrons and stand by to launch them on my command…”
The enemy fighters screamed in towards his ships and his own weary pilots went forward to meet them. Both sides were clearly tired—thankfully, their mechanical servants never got tired. Many of Justinian’s fighters died as they were picked off by the point defense network, their reaction times clearly impaired. But two more of Drake’s superdreadnaughts were blown apart before Justinian’s fighters started to fall back, evading Drake’s vengeful starfighters as they retreated.
Marius knew that it wouldn’t be long before Justinian’s starships opened fire again.
“Admiral,” the sensor officer reported, “they’re falling back!”
“What?” Marius demanded. “They’re falling back?”
The display showed the enemy fleet reducing speed and recovering their fighters. If it was a trick, they gained nothing from it, not even a chance to convince Marius to slow his own ships at the same time. The distance between the two fleets widened sharply, until every bit of the remaining Retribution Force was safe. At this point, even Justinian’s starfighters would have problems catching up with them before they crossed the mass limit and escaped…that is, if Justinian had any pilots left in any shape to fly.
“Bring up the stardrive on all ships as soon as we cross the mass limit,” Marius said. He’d barely had any time to think about their course, but he had to pick something that might work once they went FTL. He pulled up a star chart—with bright white lines showing the Asimov Point network—and frowned. There weren’t many options. “Set course for FAS-836393.”
“Aye, sir,” the helmsman said. He sounded relieved. “Stardrive activation in…seventeen minutes.”
Chapter Sixteen
A star’s value can be measured in three ways. Does it have a life-bearing planet or one that can be easily terraformed? Does it have a gas giant that can be mined for He3? And, most importantly of all, does it have any Asimov Points? A star with nothing but Asimov Points may be of immense significance to the astropolitical planner.
Jefferson System/FAS- 836393/Boskone System, 4092
“The enemy fleet has crossed the mass limit,” Caitlin reported.
She was too much of a professional to show her surprise, but Justinian had known her long enough to guess what she was thinking. He hadn’t given up the chance to destroy the Senatorial lackeys, no matter what it looked like. Yet he could have crippled or destroyed many more ships before the remainder escaped, so she had to be wondering why he didn’t do it.
“They will be going FTL as soon as possible,” she said.
“Leaving behind a number of cripples,” Justinian said. He allowed himself a smile. Marius Drake had done well to extract most of his force from what had been intended as a death trap, but he’d had to abandon nearly thirty starships. “Pass on the message; I want the Marines to accept surrenders and take the ships intact.”
“They’ll blow the computers,” Caitlin warned. “Sir, why…?”
Justinian smiled again, doing his best to project some warmth.
“We could have pressed our advantage and perhaps destroyed additional ships,” he told her. “This way, however, those lackeys know that we will accept surrenders and may not be willing to fight to the death—not for the Senate.”
He grinned up at her, and then looked back at the display. “And that way, we can regroup and advance against the nearest fleet base before Drake’s forces can get back in contact with the rest of the Federation.”