Caine shrugged “So, with no place to hide, no way to fight, and not enough speed to run, we’ve got only one choice left.”
“You mean we should play dead? How’s that going to help?”
“Well… it might not. But it has this advantage over the other three alternatives: it might work. Remember, at Convocation the Ktor categorized us and the Hkh’Rkh as warlike, but indicated that the Arat Kur were merely more advanced. So, given the superior tech we’ve observed, let’s assume we’re being invaded by the Arat Kur. Being busy and not innately savage, they might survey the wreckage, see no activity, no emissions, and then push straight on to their primary objectives at The Pearl.”
“And maybe we can still make the rendezvous and shift-out, if the Prometheus can slow down a little,” Caine added.
Trevor shook his head. “With an invasion under way, the Prometheus can’t slow down. Not enough, anyway. This attack, and our need to wait until the coast is clear again, are going to put us too far behind to catch her.”
“Okay, but if any of our military shift carriers make it to the outer system, we could plot an intercept course for them. They’re probably going to wait as long as they can for their combat complements to make it back to their berthing cradles, and that might give us enough time.” Caine shrugged, waited a moment. “So, what do you think?”
Chapter Six
Trevor resisted the impulse to roll his eyes. What do I think? I think you’re a civilian who’s been turned into a toy soldier. I think that sometimes you’re too damned smart for your own good—but thank God we’ve got you on our side. I think it pisses me off that the woman I’m always thinking about is in love with you, not me. “I think your idea is just crazy enough that it might work.”
Caine nodded slowly. “Can you talk Hazawa into it?”
Hazawa: another contestant in today’s Amateur Hour Follies. “Probably, but it’ll be faster if I just take command—”
Trevor had not expected Caine to interrupt, but he did. “Which means you’d have to self-activate out of reserve and take the conn.”
“So?”
“So, you might want to retain your current civilian status and stay here in Auxiliary Command. Just in case this craziness doesn’t work out.”
“You mean, in case we’re captured? Well, yeah,” he admitted, “you’ve got a point. So”—he checked his watch—“we’ve got about a minute before things get lively. Get on your collarcom with Hazawa. Explain your idea quickly and convey my recommendation that he follows it.”
“I should call?”
“Yes, you. If something happens to me, he’s got to know to listen to you, too. He’s too green to realize that you don’t know half of what you’re talking about.”
“Thanks for the pep talk, Trevor.”
“Don’t mention it. Get going. I’ve got some real work to do.”
As Caine started explaining his idea—and rank—to Hazawa, Trevor reconsidered the cutter’s own passive scan plot, and the composite data being relayed from the CINCBARCOMCEN radio shack on Barney Deucy. Half of the Pearl’s deep space battle group was now retroboosting to maintain distance. The other half—all lighter ships—had adjusted course and piled on the plasma, evidently trying to three-dimensionally cross the T ahead of the enemy’s main body, albeit at a rather steep angle. Perduro had adopted a reasonable two-tier strategy. She would hold one of her groups back to duel with the enemy heavies as long as possible, perhaps showing their heels if the shift carriers got far enough away that the Arat Kur couldn’t catch them anymore. The other part of Perduro’s force was probably going to seed mines and sleeper drones—maybe even a few of the nuke-pumped, X-ray-laser ship-killers—in the path of the enemy. Which would present the invaders with Hobson’s choice. Slow down to optimize scans and minimize damage from the autonomous and remote-controlled munitions deployed by the closer, lighter battle group; or rush through that kill zone in an attempt to close quickly with the heavier, but more distant, main fleet elements. Either way, there was a chance that significant parts of Perduro’s flotilla would survive to fight again another day.
Or maybe not. As Trevor started reading the transponder tail numbers on the fleet plot, he wondered if there was a computer malfunction. Half of the missile frigates, including the one drawing near their crippled cutter, were of the Spear class, the last of the fission-drive buckets. Now officially reserve vessels, they had been shipped to The Pearl for training purposes. What the hell were they doing on the line? In fact, only Perduro’s flagship—the President-class battle cruiser Jefferson—was a truly modern ship. Goddamnit, where are all the—?
The cutter shuddered.
Caine, just finishing with Hazawa, looked over. “Were we hit, or—?”
Trevor checked the plot. The blue triangle that denoted the tanker Baton Rouge faded away. “No, Caine; that was the farewell song of a nearby ship. From the look of it, hit by another shot from their lead ship. Did Hazawa go for the plan?”
“Yep, he’s got the distress signals on now. And it looks like he’ll have the preignition toroid repaired in a few minutes. He’s taken the plant offline, so we’re on battery backup and looking pretty dead. Just for good measure, he vented a little coolant from the starboard ignition chamber.”
“So it looks like we’ve got a radiation leak, too. Nice touch. Hazawa’s idea?”
Caine was silent, staring at the sensor plots.
Trevor smiled. Of course it wasn’t Hazawa’s idea.
Caine leaned closer to the plots. “Where are their drones?”
“I’ve been wondering the same thing. They should have opened up by now.”
“Hell, if they’re traveling under their own power, we should have seen some thermal signatures on our own passive sensors, right?”
Trevor frowned. “Well, if they were our drones, yes. But the invaders could have some stealth capabilities that—” Caine looked like he wanted to say something, but suppressed it. Trevor sighed. “Okay, spill it.”
“Trevor, do you know of any way to conceal high-temperature exhaust in space?”
“No.”
“I don’t either. I can’t even think of how you’d do that. But instead, what they could have done was—” And then Caine was on his feet. “The ships near us. Send them a warning. They’re going to get hit point blank—in minutes, maybe seconds.”
“What? How the—?”
“If the invaders’ technology is both better and more compact, they’ve got more uncommitted hull volume to play with.”
“So?”
“So, they could build in big mass drivers to launch their drones. So if they shifted in and the drones were launched immediately, we wouldn’t see them because they’re just inert metal traveling towards us at God-knows-how-many gees. But when they get close enough—”
Trevor completed the sentence as he put his hand on the open comms. “They go active at point-blank range, firing and evading while they’re in among us. And then they continue right on through us to serve as the advance strike force against the Pearl. Where they’ll cause just enough havoc to further delay any evacuation.” Trevor’s finger was poised above the “send” relays, ready to broadcast in the clear—but he took his hand back. Slowly. And felt like a murderer as he did it.