“God damn it! Defense Officer Reed, stand by for authority. I’ll need to stay sharp.” Defense Officer! How strange an idea, in this day and age. It sounded as anachronistic as a rigging master. “Tracking, give me a tactical display and verbal report. What is range to 219?”
“Current range 15,434 kilometers.”
“Why are they moving on us now?” Dianne demanded. “We had closest approach hours ago.”
“Unknown, ma’am. CORE 219 now accelerating toward us, acceleration rate climbing from twenty-five gravities. Thirty. Forty gravities acceleration. Holding at forty gees on a direct bearing for Terra Nova.”
“Very well,” Dianne said. “Let the datalog show that I am declaring an attack as of this time. Defense Officer, I authorize release of all weapons and defense systems. Stand by for chaff canister launch.” It was the same tactic Sakalov’s cargo craft had tried—blind the attacker, deploy decoys, and make a run for it. Dianne Steiger, however, had seen to it that the Terra Nova had a few more teeth than a cargo ship.
“CORE 219 has ceased acceleration,” Hamato announced. “CORE 219 now on an intercept course for a broadside impact with Terra Nova in eighteen minutes, five seconds. Closing velocity thirteen kilometers per second.”
It was tempting, damned tempting to try evasive action now, but there was no point to it. Not when the Terra Nova could just about manage three gees with the wind behind her and the CORE was barely clearing its throat at forty gees. No. No. They would not survive here by running away. Sakalov had proved that much.
They were going to have to kill this thing.
Dianne licked her lips nervously and tried to concentrate on her display screens as the bridge erupted into action, staff rushing to their battle stations, voices shouting out orders and questions. Check the screens. Range to the CORE was dropping rapidly, at terrifying speed. But because the CORE had allowed the TN to fly past the point of closest approach, the CORE was coming in on a long stern chase, rather than head on. It was coming in from the rear and below and to starboard, on a direct heading, rather than circling around, getting into position, lined up nose to nose with the target, then barreling straight down for a head-on impact.
Was that good or bad? What did it mean, if it meant anything at all? Think! Think as the seconds ticked away. The Terra Nova had the means to fight back, but she was not going to get any second chances.
And if the Terra Nova had learned from the attack on Sakalov’s ship, so too had the Charonians. The CORE that attacked his ship had no doubt sent a description of the event to every other CORE around Earth.
All right, you know that they know. But do they know that you know that they know? There were still endless arguments as to the nature of Charonian intelligence. No one knew for sure if Charonians were self-aware, or if so, if they knew they were self-aware. From there it descended into philosophical horseradish, but one thing Dianne knew for sure, at a gut leveclass="underline" the Charonians weren’t much good at dealing with change. Nor had the Charonians shown any sign as yet of being aware of human intelligence.
Right. Good. But the clock is moving. What does that tell you? That the CORE coming up behind them was doing so on the expectation that the Terra Nova would behave exactly as Sakalov’s ship had done.
Dianne jabbed at the touch panels, brought up the data beamed up from Earth. She ran the attack on Sakalov backwards and forwards from every angle she could find, one eye on the tactical display on the main screen, ticking down the dying minutes and seconds until impact.
She watched as Cargo Craft 43 fired its chaff bombs, dispersed its decoys, and the ship and the decoys commenced maneuvering violently, hidden by the chaff. She saw CORE 326 burst through the sheltering chaff, smash one decoy, and then, it seemed, learn to tell the difference and barrel straight for Cargo 43. Run it again, from the top—
Wait. There. That was it. Good. Okay. The only way out is through. If they lived that long. She turned to Lieutenant Reed, sitting at the Defense Ops.
“Defense Officer Reed. Do not, repeat do not, use preprogrammed or optimized spread on chaff dispersal. I want your initial chaff dispersal to be identical to what Cargo 43 did. Same number of chaff cans, fired in the same pattern when this CORE is at the same distance. And don’t tell me Cargo 43 did it all wrong: I know that. You do it the same way and stand by for further orders.”
“What’s the plan?” Gerald asked, materializing at her elbow. How long had he been there?
Dianne realized she didn’t know the answer consciously. She forced herself to put it into words, and found she was explaining it to herself as much as to Gerald. “The CORE is optimizing its attack,” she said, “but it’s basing that optimization on Cargo 43’s behavior.” Her hands worked the tactical display controls as she spoke, overlaying the current tactical situation with the death of Cargo 43. “When the CORE came through the chaff, the real ship, the target, was well to the rear of the formation. This CORE didn’t make its move until it was lined up for a perfect shot at exactly the same position.”
She looked to Gerald, trying to tell if it made sense to him, if he saw what she saw. Not that it mattered. She was still in command— and there was no time to change the plan anyway. But still, to see that understanding would help just now. God, it would help.
He nodded, and allowed the slightest of smiles to crease his lips. “You’re right,” he said. “That’s what they’re assuming. They think we’ll behave exactly the same way the cargo ship did.”
Dianne grinned back, a hunter’s smile. “That’s what I figured. I thought we might want to encourage that idea.”
“Defense Officer! Reconfigure decoy units to match the deployment from Cargo 43—but load an additional decoy and program it to duplicate Cargo 43‘s own movements. Helm, prepare to come about to a course parallel to the CORE, two kilometers off its port beam and traveling in the opposite direction at maximum acceleration. Do not, repeat, do not bring ship to boost attitude until ordered to do so. Defense, be ready to load and fire additional decoys and chaff. All sections, stand by and prepare to execute.”
There. That was that. A guess, a hurried plan, and a flurry of orders. Already it was too late to turn back.
Dianne watched her bridge crew scrambling to obey her orders, watched the clock count down the moments until projected impact, watched another clock display with less time on it tick down the time left until action, until Terra Nova would begin the same dance that Cargo 43 had performed—although, God willing, this time with a different end.
Cargo 43 had deployed its chaff at six minutes six seconds before projected impact. Every attack simulation Dianne had run told her that was far too late, and that the cargo craft had used the chaff badly, running in precisely the wrong direction.
What they had to do now was convince this CORE they were going to do the same.
“Coming up on one minute to chaff bomb launch,” the Defense Officer announced.
“How long after launch will the bomb blow and spread the chaff?” Gerald asked.
“Optimal time would be two minutes, fifteen seconds after launch,” the Defense Officer said. “However, we are matching the Cargo 43 time of one minute twelve.”
“Defense, the moment that first chaff bomb has the CORE blinded, fire a second one programmed for optimal chaff release time. And put countdown clocks for everything on the tactical view,” Dianne said. “Helm, stand by for minimum-time throttle-up to maximum thrust on main engines,” Dianne said.