Victory Conditions (22 page)

Vanguard,
in concert with six other privateers and one Cascadian ship, now had a good angle on ten of the enemy. Hugh nodded to
Vanguard
’s weapons officer, and the ship quivered as the forward batteries launched. The enemy’s counterlaunch came a full second after their own, and they were no longer there to receive it. Four of the enemy ships took damage; none of their own had more than a sparkle on the shields.

“Seems odd not to have Ky—the admiral—on the bridge,” Hugh said. “She’s better than I am—”

Douglas shook his head. “That looked good to me; we’re still in one piece. Her ship dispositions seem odd—dispersed like this—but they work. I’m still not used to having instantaneous communication.” He looked back at scan, relayed now from Baskerville’s ship, close in to Tobados Yards. “Damn.” The first of the rigger-crewed ships came under fire, its shields sparkling as pirate missiles struck them. “Well, at least they have their shields up, and they got some off—” Launch signatures, multiple. “Wonder what fusing options they’d used…if they’ve even heard of fusing options.”

“There’s another—” Now four of the eight rigger-crewed ships were engaged, though their methods made Hugh wince. “They have no idea how to range their shots, do they?”

“Why don’t they engage their targeting computers?” Douglas said. “That’s a good strong beam; they might even burn out a shield with it—”

“They probably don’t know they
have
targeting computers—” Hugh said. “I can’t understand why the ships let someone with no qualifications take control. Unless the sabotage damaged their AI somehow.”

“See if Moray Command will relay some of their chatter—I have a morbid desire to know if they realize they’re all going to die,” Douglas said. “Or maybe we can give them some direction.”

Moments later, Moray Command fed some of the previous minutes’ transmissions from and among the rigger-crewed ships. Major Douglas shook his head as he listened. “I’ve never seen or heard anything like that. It’s ridiculous; they’re untrained civilians, not even ship crews, but—damn, they’re brave.”

“If only they knew what they were doing,” Hugh said. “Wonder if they’d listen to us—there goes one—” The first of the rigger-crewed ships blew, though it was impossible to tell why, just from scan. “Listed as Nine, captain was Hartman.”

Now all eight were engaged, tossing out missiles with more enthusiasm than skill, stabbing away with their beams. Turek’s ships microjumped out of the way after firing their own salvos, and ship after ship ran into a deadly fusillade and blew. The stolen warships, under enemy control on safer courses, were now accelerating toward the distant jump point.

Ky, in the CCC, at first missed the easy banter she’d had on
Vanguard
’s bridge when she was captain, but with every minute in the combat zone she appreciated more and more the wealth of data pouring into the CCC, the lack of distractions. She lost track of time, concentrating on the movement of the enemy ships, her ships, the Moray ships. For the first time she felt she had full understanding of what was happening in real time. Her orders could be more precise, more tuned to the situation. She had seen the rigger-crewed ships’ erratic and ineffective maneuvers, but she also noticed that in evading them the pirates had put themselves in position for her ships to attack. She concentrated on that, moving ships with the best microjumping accuracy into position for attack and back out.

At first the enemy ships didn’t realize what was happening, but after the first three blew, the others ignored the easy prey and returned more effective fire. Ky had positioned
Vanguard
between Tobados Yards and the jump point she expected the invaders to use for their escape, well outside the expanding danger zone, but most of her other ships were in the thick of it, shields flaring as debris or weapons intercepted their course. Moray’s defenders, unused to her style of fighting and unsure of her commands, were slower to respond; two more of them died as she watched.

This time Turek’s force did not stick to the familiar X-attack pattern they had used before. Ky struggled to analyze the difference. Douglas and Yamini had located a copy of Baines’
Practical Tactics for Regional Conflicts
and Ky had loaded it in her implant, but had not come up with a good way to classify the variations. If Turek was using only that one book—and yes, there it was, finally. Baines didn’t list the ideal countering moves, but logically—she moved five of her ships, and sure enough they were able to blow another of Turek’s with only minor damage to one of hers.

Still, the attackers stayed in formation and continued to fire on Ky’s forces, though they were retreating slowly away from Tobados Yards and Moray’s main planet—and a third of them formed a protective shield around the eight uncrewed ships they were controlling.

“Keep after them,” Ky said. “If you can get something through to take out those warships—” But so far the new ships’ shields had held and their guardians kept her ships far enough away that no close straight shot was possible.

CHAPTER

TWELVE

T
hree enemy icons moved against the flow…as in the battle at the Boxtop ansible, Ky noticed the aberrant movement even before the computer analysis pointed it out.

“Twenty-seven,” she said on her all-ships channel. “That’s their commander and his escort.”

“They read like Bissonet ships, but their IDs aren’t the same as at Boxtop,” Douglas said. “They’ve changed ship-chips again.”

“That’s not the point,” Ky said. “That’s Turek heading for safety. He made it at Boxtop; I’m not going to let it happen again—”

“Everyone’s engaged—”

Ky could see that. Only the little group of three turned from the area of battle to move directly toward the jump point.

“They think they won’t be noticed,” she said.

“Or they really need those ships and are hoping to distract us.”

“They’re covering Turek’s escape,” Ky said. “And we’re the only ones with a vector on him.”

“You can’t go after him alone!” Yamini said. “Remember your structural damage—”

“We’re the only ones with a chance. And we still need to knock out those other warships if we can.” The displays made that clear. She called the bridge. “Captain Pritang, we have a chance to stop Turek before he makes it to jump. We need to be in range for a max-power beam—if we can paint him for ten seconds, that should do it. Looks like we have a clear place to microjump.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hugh said. He sounded eager.

Quickly, Ky told the unit commanders that
Vanguard
would be in pursuit of Turek, but to continue with their engagements.

“We can come help,” Teddy Ransome said.

The last thing she needed was Teddy’s lightly armed little ship getting in the way.

“Stay where you are,” she said. “Everyone needs your observations.”

“My stuff’s too lightlagged to be of use now,” Teddy said. On the scan, his ship had already begun moving on an intersecting course. “I can help you—”

The idiot. The loose cannon. Other labels raced through Ky’s mind but she ignored them. If he got between her and her target, that would be his problem. “Stay out of range, and out of my line of fire,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am!” he said, as if he hadn’t already disobeyed one order.

Hugh chose an initial microjump to bring
Vanguard
a half hour closer to Turek’s ship, then boosted with insystem drive. Minute by minute,
Vanguard
closed in. Ky watched the range diminish.

“Target in range,” he said finally. “Forward batteries—”

The missiles were away, but would that be enough? They were close enough now for the beam. Hugh would have to drop the forward shields for a sustained burn, but Turek was fleeing; he’d offered no attack. There’d been nothing on scan from his escorts, either, no sign of live munitions being dropped.

“Beam?” Hugh asked.

“Go ahead,” Ky said. “But watch the temperature on those mounts. Let’s not tear our own ship apart.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Hugh said.

Ky watched on her readouts as the beam stabbed out, pinned Turek’s ship—sparkling and then steadying on its shields. She began counting seconds…one, two, three, five…surely Turek’s shields would have to fail soon. Was that a flare—? But the beam readout surged upward suddenly. Had Hugh missed it? She started to speak—

The canopy blanked, locking Ky into the command chair; her head snapped back, smacking into the back of the chair hard enough to stun her. Her body tugged against the restraints as the CCC’s gravity compensators took over from
Vanguard
’s. She felt the shove of acceleration again, and then again, before the gravity compensators caught up. Then something else hit her head and she felt nothing for a time.

She woke from a dream of loud music in a strobe-lit nightclub. As she blinked, dazed and unsure what had happened, her HUD showed miniatures of the screens in the rest of the CCC—half of them blank after a flare of white. Red warning lights flashed on and off. She heard nothing but a ringing in her ears.

“Helm!”

No answer.

“Lee? Hugh?”

No answer. She toggled to ansible with a moment’s satisfaction at having insisted that she have one, checked that she was on their most secure channel.

“
Vanguard,
Vatta here. Report!”

“Admiral Vatta! You’re alive—!” She didn’t recognize the voice but her implant parsed it as
Treebear
’s Captain Moscoe. “How many others are with you?”

“I don’t know,” Ky said. If they thought whatever had happened might have killed her, the ship must have been holed. “I get no answer from the bridge—”

“
Vanguard
blew.” That was Pettygrew’s voice, and
Bassoon
’s icon, familiar. “You were using the beam—” She remembered that. “—and we think they’d left a mineburst the beam triggered.”

She remembered now, seeing the readout for the beam climbing into the danger zone—she’d been about to tell Hugh to shut it off, but Turek’s ship had been so close…

“We’ll send someone, now that we know which chunk of debris you are,” Pettygrew said. “How’s your life support?”

“I’m fine,” Ky said. Chunk of debris? So…had anyone else survived? A wave of black misery swept over her—had she killed all her friends? “My chair canopy’s blanked, but I should have up to twenty hours. What about others?”

“We’ve got some suit beacons,” Pettygrew said. “No contacts so far, though.”

Ky touched the control that should have opened her chair canopy if life support in the CCC had held. The canopy did not move. Neither, she found, did the chair rotate on its base, as it should. She could feel the faint vibration of the servomotors, but no movement occurred. Could she even clear the canopy? She found that control…the canopy cleared more slowly than usual and showed her the wreckage beyond, lit by the chair’s own emergency lights. Something had come through the armored bulkhead—the supposedly impregnable armored bulkhead—and severed one of the other chairs at what had been its occupant’s waist. Whatever it was—a jagged piece of something she could not identify—protruded from the bulkhead beyond. Another chair, its canopy closed and opaqued, tilted crazily to one side. Only one was upright, sealed. A suit of space armor, off to the left, moved slightly, like a weird insect found under a log.

“Situation?” But even as she asked, several of the displays came back on. “Wait—I’m getting data. I’m seeing enemy icons about two light-hours outbound—is that right? And all our other ships are undamaged?”

“Right, Commander.
Vanguard
’s the only one with significant damage.”

“What do our scouts report?”

“Clean sweep. No enemy chatter for the past hour—” Hour? How long had she been out of contact? Had she blacked out and not known it? “No gravitational anomalies that might be stealthed observers.”

“Then we need to pick up survivors but be alert for a sudden return. If they realize they’ve blown
Vanguard
they might jump back in…”

“Moray Defense is working on that, ma’am. They’ve sent crews to their remote installations, though it’ll be days yet. We need to get you to one of the stations first.”

“No, I’m fine. Pick up any suit beacon first.” Ky stared at the monitors, forcing herself to think only of the situation outside. “Did they get any of the new ships?”

“Yes. Nine of them. What we’re hearing from Moray is that agents had sabotaged the ships, allowing the enemy to gain control. All those crewed by riggers were lost—that happened before you were hit.”

“Nine…that’s not so many, except that they’re new. Weapons mounted?”

“Weapons aboard, not all mounted. Not fully loaded out, though.”

Ky thought again, then made her dispositions. Cascadian contingent here, to do this, in case of trouble. Slotter Key contingent there, ditto. Ransome to transport someone to do ansible repair, if Moray didn’t have the resources.

“Ransome’s gone, ma’am.”

“Gone? Killed?”

“No, ma’am…right after
Vanguard
blew, he torched up and went in pursuit of the enemy ships. Didn’t answer hails or anything. Went into FTL about the same time they did…er…zero point oh one seconds after they did. Moray Defense was asking if I thought he’d been a conspirator…”

“No, he’s being a Romantic,” Ky said. If she could have laughed at anything, she’d have laughed at this idiocy: one little ship, chasing after Turek’s entire fleet. “What about Baskerville?”

“He followed Ransome…two loose cannons…” Pettygrew had never liked Ransome. Pitt was looking at her now, and tapping her helmet cover.

“Excuse me,” Ky said. “People are waking up; I’ll give you a report later.”

“Admiral’s aboard,” Pettygrew reported. “
Bassoon
’s headed in.”

Ky looked around. The Bissonet ship, much smaller than
Vanguard,
nonetheless had a pure military feel that
Vanguard
had never quite achieved. It had its own tiny CCC off the bridge—hardly more than a closet, but packed with electronic gear. The crew saluted her and Pettygrew smartly. Nothing looked at all merchant-like.

She felt shaky, which annoyed her; she had a blinding headache and ached in every muscle. The medics in
Bassoon
’s tiny sick bay insisted on putting her down for a few hours while they checked her over.

“No bones broken, no internal bleeding, but Admiral, we strongly advise you take it easy, and you definitely need to be checked out in a real medical center when we get back to a station.”

“I’ll be fine,” Ky said. She was not about to lie in bed while other people’s bodies—her crew’s bodies, her friends’ bodies—were scattered in a debris field and could not even be gathered for decent disposal and memorial. She struggled off the exam table and started dressing. “I need to speak to the captain.”

“I know the system ansible’s still down,” she said to Pettygrew a few minutes later. “But it occurred to me that if Turek saw my ship blow, he might think I was dead. And that might be good for us. So please inform the other ships that no one is to mention my being alive on any transmission outside this system. I’ll tell the Moray government as well—”

In the three standard days it took to reach Tobados Yards station, Ky learned more about Pettygrew and his crew than she had in the long months before. He was married and had three children—if they were still alive back on Bissonet. Over half his crew were from the same district, Valrhona Hills, and most were also married.

“We try not to think about it,” he said, when Ky asked how he was dealing with the possibility that his crew’s families, as well as his own, were dead or under control of the enemy. “We know you lost your whole family and you’re staying focused on the task at hand. If you—pardon the implication that you might be expected to be less able, but you are younger—if you can get past that, we can. We must. Our families’ only hope is our victory—our return to free them, if they are alive.”