“Of course. The cannonball presumes only brief survival, so it will endeavor to remain out of lock until it is close enough to inflict significant damage.”
Idrem nodded, highlighted the position of their formerly concealed missile; it was now coasting into the projected engagement envelope. “There is still no indication that the enemy has targeted our first missile, either. It may be that their sensor assets are so limited that they cannot establish an active lock on that target. Or, if the system is entirely automated, it may have dropped our missile from high priority tracking.”
Sehtrek nodded. “Such a system might also be foolish enough to dismiss its lack of further thrust as indicative of a malfunction.”
Ulpreln turned to look at Sehtrek. “Could they be so imbecilic, to think that a remote weapon fired from stealth has failed simply because it does not bear straight in upon its target?”
Sehtrek shrugged. “It is quite obvious that the Slaasriithi are not adept at, nor familiar with, war. It is possible, I suppose, that they—” He stared at his board, suddenly silent. Then: “Two small orbital arrays have just illuminated our coasting missile.”
“Respond as we have practiced,” Nezdeh ordered. “Idrem, fire portside laser blisters at the cannonball, starboard side blisters at the active sensors. Ulpreln, evasive maneuvers: the Slaasriithi drone-ship will begin firing soon. Activate all remaining seeker heads in our flight of missiles; set them to relay targeting data to us. Zurur, tightbeam relay that targeting data to our coasting missile.”
It happened with the swift, casual precision characteristic of Evolved professionals.
“One of the enemy’s small orbital arrays has been eliminated, the other damaged,” Idrem reported. “The damaged one continues to scan our coasting missile, but seems unable to acquire lock.”
“The cannonball’s lasers are operating in defensive mode, eliminating our missiles,” Sehtrek reported. “Nezdeh, we are losing redundant targeting data from those seeker heads—”
Which is acceptable because I will not need it for much longer—
“Cannonball now activating its own arrays, targeting our coasting missile — Wait; it is now retasking them to quick forward sweeps.”
“It has seen the railgun projectiles behind the missile volley,” Nezdeh muttered with a smile. “Idrem, stand ready. Intercept time for our coasting missile?”
“Twenty seconds.”
The thin green tines that denoted Lurker’s railgun rounds began deviating or, in a few cases, winking out of existence. “Cannonball lasers remain in defensive mode against our penetrator rods. It is also launching a missile — no; two missiles.”
“Does it have lock on us?”
“It is trying to acquire, Nezdeh.” Sehtrek’s voice was admirably calm.
Trying will not be good enough—“Now, Idrem: relay our target lock on the cannonball to our coasting missile and activate both its stages.”
“Complying…”
Out in space, the drifting missile suddenly blazed to life, far brighter than any of the others. A brace of solid-rocket boosters ignited along with its main motor, propelling it forward at half again its unmodified maximum speed.
The cannonball quickly swung some of its sensor assets over to establish a lock on this new threat, which was approaching much, much faster than the Slaasriithi had any reason to expect, based on prior encounters.
“Increase laser fire on the cannonball,” Nezdeh ordered, “and initiate direct fire by the railgun, one penetrator per second. We must maximize hit possibilities, not damage potential.”
Idrem nodded, his fingers playing across the dynamic control panel like a concert pianist at his instrument.
In the plot, several of the railgun’s first wave of green tines were still bearing down upon the orange sphere denoting the cannonball. The alien craft jittered and jumped as it strove to remain within its flechette-constricted safe vectors while also evading the steady fire from its primary target; it narrowly avoided hits, but did not manage to fix a lock on the ambushing Ktor missile until it was within a kilometer. One of the cannonball’s lasers finally found and destroyed it; in the holosphere, the dissipating green-dust remains of the rocket overlapped the orange cannonball for a moment—
“Enemy craft has sustained light damage from the rocket’s fragmentation warhead. It is attempting to compensate—”
But the cannonball’s attempt to compensate made it vulnerable to other attacks: a laser hit by Idrem’s constant peppering damaged it further, and as it struggled to correct, one of the railgun penetrators hit it almost dead center. The orange sphere in the holosphere dissolved. A moment later, Lurker’s lasers, retasked to the PDF role, eliminated the two missiles the cannonball had launched.
“All targets destroyed,” Sehtrek said calmly, almost contemptuously.
Nezdeh did not release her breath quickly, did not lean back in relief. Her demeanor had to affirm that victory was never in doubt, not now, not ever. Because if her crew were to dwell upon the full consequences of failure, those dire imaginings would erode their confidence and performance. Anything less than complete success would turn their House’s faceless sponsors into executioners, eager to conceal their conspiracy against the dominant powers of the Ktoran Sphere.
And yet, without the enthusiastic support of those potentially faithless sponsors, House Perekmeres could not be restored, either in full or in part. She and her crew would remain rootless renegades in a universe where every hand was against them. But now, perhaps, we are nearing the moment when we may put such grim forebodings behind us.
Turning to Zurur, Nezdeh nodded and said, “Tell Jesel to commence his assault.”
* * *
Jesel sul-Perekmeres glanced at the armored shuttle’s pilot, Pehthrum. “Intendant, start the descent.”
“Do you not wish to strap in, Jesel?”
Perhaps if Jesel had been Pehthrum’s superior in anything but birth-determined rank, the young Aspirant to Evolved status would not have been sensitive to the Intendant’s simple, practical question. But Pehthrum was older and more accomplished in every particular that could possibly bear upon the mission, and self-conscious Jesel heard his question as an oblique critique. “I do not wish to strap in, Intendant. Fly this shuttle. For now, that is all I require of you.”
Pehthrum lowered his head in compliance and then lowered the nose of the shuttle, angling it toward the planet’s atmosphere.
Jesel had been expecting the maneuver, swayed with it, used his wrist muscles to keep his feet on the deck. He felt the strain and cursed his geneline — or rather, his lack of one. The son of a jur-huscarl, Jesel had been a child at the time of House Perekmeres’ Extirpation. Under any but those desperate circumstances, his genecode would not have been deemed sufficient to groom for eventual inclusion in the ranks of the Evolved.
But harsh fate had compelled the remaining leadership of House Perekmeres to confer the possibility of Elevation upon him. And what he lacked in genecode, he made up for with boldness and an instinct for dominion. Or so he told himself.
As the armored shuttle leveled into its new course and the fuselage shuddered under increased thrust, Jesel surveyed the personnel of his first combat command. His fellow ’sul, Suzruzh, was strapped in at the rear, ready to lead team three; the assault’s main contact and harrying element, it would locate and engage the Aboriginals. Team two, under Pehthrum, was designated to carry out a flanking maneuver once the target was fixed in place by team three. And Jesel’s team one would be the command and final assault element, ostensibly screened by Suzruzh’s harriers.