“Target maneuvering counter to our maneuver,” Combat Control reported. “They’re trying to get their starboard side to bear. We’re trying to fire into their port.”
“We’re slightly out of plane from them,” Korcan said. “Conn, maneuver downwards as we skew. Continue rotation.”
“Dreen secondaries firing,” Defensive Control reported, just as there was a shudder through the ship.
“Damage control’s going to be busy.”
The two ships continued to close, the Thermopylae circling the bull like a matador. But bulls don’t have plasma cannons.
“Can the mass driver take this?” Spectre asked as the ship rang like a tocsin to a Dreen mass driver strike.
“That is why there are mostly acceleration rings forward,” Korcan said placidly. “And most of the fire is hitting our flanks. Serious damage, but the mass driver still has over ninety percent operability. Good design.”
“Hope there are some Karchava left somewhere,” Spectre said. “I want to shake their hands. Or claws or tentacles or whatever.”
“I think I have a firing solution,” Main Gun Control reported. “Should hit the location you designated.”
“Fire.”
It was like pithing a frog. The enormous mass of the projectile hit the armor of the brain-ship low on its port side, penetrating upwards through the refractory material to blow all the way through the massive battlewagon.
And it missed the brain.
However, there are three necessities to any ship. A brain, the control section of a human, Hexosehr or Adar vessel, or the sentient controller of a Dreen battlewagon, which always has a redundant backup; the lungs, the environmental section that all spaceships need, and the heart, the engine room that all ships, space or otherwise, require.
It missed the brain. But it hit the heart. Most hearts don’t explode. Unless they happen to be already overloaded fusion cooling systems.
“Whoa,” Spectre said as fire began to gush out of the ship from every hatch along its entire length. “Nice secondar — ” He closed his eyes at the flash on his monitor and blinked. “What did you hit?”
“I think we just found out where the engine room is on a brain-ship, Admiral,” Korcan said. “Ops. Discontinue combat action. Divert all personnel to damage control. Recall the dragonflies. Our work is done.”
EPILOGUE
“As soon as gates are installed we’re going to be heading home,” Captain Zanella said. “The Blade will be heading back as soon as she’s repaired. There are plenty of Marines on the Thermopylae to ensure station security.”
“And then there’s the spiders,” Berg said, nodding. “Orders?”
“Get some rest,” the CO said. “We’ll be here a couple more days, max.”
“I’ve got some stuff I still need to do, sir,” Berg replied.
“Up to you,” the CO said. “If part of it’s catching up on mail, your evaluation’s in your inbox.”
“Thank you, sir,” Berg said.
“In case I have to tell you, you did a damned fine job. Get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
Berg nodded to the CO as he left, then brought up his eval. He looked at it carefully but really couldn’t find anywhere that the CO could have written it more glowingly. It was said that any evaluation that didn’t make an officer sound like the next Napoleon was a guaranteed career killer. Berg’s first evaluation as an officer made Napoleon sound like a piker.
The lieutenant nodded again and closed the file. That was one of hundreds if he stayed in. Each of which would be just as important to his career.
That was the past. In the meantime, he had work to do.
“Dear Mrs. Kaijahano, It was my honor to be your son’s platoon leader during the mission where he lost his life. In all my time as a Marine, I have never known a finer…”
“That was why the Hexosehr told us to wait,” Prael said, shaking his head. “That’s a damned nice ship you’ve got there, Admiral. Even as beat up as it is at the moment. What I don’t get is how you got out here so fast.”
“The Hexosehr completed the conversion while in orbit around one of the gate stars,” the admiral said. “I’d known it was going to come on-line soon, but not exactly when. I’d just come out with the advance party when we got the news about the Tree. So I jumped out immediately with the tech reps still aboard. Bit of a surprise for them, but waste not a minute, as Nelson would say.”
“Did you have the same TACO I had, sir?” Prael said. “The real question is: Don’t admirals usually command fleets?”
“I’ll have one soon enough,” Blankemeier said, grinning. “Especially with you holding onto this facility. Right now I’ve got a temporary Hexosehr commander, Ship Master Korcan, good guy. He’s got his ship under construction, now, though, a Chaos destroyer. The Thermopylae is, according to agreement, an American flagged Alliance spaceship, just like the Vorpal Blade. Which means she needs an American CO.”
“Frankly, sir,” Prael said, looking around at the assembled officers. “If you want a suggestion, Captain Wea — ”
“I was told that if everything looked right, the commanding officer had already been decided, Captain,” Spectre said, cutting him off. “Given the actions in this system, the Thermopylae is yours. She’ll remain in this system to help the Hexosehr convert the Tree to an advanced base for the Alliance and as local defense. The Karchava did a fine job, but the Hexosehr had a few fillips on fusion and drive tech they didn’t, so she’s about ten percent faster and twenty percent more powerful than original. She also has new hull plating, so she’ll take a pounding and keep coming. I think she just proved that last one.”
“Thank you, sir,” Prael said. “But I really think…”
“Decision’s final,” Blankemeier said. “Besides, Weaver’s going to be busy fixing the Blade and training a new captain.”
“It’s my lot in life,” Weaver said, sighing.
“Once the Hexosehr are up and running, we’ll seed the whole system, and especially the jump points, with spider mines,” Spectre said, rubbing his hands together. “Between that and the Tree, this solar system is going to be well nigh impregnable. And with the space dock already constructed, the Hexosehr can get to work on ships right away. Then there are the captured converts, three more dreadnoughts. As I said, I’ll have a fleet soon enough. Just one thing. Miss Moon?”
“I do not want to be stuck on a space station for the rest of my life,” Miriam said.
“Can you train someone else to use the system?” Spectre asked kindly. “Pretty please?”
“You’ll need someone trained as a singer,” Miriam said. “And a back-up band. And they’ll have to be… Actually, I don’t know.”
“We’ll hold auditions,” Spectre said, nodding. “Shuttle people out here to test them out. We’ll find somebody. You’re too valuable to leave here, even with the importance of this system.”
“Thank you,” Miriam said, dimpling.
“There are a thousand issues with this plan, sir,” Bill said. “Personnel?”
“Put gates in orbit,” the admiral said. “Not direct to Earth, obviously, but we can bounce them through a couple of planets and mine those. Personnel and comestibles can be transferred through those and shuttled in with Hexosehr shuttles.”
“And the station can’t stop the Dreen from approaching Earth,” Bill continued.