Ure Infectus (Imperium Cicernus Book 4) (35 page)

Several seconds passed after Charles’ stated countdown and
then there was a violent, fiery blossom which spread across the city in an unrelenting
wave of hellfire as the atmosphere of Philippa literally began to burn itself
away.

The ring of fire continued to spread until the entire city
had been enveloped, and at the center was nothing but a blackened circle where
Abaca had stood. Jericho knew that the buildings would still be there after the
smoke had cleared, but every organic thing would have either been burned to ash
in the inferno or, even if something managed to survive the intense heat, there
would be no oxygen for several hours as the surrounding atmosphere slowly
recirculated.

The fireball reached up toward Jericho’s craft, and the
Neil
deGrasse Tyson
was rocked violently by the roaring fire, but the craft
fought through the turbulence and leveled itself out just as a trio of explosions
went off at the periphery of the burn zone.

Three massive, circular, holes appeared in the wave of fire
at seemingly irregular places. But while the fire began to die out, Jericho
didn’t relax even one iota until he had visually confirmed that every part of
the fire had been dissipated.

“Good work, Jeff,” Jericho muttered in relief, knowing it
was very possible he had just consigned two hundred thousand people to their
unnecessary deaths. He forcibly relaxed his legs, which had begun to tremble
during the controlled burn of Pacific’s atmosphere, and guided the
Tyson
toward the rendezvous point.

“What’s her status?” a woman asked as a quartet of people—three
of which were aliens, including one ‘Popper’—surrounded Masozi’s naked form
while she was placed on a rolling gurney.

“She was exposed to an auto-corrosive nerve agent,” the
medic who had accompanied Jericho replied, “the suit contained most of the
agent to her lower left extremity, but her peripheral nervous systems seems to
have been widely affected.”

Jericho stood back and watched as they wheeled her away,
continuing their dialogue as they began to place various devices around her
limbs. “Clear the cryo-suite and input her physiological parameters,” the
doctor shouted before the group pushing the gurney disappeared through a set of
doors which led to the
Zhuge Liang
’s sickbay.

Jericho wanted to sit down in that moment; his body was
shaking almost uncontrollably from the immense stress he had been under. But he
knew he needed to get to the bridge so he staggered toward the lift and slapped
the icon which would take him directly there.

When the doors opened he spotted an unoccupied chair not far
from the lift and he strapped himself in as he checked the tactical display.

“Four Hellion-class fighters are inbound, Captain,” the
Tactical Officer reported. “Time to firing range is thirty seconds.”

“Can we outrun them?” Captain Charles asked as the
Zhuge
Liang
’s relative velocity indicators began to climb.

“Not until they’ve already emptied their payloads,” the
Tactical Officer replied tightly.

“Damn you, Blanco,” Charles muttered as he shot a glare at
the screen before straightening himself in his chair. “Helm, come about to an
intercept course with the
Alexander
.”

Jericho’s eyebrows rose in surprise as the Helmsman
acknowledged, “Aye, sir: intercepting the
Alexander
.”

“Tactical,” Captain Charles continued, “blast those fighters
out of my path and give me a firing solution on the
Alexander
using a
full spread of our tactical complement—including the Tier One weapons.”

As the
Zhuge Liang
swung around to face down the
massive warship, a salvo of white plasma fire erupted from her forward
batteries and there was a quartet of explosions in the space between the
Alexander
and the
Zhuge Liang
. “All four fighters neutralized, Captain; only one
fired its payload.”

“All hands,” Captain Charles called over the ship-wide,
“brace for impact in four…three…two…one…”

Jericho just managed to grab the arm of his chair when the
ship shuddered slightly, and the shield strength indicator fell by nearly
thirty percent.

“Get those shields back up,” Charles barked, “and give me a
damage report!”

“Reports coming in, Captain,” another officer said snappily,
“two casualties reported on Deck Four near the anti-matter torpedo’s point of
impact. Structural integrity is uncompromised; all other sections report
clear.”

“They want to fire anti-matter torpedoes?” Captain Charles
sneered. “Show the
Alexander
how it’s done, Tactical.”

“Time to firing range: one minute ten seconds,” the Tactical
Officer reported crisply. “Full spread of six torpedoes locked and loaded;
forward batteries charged to maximum and ready for a strafing run.”

“Engineering,” Charles called over to the far side of the
bridge, “we’ll need a maximum speed burn of the primaries once we fire those
torpedoes; I don’t want to sit in the
Alexander
’s sights any longer than
necessary.”

“Primary engines standing by, Captain,” the engineer
reported snappily. “Gravity control systems are aligned and ready for tactical
maneuvers.”

“Jeff,” Jericho said just loudly enough that he got his
cousin’s attention, “I’m not sure we should be doing this. The
Alexander
’s
way out of our league; shouldn’t we run?”

Captain Charles shook his head grimly as he tilted his chin
toward the main screen, and as Jericho looked he saw a three dimensional
tactical overlay appear which showed the relative positions of the ships. “The
Alexander
’s
fighters surrounded us while we were picking you up,” Jeff explained. “We’re
reading one anti-matter torpedo on each of those fighters; if we try to run
through them we’ll almost certainly suffer crippling damage to our engines. The
only way out of this is to go at them like they least expect: right up the
middle.”

“Cousin,” Jericho protested as the countdown to firing range
passed thirty seconds, “that ship’s got more firepower than any other two ships
in the Sector combined. Is the
Zhuge Liang
really that tough?”

Charles smirked as he removed the three dimensional overlay
from the main viewer. “That information’s only available on a ‘need-to-know’
basis,” he said as he opened up a concealed control panel built into the arm of
his chair and the countdown to firing range neared zero, “and you don’t need to
know.”

When the countdown reached zero, the Tactical Officer
reported, “All weapons firing.” The image of the
Alexander
on the view
screen—easily the most intimidating engine of war in the entire Sector—was
enveloped in a wreath of white-blue fire as the
Zhuge Liang
’s forward
cannons hammered into the larger vessel’s shields. “Torpedoes away,” she said
when the plasma cannons had ceased their previously unbroken barrage, “fusion
cannons firing now.”

A pair of yellowish beams slammed into the
Alexander
’s
shields, and Jericho saw a handful of power icons represented alongside the
main viewer decrease demonstrably—one of which was now below half while it had
been at full prior to the firing of the fusion cannons.

The violent cascade of energy dancing across the
Alexander
’s
shields began to dissipate, and Jericho was stunned to see that the ship itself
appeared to have been utterly unaffected by the
Zhuge Liang
’s vicious
assault. But as he watched, the
Alexander
was once again enveloped in a
nova of energy which was so bright that the display darkened for several
seconds before the image of the
Alexander
returned. This time when the
image clarified, the Battle Carrier appeared to have taken a significant amount
of damage to its stern quarter.

Then the mighty Battle Carrier returned fire, and the bridge
of the
Zhuge Liang
erupted into chaos as the ship’s axis tilted
violently to starboard.

“Forward shields have collapsed!” the Tactical Officer
yelled as a fire broke out near the engineering station. “I’ve got cascade
failures along the secondary and tertiary systems; life support is offline
throughout the ship.”

“All hands, brace for maximum primary engine burn,” Captain Charles
called over the intercom as another salvo rammed home against the
Zhuge
Liang
’s forward hull, causing the ship to lurch forward violently. The
force of the acceleration nearly launched Jericho from his seat, but he managed
to keep himself in place using his one, remaining, hand.

Then the lone power indicator beside the main viewer which
had still read as one hundred percent began to lower as the
Zhuge Liang
hurtled forward.

The gee
forces began to climb, and
Jericho was afraid the gravity generators would soon be unable to compensate
for the acceleration. But the engineering crewman worked frantically, and soon
the apparent gravity returned to something resembling normalcy. “Gravity
systems compensating, Captain,” the engineer reported, “we’re operating just
above maximum spec tolerances.”

“Status of the
Alexander
?”
Captain Charles growled as the
Zhuge Liang
’s icon on a tactical overlay
began to pass that of the massive Battle Carrier.

“We’re stern-to,” the Tactical Officer reported
unnecessarily as her fingers flew across her console, “the
Alexander
’s
drive unit has sustained serious damage; she should only get off one more salvo
before we’re in the clear.”

“How are my shields?” Charles asked tightly.

“Stern shields are over eighty percent,” Tactical replied
confidently, “we can take anything they throw at us while we break away,
Captain.”

“We’ve got another dozen casualties reported, Captain,”
another officer reported. “Two confirmed fatalities and several others are
listed in critical condition.”

“As soon as we’re clear of their firing arc I want all hands
to form emergency damage control teams,” Charles said grimly. “We’re going to
need this ship ready for another fight quicker than we might have expected.”

“Captain,” the alien Comm. officer interrupted, “I’m getting
a request from sickbay. The doctor is asking for priority on the new patients
versus Investigator Masozi; even with the extra medic from Philippa they’re not
equipped for this level of triage and the Investigator’s wounds will require extensive
attention.”

Captain Charles shot Jericho a hot look, and Jericho met his
gaze. “She’s important, Jeff,” he said somberly, “maybe even more important
than me.”

The Captain held Jericho’s gaze for several silent moments
before replying, “Tell the doctor that the Investigator takes priority if
there’s a conflict; she’s a mission-critical asset.”

The
Zhuge Liang
shuddered, but this time it was
significantly less violent than the previous attack. “Aft shields holding at
sixty percent,” the Tactical Officer reported, “the
Alexander
might get
one
more light
salvo off before we’re out of range but
that’s it. We’ll be outside effective anti-matter torpedo range in twenty
seconds.”

Captain Charles snorted derisively, “I doubt they would fire
another round even if they managed to sight us in. Those things are too
valuable to fire on a ship that’s clearly going to escape.”

“I concur,” the Tactical Officer said. “Sensors read nothing
ahead, Captain; we’re in the clear.”

The minutes ticked by until the
Zhuge Liang
exited
the
Alexander
’s firing range, and the Battle Carrier didn’t fire so much
as another shot at the fleeing corporate warship.

“Stand down from Condition Zero; set Condition Two
throughout the ship,” Captain Charles commanded, and the lighting around the
bridge adjusted slightly while at least half of the bridge standers made for
the lift. “All nonessential personnel are instructed to report to their
respective Damage Control heads and begin repairs according to the Chief
Engineer’s instructions.”

Captain Charles unfastened his chair’s harness, and Jericho
stood from his seat to meet his cousin halfway across the bridge.

The Captain looked down at Jericho’s ruined stump—which had
already saturated its bandage—and then appraised the rest of him. “You look like
hell,” he said stiffly.

Jericho forced a tight smile. “I’m afraid this isn’t over
just yet,” he said in a low voice.

Captain Jeffrey Charles snickered and shook his head before
turning to the helmsman, “Helm, set a course for the Phase Limit; contact me
once we’ve reached it.”

“Phase Limit in…” the helmsman began before running some
calculations, “two hours, Captain.”

Captain Charles nodded, “Good.” He then turned to Jericho
and gestured to his ruined arm, “You should have our doctor look at that.”

Jericho shook his head. “Your people are dying. I’ll wait my
turn.”

Jeffrey Charles’ eyes flashed and he set his jaw as he said,
“My people died because they were under orders to stand tall. Those orders came
from a higher authority than you or I—and they included seeing to
your
safety above anyone else’s,” he added with a growl. “So either report to my
sickbay as quickly as you can get there, or I’ll drag you down there
myself
.”

“You can’t take me,” Jericho quipped, matching the man’s
glare with one of his own, “you never could.”

Jeffrey ground his teeth before looking pointedly down at
Jericho’s stump. “Maybe I couldn’t before, but unless you report to sickbay then
that particular matter has changed—more or less permanently.”

Jericho wanted to argue, but the truth was his cousin was
right. With just one arm there was
little chance he could fight off his cousin, but even thinking about doing so
was a waste of time. “Fine,” he quipped, “I’ll go see mommy get this little
booboo taken care of.” Jeffrey Charles had been a hell of a whiner when he was
young, always complaining about ‘booboos’ and his cousins—including Jericho—had
ridiculed him mercilessly for it while they were growing up.

“Don’t go there, Jericho,” Charles warned as Jericho took a
step toward the lift. He shook his head solemnly when Jericho shot him a wary
look, “Not today…I just lost some irreplaceable crew.”

Jericho nodded after a moment’s consideration. “Fair
enough,” he allowed. “Your people did a hell of a job here today, Jeff.”

“I know they did,” Charles replied stiffly before relaxing
and gesturing to the damage reports streaming across the main viewer. “I just
hope this was all worth it…there’s no turning back now.”

“It will only be worth it if we make it so,” Jericho said,
quoting one of Hadden’s favored sayings.

“Well said,” Captain Charles ground out as Jericho entered
the lift and made for sickbay.

“How is she?” Jericho asked the doctor as she came out of
the ship’s surprisingly well-appointed surgical suite.

The doctor removed her cap and gown, which she then tossed
in a nearby bin and rubbed her neck. “We operated for seventeen consecutive
hours,” she replied. “I lost two patients because we were in there—“

“How is she?” Jericho repeated evenly. He couldn’t blame the
woman for her frustration, but he didn’t have time to hold her hand.