What?
That was one of the spaceplanes we lost contact with, Oliver said.
You mean theyre up in orbit? Terrance asked.
Looks like it.
Christ. He datavised the processor managing the command communication channels, ready to issue a general alert. But his neural nanonics informed him a couple of starships were leaving their assigned orbital slots. When he requested the strategic display it showed him Datura and Gramine under acceleration, rising out of the thousand-kilometre orbit. His fist hit the acceleration couch cushioning. What is happening?
The spaceplanes from both the Datura and Gramine experienced communication difficulties, Oliver said in a strained voice. He glanced over at Terrance Smith. The ordinarily prim bureaucrat looked haunted.
Cut them out of our communication net, Terrance ordered. Now. I dont want them to access our observation satellite data.
Theyre running, Oliver said. They must be heading for a jump coordinate.
Not my problem.
The hell it isnt. If they are xenocs, youll be letting them loose in the Confederation.
If they have the technology to put together that cloud, they already have bloody starships. My concern and mission is Lalonde. Im not sending the blackhawks to intercept them, we dont have the numbers to send ships off on wild-goose chases.
Their drives arent right, Oliver said. They arent burning the fuel cleanly. Look at the spectroscopic analysis.
Not now, fuck it! Terrance shouted. He glared at Oliver. Contribute something positive or shut up. His neural nanonics linked him in to the communication processor, opening direct channels to the remaining starships. This is an emergency warning, he datavised. Even as the painful phrase emerged, he wondered how many listeners were still under his command.
The Lady Macbeth s bridge was completely silent as Terrance Smiths voice came out of the AV pillars.
Oh, Jesus, Joshua moaned. This is all we need.
It looks like Datura and Gramine are preparing to jump, Sarha said. Sensor clusters and thermo-dump panels are retracting. She frowned. Most of them, anyway. Their thrust is very erratic. They should be above the five-thousand-kilometre gravity-field boundary in another four minutes.
This invasion force is too big, isnt it, Joshua said. Were not going to save Lalonde, not with what weve got.
Looks that way, Dahybi said in a subdued tone.
Right then. Joshuas mind was immediately full of trajectory graphics. A whole range of possible jump coordinates to nearby inhabited star systems popped up.
Youll be abandoning Kelly, a voice in his head said.
Its her choice.
But she didnt know what was happening.
He instructed the flight computer to retract the thermo-dump panels. Fully extended, the panels couldnt withstand high-gee acceleration. And if he was going to run, he wanted to do it fast.
As soon as Ashly returns were leaving, he announced.
What about the merc team? Warlow asked. They are dependent on us knocking out the invaders bases.
They knew the risks.
Kelly is with them.
Joshuas mouth tightened into a hard line. The crew were looking at him with a mixture of sympathy and concern.
Im thinking of you, too, he said. The invaders are coming up here after us. I cant order you to stay in these circumstances. Jesus, we gave it our best shot. There isnt going to be any mayope again. Thats all we ever really came for.
We can make one attempt to pick them up, Sarha said. One more orbit. A hundred minutes isnt going to make much difference.
And whos going to tell Ashly he has to go down there again? The invaders will know hes coming down for a pick-up.
Ill pilot the spaceplane down, Melvyn said. If Ashly doesnt want to.
Shes my friend, Joshua said. And its my spaceplane.
If theres any trouble in orbit, then well need you, Joshua, Dahybi said. The slightly built node specialist was uncharacteristically firm. Youre the best captain Ive ever known.
This is both melodramatic and unnecessary, Warlow said. You all know that Ashly will pilot it.
Yes, Joshua said.
Joshua! Melvyn shouted.
But Joshuas neural nanonics were already feeding him an alarm. The gravitonic distortion warning satellites were recording nine large gaps in space being forcibly opened.
Thirty-five thousand kilometres above Lalonde, the voidhawks from Meredith Saldanas 7th Fleet squadron had arrived.
An electronic warfare technique that can knock out power circuits as well as processors? What the hell have we come up against?
A single gleam of bright pale green light shone up into the lounge through the inspection window in the middle of the floor hatch. There was movement below.
Erick, whats happening? Andr Duchamp datavised.
The channel to the lounges net processor was thick with interference. Ericks neural nanonics had to run a discriminator program to make any sense of the captains signal.
Were getting power drop-outs all over the ship! Madeleine called.
Erick pushed off from the ladder, and grasped the floor hatchs handle to steady himself. Very gingerly he edged his face over the fifteen centimetre diameter window and directly into the beam of light. A second later he was airborne, arms and legs cycling madly as a twisted shout burst from his lips. He hit the ceiling. Bounced. Grabbed at the ladder as his body spasmed in reaction.
Erick had looked into hell. It was occupied by goblinesque figures with hideous bone faces, long, reedy limbs, large arthritis-knobbed hands. They dressed in leather harnesses sewn together with gold rings. A dozen at least, boiling out of the airlock tube. Grinning with tiny pointed teeth.
Three of them had clung to Bev, yellow talon fingers slashing rents in his ship-suit. His head had been flung back, mouth open in black horror as the abdominal gashes spewed entrail strands of translucent turquoise jelly. And suicide-terror shone in his eyes.
Did you see that? Erick wailed.
See what? Merde ! The net is screwed, our databuses are glitched. Im losing all control.
Dear God, theyre xenocs. Theyre fucking xenocs!
Erick, enfant , dear child, calm down.
Theyre killing him! They love it!
Calm! You are an officer on my ship. Now calm. Report!
Theres twelvefifteen of them. Humanoid. Theyve got Bev. Oh, God, theyre chopping him to pieces. Erick shifted a stored sedative program into primary mode, and immediately felt his breathing regularize. It seemed heartless, callous even, wrapping Bevs suffering away behind an artificial cliff of binary digits. But he needed to be calm. Bev would understand.
Are they heavily armed? Andr asked.
No. No visible weapons. But they must have something in the spaceplane, that light I saw
All six electronically operated bolts on the floor hatch thudded back together. The metallic bang rang clear across the lounge.
God ... Andr, they just cracked the hatchs codelock. He stared at it, expecting the manual bolts to slide open.
But none of the systems processors are working in that capsule!
I know that! But they cracked it!
Can you get out of the lounge?
Erick turned to the ceiling hatch and datavised the code at it. The bolts remained stubbornly in place. The hatch wont respond.
Yet they can open it, Andr said.
We can cut through it, Desmond Lafoe suggested.