Part 25 (1/2)

”Fire when ready.”

”Firing.”

The s.h.i.+p shuddered in a slightly different manner as the stern tube fired. Again, the flight time was short, and the 150-kiloton warhead dispatched the Krag destroyer, its point defense systems not yet recovered from the jump.

”Maneuvering, another flapjack, close the remaining targets at flank. Weapons, bring pulse cannon to ready.”

”Sir,” Kasparov talked over the other men acknowledging their orders, ”it's hard to read through the hash from the three nukes, but it appears that Hotel One and Hotel Two have their drives working and are clearing the datum. They also appear to be arming weapons. Signal strength is fading. Sir, I've lost Hotels One and Two. They've engaged their stealth systems and with the radiation and debris from the nukes, I can't get a fix on them. And sir, before I lost them, I think I got a hint of a gamma signature.”

That meant that they were carrying more antimatter weapons. Could this day get any worse? ”Tactical, what's the status on our friends' defense fleet?”

”Skipper, the group that was trying to interdict us is closing the jump point at flank, but since they are limited to subluminal velocities in-system they are well over an hour away. By the time they get here, the Krag will have jumped in enough heavies to cut them to pieces. As for the perimeter fleet, they were in four groups in a rough arc facing Krag s.p.a.ce about ninety AU out. They are burning back at high sublight, but the first ones won't be back here for nearly fifteen hours. That's enough time for the whole Krag navy to get jumped in. The Pfelung won't have a chance.”

Yes, it could get worse. ”Any other forces in system?”

”There are several system patrol vessels converging on this location, but none are close and none of them would last three minutes against that Krag destroyer.” Tactical was back to a bad-news-only diet.

Max stood at his station, talking to CIC at large. ”Okay, people, we need to find those two s.h.i.+ps. They are probably carrying antimatter warheads. That will be genocide for the Pfelung and the end of their fleet as a fighting force. Kasparov, active sensor sweeps and optimize for stealthed Krag vessels. Maneuvering, lay in a search pattern; cover the area between here and our friends' homeworld, because if the Krag have AM bombs, that's where they're going. Comms, see if any of the Pfelung will talk to us now. Fill them in on what is going on and see if they can activate their system defense sensor grid. Try to get them to blanket the system with sensor sweeps. Remember, people, stealth is never 100 percent effective. Hit a target with a high enough signal level and put a sensitive enough detector close enough to it, and you will pick it up.”

The doctor was shaking his head as the skipper's orders were acknowledged. ”Genocide? How? How can two small s.h.i.+ps with bombs, no matter how powerful, destroy a race, or even most of a race, and destroy their fleet as a fighting force? It is not as though they can actually destroy the planet, can they?”

”No, but they can basically destroy the species and wipe out their navy.”

”I don't see how.”

”Basic Pfelung biology, Doctor. You really should read your briefing materials. The capital s.h.i.+ps in the Pfelung navy are crewed entirely with s.e.xually mature, fully adult, already pair-mated, males-they are the only ones believed to be stable and mature enough. The adolescents are allowed only to fly the fighters. An adult pair-mated male must return to the river in which he first mated, and only that river, and couple with his mate, and only his mate, every thirty-one and three-quarter standard days-that's a Pfelung lunar month-or he dies.

”That's why every one of their s.h.i.+ps has two crews that swap out every four weeks, like the old Blue-Gold system for United States strategic missile submarines. Anyway, all the mating takes place in the fifteen or so suitable rivers. All the Krag have to do is blow up the critical portions of those rivers... h.e.l.l, they don't even have to do that. They just need to detonate the d.a.m.n warheads in the upper atmosphere, and the gamma rays will kill everything within the line of sight. With the plants and fish in the river killed, the water chemistry will change, and the Pfelungs' bodies won't know they're in the right river. The proper chemical receptors won't be triggered. Even if they know intellectually that they are in the right location, the females won't ovulate, and the males won't be able to inseminate the eggs. Practically every adult male on the planet and most of the males in their fleet, since most of their navy crews come from the homeworld, will die. Billions. Worst genocide in history. Makes. .h.i.tler, Stalin, and Xang Cho look like half-a.s.sed amateurs.”

”Sir,” Tactical interrupted, ”but what about the jump point? The next wave of Krag will be coming through in about ten minutes. They'll put through the maximum number this time-eight s.h.i.+ps. If they adhere to their tactical doctrine, they'll be mostly heavies-battles.h.i.+ps, battlecruisers, and cruisers.”

What about the jump point, indeed? d.a.m.n. Max was getting to that. It had never been far from his mind. Ever since last night, Max had been afraid he would have to give the order he was about to have to give.

”Comm, give me a secure voice link to the cutter. My headset only.”

”Aye, sir.”

Max put on his headset. ”Channel open.”

”Cutter, Garcia here.”

”XO, this is the captain. I'm going to have to give you a difficult order.”

The voice channel communicated a pause-ever so brief-an even briefer sigh, then a sharp intake of breath as Garcia made a decision. ”No, sir. You aren't. I know what has to be done. I'll see it through.”

”I knew I could count on you. Thank you.”

”Good luck to you, Captain. We will meet again.”

”Yes, we will, my friend. In that place where warriors go to take their rest.” He closed the channel.

On the cutter, Garcia heard the destroyer's carrier signal cut off. He looked over at the ordinary s.p.a.cer second at Maneuvering, a truly brilliant auxiliary craft pilot, but barely seventeen years old. That would not do at all. He took off the headset, stood, and scanned the men in the bench seats that lined the sides of the vessel. His eyes settled on the craggy face of the oldest man present. ”Mother Goose, front and center.”

Chief Amborsky stood and went to where the XO was standing, near the cutter's one-man Maneuvering Station. ”Yes, sir?”

”Chief, you think you remember how to pilot a cutter, or am I going to have to take away your Comet and use it as a Christmas tree ornament?” Officers had been threatening to use enlisted men's Comets as Christmas tree ornaments for well over a century.

”I expect that I can get her to go where you need her to go, sir.”

The lieutenant lowered his voice. ”Amborsky, I need you to execute a synchronous jump point infarction maneuver with the incoming Krag s.h.i.+ps. Can you do that?”

He started to repeat the order reflexively. ”Execute a synchronous jump point infarction-” and then it hit him. He paled ever so slightly. ”Sir? You want... you want me to rendezvous with the Texas?”

”Yes, Chief.” Garcia allowed himself a rueful smile at the chief's poetic rephrasing of his technically couched order. ”If we don't, the whole f.u.c.king Krag navy is going to come through that jump point in about eight minutes, with nothing between it and the Core Systems but the c.u.mberland and a couple of worn-out Reserve Battle Groups. So, Mother Goose, we are called upon to 'rendezvous with the Texas.' Can you do that?”

The older man's face saddened for a moment, then hardened into determination. He nodded slowly. ”Yes, sir. I reckon I can do that.”

”I thought so. Take Maneuvering.”

”Aye, aye, sir.” Amborsky stepped purposefully to the Maneuvering Station.

”I'm your relief, son,” he said, placing his hand on the shoulder of the man at the controls. Not expecting to be relieved, the s.p.a.cer looked back at the XO, who nodded. He relinquished the controls to the chief, who settled into the seat and made a few small adjustments to the course, regaining the feel of controls he had not held in his hands for years, but that were still as familiar as old shoes.

The XO took the main sensor console, pulled up the data channel for the metas.p.a.cial flux at the jump point, and configured the system to read the flux polarization and flux differential, which would warn him of a s.h.i.+p on the other side of the jump point powering up its drive and preparing to jump.

”Maneuvering, bring us to within ten thousand meters of the jump point, and then go to station keeping. Program an acceleration profile to bring us through the point five seconds after my mark.”

”Sir, if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer to do it manually. With my own hands.”

”Are you sure you can time it right?”

”Been a Navy man for thirty-six years, Lieutenant. I've never missed my mark or my tick yet.”

A sharp nod. ”Manual it is.”

”Thank you, sir.”

A murmur went through the men seated in the personnel area. The tactical displays and the course plot were right there on the screens for everyone to see. Someone had figured out what was happening and told the others. The XO, hearing their voices, turned to meet the eyes of each of the nine men. Each met his gaze without flinching. They needed no words.

He returned his attention to his console. A minute. Then two. Then a few more. There. The scope showed clearly a rotation in the plane of the flux polarization, meaning that someone on the other side had engaged a jump drive that was tuning itself to the correct superstring harmonics. There. The polarization was locked in place. Now, the flux differential would start to change in amplitude, indicating that the s.h.i.+ps on the other side were storing the energy that would tear through the fabric of s.p.a.ce-time and deposit them at a spot ten thousand meters right in front of him. He waited for the amplitude to increase to just the right level.