Morgan's Return (35 page)

"Ravindra and Partridge were very happy to share that story with us."

"The point is, you have two examples of smart people trying to escape the Cyber Wars, and start again somewhere else."

Makasa shifted his bulk in the chair. "So, not Artemis, not these people who created the Manesai, but something similar."

"Maybe."

"This is an incredible story you're telling. You have no notion who, or why?"

Morgan shook her head. "Or even if I'm right."

He sat back, folding his arms. "So where to start?"

"
Red alert. All hands to stations
." The klaxons shrilled, setting Morgan's teeth on edge. "
Repeat, all hands to stations
."

Makasa pulled a face and clapped his hands to his ears. "What a time for a drill."

Morgan hitched a ride with the sensors, scanning the bridge readouts. Her heart jolted. "This is no drill."

Chapter 30  

"W
hat's happening?" Makasa demanded.

Morgan switched on the feed, which would populate the monitors in the admiral's quarters. That was what they were for, after all. "Wonder what that is?"

Makasa's jaw dropped. She wasn't surprised. Hers probably had, too. The sensors judged it at three klicks long, distance three thousand klicks, moving fast, a lumpy, cigar shape as black as space. Two spikes jutted out in front of it.

"Have you hailed her, Captain?" Makasa asked.

"Yes, Sir. No response. It has shields, of course, we think coming from those transmitters out the front."

"Any sign of drives? Propulsion systems?" Morgan asked.

Trask hesitated for the barest moment before he answered. "No. Do you have any ideas?"

"None at all."

Makasa looked at her. He was out of his depth, she knew. He'd never been a combat commander.

"Keeping trying to make contact," he said to Trask. "Your command, Captain."

"Look," said Morgan, pointing. "Something's happening."

The oncoming ship had slowed, its speed decreasing over time, so it must be using power. But how? She zoomed in on the alien space craft. An opening had appeared toward the rear and… "This is a mother ship for those domes. It's launching…" She counted. "Eighteen so far and still coming."

The klaxons brayed again. "
This is not a drill, repeat this is not a drill
."

Makasa muttered something under his breath. He didn't swear often.

Trask launched eighty of his one hundred fighters. They poured out, fast and efficient like hornets from a hive, taking up a defensive formation around the battleship. "This is going to get ugly, I imagine," she said. "Trask certainly seems to think so."

"I don't expect they're here to chat." Makasa's forehead had developed a light sheen. "But we must try."

"They've tried some of the obvious number sequences. One two three, some simple addition, squares, Fibonacci sequence."

"Any response?" Makasa asked, his expression hopeful.

"No."

Forty-eight of the domes had spewed out into space so far, and were moving in on
Maximus
.

Trask spoke via the intercom. "I'm moving the ship, Admiral. If there's a battle I don't want it to be on the edge of Ushas's atmosphere."

Even as he spoke the thrusters fired, pushing
Maximus
to meet the intruders.

"Sensible," Makasa muttered.

Morgan found herself chewing on her bottom lip and stopped. The domes were setting up formations, groups of four in squares or diamonds. Her nerves jangled. They couldn't be operating individually, there had to be some sort of organization. A set battle plan, maybe, but surely the mother ship would give a signal to attack? She concentrated on the lumpy cigar. There it was, a signal. She stored the sequence just as lights shimmered along the edges of the domes, an electrical display. As one the dome extruded a protuberance and pointed at the battleship.

Maximus's
shields sparkled on both sides. Space battles seemed so abstract when you weren't in them. Everything happened in total silence, unless the battleship was hit, and even then, the shields were the only things affected. The Coalition fighters, all designed for atmosphere as well as space, darted forward. Dart was a good word. They'd folded their wings away.

Morgan concentrated on one small group, four fighters and four domes. All the fighters fired missiles at one dome. All the missiles exploded before they reached the target. A shield? If so, the shield was a long way out. A missile sliced through one dome. The others covered it while it reformed, pulling itself back into shape. One dome extruded a new protuberance and fired at a fighter. Energy sparkled off the fighter's shields, which held. Oh, this was remarkable. The domes could extrude a weapon wherever they wanted. One attacking fighter blew apart, then another. In moments the group of four fighters was reduced to drifting hulks.

Makasa gasped. The mother ship was firing. A blast of radiation, invisible to a human eye, streaked towards
Maximus
. The battleship's shield buckled, shimmering with a kaleidoscope of radiation that spread around the protective bubble. Fuck. The ship rocked, tilting the deck at a crazy angle. Makasa's hover chair shot toward the bulkhead. Morgan hung on, checking the sensor traffic. The battleship was in chaos. They were firing just about everything they had, and the thing deflected or destroyed almost all. What got through hadn't caused any apparent damage.

Morgan's heart hammered. "This is incredible. That thing out there has more fire power than I've ever, ever seen, and this ship can't seem to touch it. I have no idea how it's doing it. They're transferring all power to the shields facing the mother ship, and now a squadron of the domes is attacking the opposite side."

"Is there anything you can do to help?" Makasa struggled to get his chair back into position.

A sick feeling churned in her stomach. "I could help keep the engines shielded. But not for long. I'd guess this ship has had it. If I go into machine meld, maybe a few more will get off."

Makasa's hand landed on her shoulder. He stood beside her, glaring down at her. "We're getting out. Come on."

"What?" Anger raged through her. "You're just going to run—"

His nostrils flared. "
You
. You must get off. "

The ship rocked again. Alarm klaxons sawed through the air. Flexing his legs against the movement, he pulled her to her feet. "Can you defeat that?" He pointed at the screen, his whole body rigid.

"No. But I can help save a few people."

"And what about the millions of others these aliens can kill? We need to get to Torreno, try and find answers. There is no point in dying a hero if you can actually do something more by staying alive." Makasa's chocolate voice was harsh, his eyes hard.

He shoved her at the door. "I have a shuttle."

They both staggered as the deck lurched again. Amid the groans and creaks something crashed to the floor and shattered. "Hurry up. They'll be shutting down lifts soon."

Morgan could help. But she couldn't save the ship. Fuck it. Makasa was right. Her instinct was to stay and help but this time it was wrong.
Go. Go now before you change your mind.
She ran for the lift foyer. At least this would be a chance to get Ravindra out. Here in the centre of the ship, the systems were cocooned, and less subject to damage. Makasa, breathing hard, stumbled in beside her.

"We're getting the others." He glared, but before he could say anything she said, "We take
Vulsaur
."

He opened his mouth to argue.

"It's like this, Makasa. I'm not going without Ravindra. End of story. And the others have had some experience with these things, as well as Artemis. We need intelligence. Send a message to release them. And maybe you'd better tell the staff in the detention levels to get to their evacuation stations."

He eyed her. "Is it as bad as that?"

"You'd better believe it," she answered grimly.

He wasn't happy, but that was too bad.

The officer of the watch met them at the detention cells. He glanced from her to Makasa and back. "Sir, are you—"

"You surely don't have the audacity to argue with me?" Makasa ran his gaze up and down the young man's body. "Lieutenant?"

The lad's Adam's apple bobbed. "Release the prisoners."

The female sergeant shot a fearful glance at Makasa, and reached out to a set of buttons. Morgan had already activated them. She squeezed past the officer, and sprinted down the cell block, skidding to a halt outside Ravindra's cell.

He stepped to the open door and smiled. "Nice to see you."

Wonderful, lovely, magnificent to see you, too
. "Yep. We're under attack. Grab the others, time to go."

They all came out, puzzled, questioning.

"Not now," Morgan said.

"Do we need him?" Ravindra jerked his head at Makasa.

"Yes. Help him. We need to hurry."

They crammed into a lift, Morgan praying the system would hold for long enough. In accordance with procedure, the bays to the airlocks would be open to space, with ramps connected to escape craft. And
Vulsaur
.

But first they'd have to get down to
Vulsaur's
docking bay.

The lower deck seethed. The order had been given to abandon ship. Rows of Fleeters shuffled toward the transport bays, while under-officers moved along the ranks, shouting, cajoling. "Come on, people, we've done this drill hundreds of times. Keep calm. Pushing won't make it happen faster."

Morgan caught a glimpse of a terrified face, another blinking tears, a Fleeter supporting a friend. Poor bastards. If they didn't get off, there wasn't much hope. She pushed through the column as gently as she could.

"Yeah, that'd be right. Get the brass off," somebody muttered.

The deck shuddered. Metal ground on metal, something tore off, and the air was filled with shards and shrapnel, and the shouts and screams of injured people. Pain blossomed on Morgan's cheek. She touched the spot with her fingers. Blood. She stopped running, turning to search for the others, peering through dust. At least there wasn't a fire. The column of Fleeters she'd just crossed had collapsed into chaos, with the under-officers yelling. Panicked people ran, she didn't know where.

Makasa shambled toward her, panting, his dark-blue uniform shedding dust. Jirra leant against Prasad, her lips pursed. Morgan guessed the lieutenant must have been hurt. Reminded, Morgan flexed her own arm. Not even a dull ache, thanks to the marvels of nano-medicine.

Ravindra approached, his arm around Tullamarran, who had blood oozing down his face. She hoped it looked worse than it was.

"How is he?" Morgan asked Ravindra, looking at Tullamarran.

"Dazed I think, struck on the head. Are we all here?"

"Davaskar, Eastly and Partridge are missing."

"Look after him," Ravindra said, thrusting Tullamarran at her. "I'll look for them."

"Hurry. This battle isn't going well."

Ravindra was back in moments, Partridge being almost dragged between him and Davaskar, Eastly following behind like an expectant father. No, that wasn't right. She was reminded sharply of Jones half-carrying Tariq back to
Curlew
on Belsun station. Partridge looked ill, his face pallid, his eyes glazed. Which was hardly surprising, given the blood stain on the leg of his normally pristine trousers. The look on Eastly's face was enough. His handsome face was twisted in pain for his partner, fearing the worst.

She looked at Ravindra, who shook his head once, his expression grave. Her heart sank.

"We'll have to do it in two rounds," Ravindra said. "Tullamarran, take Partridge and do what you can. Morgan, you go with Davaskar."

"I want to be with him." Eastly pushed forward, nearly in tears.

Ravindra scowled. "What you want is not an issue."

"No need for me, I can do most things from here," Morgan said. "Eastly can go. And so should Jirra."

Ravindra waved a hand at Davaskar, who dragged Eastly into the airlock. Prasad pushed Jirra in last.

The seconds crawled by. Morgan was glad Ashkar had stayed. His presence beside her was an anchor of stability, while just over there, the shouts and screams continued. Medics transferred a prone Fleeter onto a hover sled. Where they'd take the patient, she didn't know. The air was still filled with creaks and groans. If the hull gave way, they would all be dead.

"Is Jirra all right?" she asked Prasad.

"Bruised, hurting. But she's not one to complain."

"And Partridge?"

"I'm not sure. It looks like his leg was speared by debris. I met them coming back." Ravindra's voice was flat, expressionless.

"Do you think he'll live?"

"Maybe. If he doesn't bleed to death."