“Damn,” the CO said. “There’s only one way to find out. Pilot.”
“Sir?”
“If that thing goes nova, get us the hell out of here before I order it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Engage.”
“Conn, CIC.”
“Go, CIC.”
“Uh… Sir, you’d better come down here.”
“I can see what you’re seeing from up here,” the CO said with a sigh. “What is causing the gas giants to flash on and off like lightbulbs?”
“Conn… CO to CIC, please…”
“Beams of what?”
“Lots of secondary output, sir,” the TACO said, pointing to the particle sensors. The CO noticed that it was his erstwhile canary manning the board. “They appear to be beams of energy high in the EM spectrum. The effect is to transfer energy to the gasses in the Jovians causing them to fluoresce. I’m not sure of the reason, sir…”
“Well, among other things it’s pretty,” the CO said dryly. “What happened to the star?”
“We’re less sure what’s going on there, sir,” White admitted. “But the current theory…”
“Dreen emission detected,” the sensor tech said calmly. “Multiple Dreen unreality translations. We’re getting them in rapid sequence because of our approach, sir, but the count is over sixty Dreen warships… Numbers and types coming up on the screen now, sir.”
The CO was glad that the need for seamen to laboriously write in the details of ships on clear glass screens was a thing of the past. Because he’d have to get half the crew in here, give them classes…
“Well… That’s a hell of a thing.”
“Sierras One through Eight are things we’ve never seen before,” the TACO said musingly. People reacted differently to disasters. Some panicked. Some became very calm. The tactical officer’s reaction was clearly to become severely academic, not the worst of reactions for that sort of position. “The Hexosehr had, though. Sierra One is a Dreen brain-ship. Ten kilometers long, heavy weapons to size. They’re considered worthy of a small fleet of Chaos ships on their own; their plasma guns and mass drivers can take out a Chaos ship at beyond even capital ship’s range. Figure with us they’ll be an increasing threat from five light-seconds out. Worse as we get closer, of course. The next seven are superdreadnoughts…”
The CO listened to it all but on another level he was drowning it out. There was no way for the Blade to take on even a fraction of this force. They mounted popguns compared to even the medium class ships in the Dreen fleet. Their most effective technique, dropping mines on the unreality node, was already moot. The Dreen were in the system.
“…Maneuvering to avoid the beams…”
“Run that one by me again,” the CO said.
“The beams from the Tree apparently took out part of the putative boarding force, sir,” the TACO said, gesturing to that part of the replay. “That was before they’d boarded. The fleet, however, is now maneuvering to avoid the beams.”
“Accident?” the CO asked.
“Since we don’t know what is causing the effect, sir, that would be my first guess,” the TACO said.
“Somebody,” the CO said, “and I’ll give you two guesses who it was, toss a coin, pressed the wrong button.”
“Or the right button, depending on your point of view, sir,” the TACO said diffidently. “The Tree did manage to take out some of the Dreen ships.”
“Point.”
“We have sufficient time to reach the Tree and extract any survivors. That assumes the Dreen have not taken the entire station and that the survivors can reach the ship. We may not even be able to contact them. However, in its current configuration, approach will be… interesting.”
“How much time?” the CO asked.
“Assuming that there is not another speed run by the boarding ships, six hours,” the TACO said. “That is the point at which the Dreen, assuming deceleration time, will be within six light-seconds of the Tree. We’ll have to maneuver to avoid them, in real space, as they approach. There is a danger from fighters…”
“That’s enough time,” Prael snapped. “I’ll be on the Conn. Contact me if there are any changes.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“ ‘And if the paths that I have followed have tread against the flow,’ ” Miriam sang, “ ‘there is no need for sorrow I am coming home…’ There! There!”
“What?” Weaver asked, placing his hands on the strings of the guitar. “Where?”
“I saw it,” Carpenter said. “Like a figure eight between Xenon and Helium.”
“Yes!” Miriam said. “Let’s try that again. From the top…”
“Wait,” Weaver said, looking at the screens. “There’s a new ship inbound… Fast. Blade’s here.”
“ ‘I have tasted the wisdom of divinity and the horrors of its sting…’ ” Berg whispered.
“Sir, the XO reports that the Blade is on its way in,” Gunny Juda said. His armor was blackened from the plasma fire but if it bothered him it wasn’t obvious.
“Acknowledged,” Berg said. Lieutenant Mendel had been lost in the running battle in the corridors when the Dreen had gotten a force around his platoon. The remainder of the platoon had fought its way out, with other casualties, so the CO had reconfigured the platoons. Berg now led the reconsolidated Second Platoon, consisting of the survivors from First and Second, while Greg Morris still had Third. Gunny Brunswick, the Third Platoon sergeant, had also been lost, so Gunny Vankleuren from First had taken the slot.
“Second,” Captain Zanella said. “Prepare for extraction. Third is going to cover the noncombatants; your job is to make sure the corridors are clear and make contact with the ship.”
“I’ll try to find a broom, sir,” Berg replied.
“What the hell?” Prael said as the Blade screamed in at almost four thousand times the speed of light. “What in the hell is that noise?”
“That would be the song ‘Return’ by the band Crüxshadows, sir,” the COB said. “A Goth band based in Tallahassee, Florida, it first hit the major charts with the song ‘Sophia’ in — ”
“Okay, COB, if you’re so smart,” the CO snapped. “Explain to me how we’re hearing it in space!”
“Got me there, sir.”
“Approaching warp-denial field,” the pilot said.
“Slow to normal space drive,” the CO said. “Flank speed to the shield. Damn… This means…”
“We’ve managed to get secondary output from the system, Captain Prael,” Weaver said, taking a puff off of his pipe. “We really should try to hold the Tree. (Puff, puff) It’s a major resource, both technically and militarily. Fascinating. Really…” (Puff.)
With the Blade back in the field of the Tree, the “anime zone” had reestablished. It looked to be a permanent issue.
“Mr. Weaver!” the CO barked. “There Are! Sixty! Dreen warships! Approaching! This Space station!”
“Fifty-eight,” (puff, puff). “Sixty-one originally. We got three. And with the secondary output system working, well… we can get more.”
“You are Basing this On Fantasy!” the CO shouted, looming over the XO. “This Is My Decision! We Are! Evacuating! Then we shall DESTROY this installation,” he added, rubbing his hands together. “The Dreen Will Never Have It! I Swear On the Blood Of Our Fathers!”
“Not so sure (puff, puff) that’s possible. Bits of it have been hit by Dreen plasma, you know? (Puff… ponder… puff.) Not sure a nuke (puff) would so much as scratch it. And if the Dreen capture it, well… (puff, puff, grin, puff) Wouldn’t want to be the feller explaining that one, by God I wouldn’t.” (Puff, grin, puff.)