Ecolitan Prime (Ecolitan Matter) (53 page)

…eeeee…eeee…

The shields barely flickered.

“Hornet lead, target exceeding range. TIV estimated as nearing half-ell.”

“Interrogative half-ell in system.”

“Affirmative, Hornet lead. Affirmative.”

Nathaniel half-nodded. The only thing that would stop the
Smith
now was a large chunk of real estate, and there weren’t any chunks between the ship and Tempte and CommCon. The laws of inertia being what they were, the Fuards had no time to put any there, and with the speed, the shields, and the inertia of the huge cargo-carrier, nothing beside several battlecruisers would be enough to stop it. And the nearest battlecruiser was somewhere beyond the orbit of the fifth planet.

After all, only idiots drove iron-filled cargo-carriers directly at asteroids around planets at high sub-light speeds.

“Sorry about that,” he murmured. “Sometimes natural laws work for you, and sometimes, they don’t.” Just because nothing could stop a large mass, however, didn’t mean that the small entities within it couldn’t be stopped.

He triggered the intercom and local comm. “Strap in, Swersa. We’re under attack and the gee fields are going to oscillate.” He turned his head as he checked his own harness. “You, too.”

Sylvia nodded and followed his example.

“CommCon, Hornet squad commencing attack. Commencing attack.”

The six corvettes appeared ever nearer on the screens, the distance shrinking moment by moment. A dashed line streaked from one corvette, then another, and then a third.

Nathaniel tightened his lips, then dropped most of the gee field power into the shields, pulsed them…once, twice…

Eeeeee…eeee…eeeee…

The forward screens blanked with the impacts and amber lights cascaded across the board, then settled…slowly…into the green.

The Ecolitan wanted to shake his head…and wipe his sweating forehead. He didn’t
think
anything could stop the
Smith
, but…he’d never tried anything remotely approaching what he was doing. And unlike his distant forbear, he had only limited training and was gambling on mass and velocity being enough—and that they would survive the pounding the cargo-carrier was about to take.

Three more dashed lines flared from the corvettes that the
Smith
rumbled toward. Nathaniel could almost imagine the fabric of space vibrating with the mass and speed of the cargo-carrier, except space didn’t have that much fabric to vibrate.

Eeeee…eeee…eeee…

The screens flared again, three times in sequence, and only one shield even registered amber, but momentarily.

Then, almost impossibly, the
Smith
was past the second line of corvettes, and the space between the Fuard craft and the cargo-carrier seemed to widen even faster than it had closed, and Tinhorn had changed from a point of light on the screens to a disc. Tempte was finally visible as a point almost merged with Tinhorn.

Nathaniel swallowed, then noted the third line of corvettes, nearly a dozen in all.

“CommCon, Stinger squads commencing attack.”

A dozen? He turned to Sylvia. “All right. Into the courier. Quickly.”

“No.”

He turned in the couch and looked at the gray-eyed former dancer. “Look. Fair is fair. You can’t help me from here on into Tinhorn. Someone has to finish this. Once we’re locked on final course, I’ll get back there. Leave the lock open.”

He activated the comm to Swersa. “Swersa, listen.”

“Yes, sir?”

“Just in case…if I’m not in good shape…or…anyway…use a little power, as little as possible, to get the courier clear of the
Smith
. Then use a single large burst…and nothing for a good half stan after at least. The accumulated velocity will bat-ass you straight up at right angles to the ecliptic until you’re dust-free. Save your juice for decel. You’ll need it. Once you clear the dust, jump straight for the Rift. There’s enough power to get us to the Coordinate.”

Maybe not a lot more, he thought, but they certainly didn’t want to be caught anywhere else, not if what he had begun worked. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Yes.” Sylvia’s voice was calm. She rose, then bent and kissed him. “If you don’t come, I’m coming back for you.”

“I’ll come.”
If there’s any way at all
.

His senses went back to the screens and nets even before Sylvia cleared the bridge-cockpit. Pressure leaks were building, especially aft, and the stress meters were registering strains that the cargo boat probably hadn’t been designed for.

A series of dashed torp lines flickered from the corvettes ahead, corvettes that seemed to close impossibly quickly, except that he knew that the
Smith
’s built-up velocity was the major reason for the closure rate.

“CommCon, Stinger lead. Torps away and on target.”

On target, all right. That Nathaniel could see, but he didn’t have the skill to move the
Smith
, not without tearing the ship to shreds. He kept hoping that velocity, beefed-up shields, and speed-induced grav-distortion would prove enough.

Eeeee…eeee…eeee…

With the flaring of shields and screens, the
Smith
shivered ever so slightly, and Nathaniel checked the course line and heading. The ship remained centered on Tempte, now a small disc in its own right.

Eeeeeee…

One of the screens remained in the amber. Nathaniel watched, even as he triggered the comm link. “Courier, this is cockpit. Comm check.”

“You’re clear, sir,” answered Swersa.

“Good. Stand by. I’ll let you know.”

“Standing by.”

Another torp flared past, not close enough to place any more of a load on the shields, probably a good dozen kilos wide.

“Stinger lead, this is CommCon. Intruder remains on course for Tinhorn. I say again. Intruder remains on course for Tinhorn.”

Thanks for the confirmation, thought Nathaniel.

Eeeeee…

With yet another torp, the shields and screens flickered.

Suddenly, Tinhorn swelled, appearing seemingly
below
the
Smith
.

The Ecolitan swallowed. Was he too late? His finger flashed across the boards. “Launching boats. One…away. Two…three…”

The miniature points of light flared into being on the EDI screen, accelerating slowly away from and ahead of the lumbering cargo-carrier toward the asteroid that held Conglomerate military headquarters and more than a few research and repair facilities, he suspected. The boats could not have attained their speed except from the platform provided by the
Smith
, but in space, their drives were more than enough to compensate for dust density, even in system.

“CommCon, Stinger lead, intruder has released large missiles. Large missiles. Course line unknown. Course line unknown.”

With a grim smile, the Ecolitan’s concentration went back to the three remaining Fuard corvettes ahead, and the dashed torp lines shown on the rep screen, dashed lines that leapt toward the
Smith
.

A second series of torps followed the first, and then a third.

Amber lights flickered, only flickered, across the cockpit boards. So far, shields and mass and speed had sufficed. Would they continue to hold against the smaller attackers?

Nathaniel tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry.

The corvette on the right flank changed course, flickered somehow. Nathaniel gulped, knowing what was coming, even before his mouth opened on the comm link. “Strap in. Impact. Strap in.”

The words weren’t right, but he didn’t know the correct warning. There was so much he didn’t know about space combat. Too frigging much.

Eeeeeee…eeee…

Surprisingly, the shudder was only slightly more noticeable than a torp impact on shields, but amber lights flashed across the entire board in a series of patterns that made no sense to Nathaniel. His forehead seemed to burst into sweat in the heat that filled the bridge-cockpit.

Another series of lights flared beyond the screens, and the outside screen panels flickered, then blackened under the energy overload. Only the center screen remained functional, and the images there wavered, distorted. Distorted by the furnacelike heat, or damage to the equipment. He struggled to check the shipnets, but the links were dead.

“Intruder is holed, leaking atmosphere. Course unchanged.”

A chill wind tugged at Nathaniel’s face, its cold almost comforting, and he forced himself to reach for the helmet deliberately. But his fingers still fumbled when he sealed the helmet, and then sealed his gauntlets on, his fingers already chill as the atmosphere began to shrill out of the cargo-carrier.

He checked the course line. On target, and the remaining shields still held. He hoped they would as he locked the board, then clumsily unscrambled the couch harness and struggled aft toward the lifeboat/courier bay in the dim red emergency lighting.

The deck trembled under his boots, and the atmosphere tore at him. His head ached. Partial decompression? He blinked.

Another heave underfoot—or had he tripped? Why was he so frigging clumsy? He took another step, and another.

Light flared around him. More torp bursts?

He forced another step, before the darkness rose around him, deeper than the void between systems.

V
AGUE IMAGES BLURRED
across his eyes, and sounds rumbled in his ears, and the sounds were like knives in his skull, the images searing as though they had been drawn with lasers.

“…some decompression…burns…radiation…who knows…”

“…can’t hurt to keep them cool…”

Burns…burns…how could there have been burns? He hadn’t been on Tempte…where thousands had to have been burned or boiled alive…or Tinhorn…with millions of casualties…millions…millions. He struggled to speak, then dropped back into darkness.

The second awakening was worse. He was bathed in heat, heat welling up from deep within, and yet his entire body shivered simultaneously, as if dipped in the space between stars.

Someone kept putting damp cloths on his forehead, cloths simultaneously too cool and too hot. And the blackness he fell back into was the steaming heat of a sealed industrial furnace, a furnace where every sinew, every bone, was seared, slowly seared, then ripped apart.

The third time, the overhead was wavering gray, with a face in it, a familiar face, except he could not make out the details.

“Tried…didn’t…make…”

“I came and got you.” The words were soft, and another cool cloth went across his forehead and his cheeks. “You didn’t think I’d leave you…I’d never leave you. Just hang on…we’re almost home.”

Almost home? Home…did he have one…anymore? How could a mass destroyer have a home?

Her long fingers were cool on his forehead…cool and welcome, and he tried to hold on to her image—and failed as the heat and darkness covered him again.

T
HE
G
RAND
A
DMIRAL’S
shoulders squared as the image of the sandy-haired woman appeared in the screen. “I thought you’d like to know that you were right, Marcella. The Senate Pro-Consul departed a short time ago. We have been requested to pull back the fleets.”

“Fact…mere fact, that wasn’t sufficient, was it? Pages and pages of documentation, they weren’t adequate, either. It only took the total conversion of the single largest military installation in the Galaxy to total energy and ten million deaths on Tinhorn.” Marcella’s voice was cold.

“They weren’t Imperial citizens, and we didn’t do it.” A chilly smile crossed the Admiral’s lips, one that did not extend to her eyes. “For that, the Pro-Consul was grateful, somewhat belatedly.”

“And Accord?”

“The Imperial Senate has welcomed, if not with entirely open arms, Accord’s offer to send scientific teams to Heraculon and the other affected planets, along with ships full of resistant bean plants and seeds. They made that offer along with their declaration against the Conglomerate. They also said they wouldn’t hesitate to repeat the act against the next most-inhabited system in the Conglomerate…orany system contemplating commencing hostilities at this time. The message from their Prime was about as direct as I have ever had the pleasure of seeing.”

Marcella shook her head. “I learned that Accord doesn’t bluff from one envoy.”

“Marcella, recall the jest about senators…five are always denser than one. There are three hundred of them.”

“There isn’t anything left of Tempte, and a lot of molten rock seared Tinhorn. How did they do it?”

“How? Our analysts estimate that someone drove a shielded battlecruiser, armored to the teeth, straight into Tempte at about a half-light velocity. Do you have any idea what kind of energy that represents? They did something similar with a needleboat—several of them—except they went first and took down all the lasers and defense systems. The Conglomerate thought Tempte was impregnable. We thought so, too.”

“Nothing’s safe from them.”

“Right now, most of the Galaxy’s in shock. If it had been
any
other system besides Tinhorn, or any other attacker beside the Coordinate, we’d all be arming against Accord. Nowhere is safe against them. They’ve made their point, something like: By the way, would you please respect us and leave us alone?” A faint chime sounded, and the Admiral glanced to the side. “I’ll have to leave in a moment for my briefing of the Emperor.”

“That really isn’t the point,” the special assistant replied.

The Admiral waited.

“The point is that there is nothing so dangerous as directed and unrestrained action in service of principle. The Institute serves principle.”

“You think we should eliminate the Institute?”

“How?”

“Your point, Marcella. Besides, we might need them again. Unfortunately.”

“Why did it take so much to convince you?” asked the special assistant.

“I was convinced a long time ago. I never doubted you.” The Grand Admiral shrugged. “But…I doubt if anyone else could have restrained the war dogs as long as they were.”

Marcella nodded. “And you hoped…”

“Even I hoped, daughter, even I.”