The Lost Stars: Imperfect Sword (6 page)

“It’s supposed to be,” Bradamont said. “It’s supposed to be better than we can imagine. Peaceful, happy, no pain or loss.”

“Hmm. I guess if Black Jack had been there, they might have made him forget, right? When he came back? Because otherwise, what would it be like, remembering this really great place you got kicked out of to come back here and fight and struggle and hurt again?”

“There’s that,” Bradamont conceded. “How long do we have left before we find out for sure the hard way?”

Marphissa pointed to her display. “This is the time until we’re in range of the Syndicate weapons. This other one is really the number that matters. If we can’t get moving by then, twelve minutes from now, we won’t be able to accelerate fast enough to avoid being caught by the Syndicate flotilla. We’ll manage to string out the time a little until they hit us, but that’s all. A moment like this is when we’re supposed to pray, right? When we really need help?”

“Yes, and to give thanks if the help comes,” Bradamont said.

“If you know anyone to pray to, feel free. Kapitan Diaz knows how to pray, his parents taught him in secret, but I’ve never learned.” She wondered if Diaz was praying right now as he and the specialists struggled to get
Manticore
in motion before it was too late.

The light from the most recent engagement had finally gotten here. On her display, she watched the Midway flotilla and the Syndicate flotilla rip past each other so fast the event itself could not be seen.

Kapitan Seney had done a good job. Another Syndicate light cruiser had spun away helplessly from the enemy formation, maneuvering control lost, and two more Syndicate Hunter-Killers had been knocked out. In return, Midway’s light cruiser
Osprey
and Hunter-Killer
Patrol
had taken enough additional hits themselves that they broke away from what was now Seney’s formation, both ships staggering out of the fight, unfit for further combat until their damage could be repaired, but still able to maneuver.

She could see that Seney had begun swinging about again, looping toward the star and down to set up another intercept of the Syndicate flotilla, and realized that she had to make clear to him that the remaining ships in
Kraken
’s formation were his to command until further notice.

“Kapitan Seney,” Marphissa sent, “retain control of the formation and continue to hit the Syndicate flotilla. Wear them down. I will notify you when—” She had been about to say
when I am able to resume command
, but realized how insanely optimistic that would sound. “When the situation calls for it. Marphissa, out.”

Several more minutes crept by, Marphissa repeatedly fighting off urges to call engineering and demand updates that would only distract and delay whatever Diaz and the others were doing.

Diaz came back onto the bridge and sat down heavily. “I don’t know,” he said before Marphissa could ask. “I needed to get back up here, and I was really just watching, not contributing to the repair effort.”

“Do you think there’s a chance they’ll succeed?” Marphissa asked, surprised at how calm the question sounded.

“I have no idea, Kommodor. Neither do they. But they are trying.” He squinted at his display. “The Syndicate is still coming for us, I see. How long—? Is this figure right?” Diaz asked. “Senior watch specialist, do we have only three minutes left in which to start accelerating?”

“Kapitan,” Czilla began with obvious reluctance, “that is probably a slightly optimistic projection. I would say it is closer to only two minutes—”

Manticore
lurched into motion with a sudden shock of acceleration so strong that some of it leaked past the inertial dampers, shoving everyone against their seat harnesses and making Bradamont hastily grab on to Marphissa’s seat for support.

Marphissa held a hand up toward Bradamont. “Did you pray?”

“Yes.”

“All right. I believe.”

“Kapitan?” A call came in for Diaz on the internal comms. “This is Senior Specialist Kalil. We got the main propulsion units going.”

“I noticed!” Diaz said, as everybody else on the bridge broke into relieved gasps of laughter. “Are my controls working? I’m not seeing them active.”

“Uh, Kapitan,” Kalil said, “you are talking to the controls. Me and Senior Specialist Sasaki. We’re opening and closing the circuits manually.”

“Manually? By hand?”

“Yes, Kapitan. Right now we only have two settings for the propulsion units, completely off, or fully on.”

Diaz shook his head, looking toward Marphissa with a wondering expression. “I can live with that.”

“You may live because of that,” Marphissa said. “Tell your specialists to keep the propulsion units on full.”

“Did you hear, Senior Specialist Kalil? Keep the units on full.”

“Yes, Kapitan. Uh, there is something else I should tell you. We don’t know how long this will last.”

“What?” Diaz asked, his relieved smile fading.

“Me and Senior Specialist Sasaki had to do some, uh, creative rewiring of circuits. You saw. She and I are not, um, entirely certain what all we rerouted. Because we were in a big rush, Kapitan, because you said—”

“Yes, yes! I know what I said!”

“—and so we don’t know if something might happen because we did all that changing and cross-connecting of circuits.”

Marphissa closed her eyes and gritted her teeth.

“Senior Specialist Kalil,” Diaz said with great care, “when you say something might happen, are you talking about something like the freezer’s shorting out and the ice cream melting, or something like the ship’s blowing up?”

“Uh, Kapitan, me and Senior Specialist Sasaki think it will be something between those two things. But we don’t really know. You told us—”

“Do it as fast as possible, I know.” Diaz spread his hands toward Marphissa in a helpless gesture. “Keep the main propulsion units going, Kalil. Let me know if the ship is about to blow up.”

“Yes, Kapitan, we will tell you if that is about to happen. If we know that is about to happen.”

“Keep praying,” Marphissa muttered to Bradamont.

“Already on it,” she replied. “There’s nothing we can do for
Harrier
?”

“Nothing. No, wait. The Syndicate flotilla has seen that we started moving again. How far off are they? Only thirty light-seconds and still closing. But their vector is altering.” Everyone studied their displays as the Syndicate warships continued changing their paths through space. “CEO Boucher is altering course to stay on an intercept with us as we move away,” Marphissa said as the reason became apparent. “If they change track enough—”

“They might pass by out of range of
Harrier
?” Diaz asked. “They might, Kommodor.
Harrier
is obviously out of commission. They might think they can leave her to finish off later.”

Minutes ticked by, then dawning hope shattered as Marphissa saw that the last two Syndicate heavy cruisers had veered off slightly from their formation. “They’re going to hit
Harrier
, then rejoin. Damn Boucher!”

“One and a half minutes until they get within range of
Harrier
,” Diaz noted, anger straining his voice.

“Kommodor,” Bradamont said, “you’re too narrowly focused.”

“What? What the hell are you talking—”

Marphissa stopped speaking abruptly as Bradamont’s meaning became clear. She and the others had been watching only
Harrier
and the movements of the Syndicate ships. Perhaps the Syndicate ships and CEO Boucher had also been narrowly focused, locked onto both
Harrier
and
Manticore
as targets.

All of them had forgotten about
Pele
.

Kontos’s battle cruiser, still accompanied by
Gryphon
and
Basilisk
, zipped upward close by the two Syndicate heavy cruisers which had left the protection of the battleship. A battle cruiser might not be a match for a battleship, but at close range one could do an awful lot of damage to a heavy cruiser.

One of the Syndicate heavy cruisers, the one targeted by
Gryphon
and
Basilisk
, must have seen the danger at the last moment, making a sudden evasive maneuver that threw off many of the shots by the Midway cruisers. But the other Syndicate heavy cruiser caught the full force of
Pele
’s armament.

A barrage of hell lances and grapeshot slammed into the heavy cruiser, knocking down its shields and going on to smash into the hull. The heavy cruiser jerked sideways under the impacts, then broke into several pieces that tumbled away.

The other heavy cruiser kept going, though, as
Pele
,
Gryphon
, and
Basilisk
went onward out of range, unable to check their velocity or turn fast enough to quickly engage the Syndicate warship again.

But the Syndicate heavy cruiser must have been spooked by the unexpected attack and by the loss of its partner. As
Harrier
threw out a last volley from her remaining weaponry, the heavy cruiser twisted down and away instead of closing to hell-lance range. Instead, it pumped out two missiles, then a third, all aimed at the crippled
Harrier
.

Harrier
’s two remaining hell lances hurled out shots aimed at the oncoming missiles, but the defensive fire faltered as the hell lances overheated.

The first two missiles struck aft, detonating simultaneously and blowing apart the after half of
Harrier
. The third missile hit forward, and shattered on impact, cratering the surviving half of the light cruiser but leaving it still shakily intact.

“A dud!” Diaz breathed. “I’ve never been so happy to see a warhead fail.”

“That wasn’t a dud,” Marphissa objected. “The warhead on a dud would still have detonated on impact. That was a practice missile. Some poor fool accidentally loaded a practice missile instead of a warshot.”

Bradamont looked around at the faces of the others on
Manticore
’s bridge. “What is it you all expect to happen to that person?”

“Summary execution, if they’re lucky,” Diaz said, his voice harsh, “which would have been already carried out, or if they’re not lucky, prolonged interrogation by the snakes on that unit to determine if that person deliberately sabotaged the attack. Once they get the confession, and snakes always get a confession regardless of whether or not their victim did anything, the person’s family will be punished as well.”

“Hell of a price for a mistake,” Bradamont muttered.

“High-profile mistakes are often lethal in the Syndicate,” Marphissa said. She pointed to her display. “Thanks to that failed missile hit, the forward portion of
Harrier
is still intact. Some of her crew may still be alive.”

“They’ll fort up in any remaining escape pods until the fight is over,” Diaz speculated. “Not launching, because that would make them targets again, but using the life support in the pods.”

“It’s not like we can go back for them now, so I hope you’re right,” Marphissa said with a scowl. She started to say something else, then paused. There was an odd stutter in
Manticore
as the heavy cruiser roared at full acceleration. “Something’s off,” she said. “Feel that?”

“Now that you mention it, yes, I feel it, too,” Diaz said, studying his readouts. “Engineering watch specialist, do you know the cause?”

The specialist, an older woman who looked near retirement age, was squinting at her own display. “Kapitan, it appears that number two main propulsion unit was damaged. Its output is fluctuating.”

“Is there danger?”

“No, Kapitan. Stress and temperature readings are within safe parameters. But that unit is not putting out full thrust. Its output is varying from fifty to eighty percent of maximum.”

“Let’s hope that’s enough,” Marphissa said, her eyes locked on her display. The Syndicate flotilla was flattening out from its turn, charging toward the fleeing
Manticore
as the surviving Syndicate heavy cruiser scrambled to rejoin its companions before
Pele
could return. The rate of closure of the Syndicate flotilla on
Manticore
was dropping fast as the heavy cruiser strained to pull away and escape intercept. But that rate had to hit zero, then hopefully turn negative as the range began widening again, or else
Manticore
would still be doomed.

Kontos had brought
Pele
back again, too late to catch the heavy cruiser alone, swinging in from above to strike the rear of the Syndicate formation. The remaining Syndicate light cruiser blew apart as it tried to evade fire from the battle cruiser as well as
Gryphon
and
Basilisk
. The rest of the Midway flotilla, still in a separate formation under Kapitan Seney on
Kraken
, had bent down and back, and was coming in a flat curve at the Syndicate formation from behind and below.

But CEO Boucher plowed on, closing the distance to
Manticore
with increasing slowness as the heavy cruiser kept increasing speed. “She knows this is the flagship,” Marphissa said. “CEO Boucher has been analyzing our comm patterns, and she knows I’m aboard
Manticore
.”

Diaz nodded. “And she wants to make an example of you. Kill the leader, and the rest will submit. Snakes always try that even though it rarely works. There’s always another leader.”

“I don’t think her intentions matter any longer,” Bradamont said, eyeing the display. “I think we’re clear. We’re going fast enough that the battleship will take about a week to catch us at this rate.”

The words had barely cleared her throat before
Manticore
shuddered throughout her length.

The lights went out, the life-support fans stopped, and the displays vanished.

Marphissa waited in the hushed darkness for the second it took for the emergency lighting to come on. “Something happened,” she observed to Diaz, who was fruitlessly pounding the internal comm controls on the arm of his seat.

“Engineering watch specialist!” Diaz said, his voice reverberating in the strange silence on the bridge. He lowered his voice before speaking again. “Get down to engineering and find out what’s going on. We need power back. We need
everything
back.”