“Picking up gravimetric fluctuations,” Kevin said, softly. “I think they’re decelerating.”
There was a ping from the display. “They’re dropped out of FTL,” Kevin added. “And they’re coming our way.”
“On screen,” Steve said. He chuckled, dispelling the tension. “I thought of that one yesterday.”
“Keith was saying that Star Trek was a poor excuse for an SF show,” Kevin joked. “We should have gone with Babylon 5.”
Steve considered it. He’d watched all five seasons of Babylon 5 in Iraq, between patrols through dangerous cities and countryside. “Nah,” he said, finally. “I hated the fifth season.”
He looked up at the display as the two alien starships came into view. One of them looked to have been built by the same designers responsible for Shadow Warrior, as it looked like a large dagger ready to stick itself into its enemy’s heart. The other looked rather alarmingly like a giant crab, except it had three claws instead of two. With some imagination, it was possible to see how they might both be able to land on a planetary surface.
“Small ships,” Kevin commented. “But armed to the teeth.”
Steve had to smile. The smallest ship was over a hundred metres long, bigger than anything humanity had put into space. Were they so jaded that such a wondrous creation seemed tiny?
“Send them the distress call,” he ordered. “Let them think we’re in trouble.”
He watched as the holographic image of the Subhorde Commander’s second-in-command started requesting help from the newcomers. The original Subhorde Commander, according to their alien captive, would have killed himself out of shame, an act that would somehow allow his subordinates to remain blameless. Steve couldn’t help wondering just what sort of society would insist on suicide for something that was hardly the person’s fault, but he feared he already knew the answer. The Hordesmen hated having to admit that they needed assistance from anyone else.
Just like us, he thought, remembering his grandfather’s stories about the Great Depression. The family had gone hand-to-mouth for years, but they’d never accepted government help or even local charity. We’re stubborn bastards too.
“They’re altering course and coming towards us,” Mongo said. “Their weapons are charged, but they’re not targeting us — or anyone else.”
“Good,” Steve said. The ships might be smaller than his ship, but they packed a nasty punch… assuming, of course, the Hordesmen knew how to use the weapons. Did they? It seemed impossible that they didn’t… and besides, he didn’t dare assume so unless he had very clear proof of their failings. “Are our assault teams ready to go?”
“Aye, sir,” Kevin said. “Edward is ready to go; I’ve uploaded starship specifications into his combat implants, so he and his team won’t be lost.”
“Excellent,” Steve said.
“Picking up a response,” Mongo interrupted. “They’re demanding more details.”
“Tell our spoiled brat to start whining,” Steve ordered. The simulated Subhorde Commander wasn’t any more intelligent or knowledgeable than the one Steve had killed. He wouldn’t know what was wrong, any more than the rest of his people. They probably thought that kicking the equipment would start it working again. “And then request immediate transhipment of emergency supplies.”
“Enemy ships entering weapons range,” Mongo said. “I’m passive-locking our weapons onto their shield generators.”
Steve smirked. One idea that seemed to have come straight out of Star Trek was aligning the teleporter to beam its people through the shields, provided one knew the shield frequency. The Hordesmen probably didn’t know it was possible, but the interface had helpfully provided details when asked. Once their shields were battered down, the assault would begin… if, of course, they had to batter down the shields. As long as the Horde had no idea that Shadow Warrior was in human hands, they’d come in fat and happy.
“Keep passive target locks at all times,” he said. “If we go active, they’ll smell a rat.”
The seconds ticked away as the two starships converged on Shadow Warrior. “Enemy ships are entering teleport range now,” Mongo said. “They’re requesting permission to board.”
Steve checked the weapon at his belt, then keyed the alarm. Throughout the ship, the entire crew would be drawing weapons, ready to engage the aliens if they managed to teleport onto the ship. The human crew couldn’t risk alerting the aliens, Steve knew; they’d have to wipe out the unsuspecting aliens as quickly as possible. At least they now knew how to configure their stunners to stun Hordesmen, rather than butchering them like animals.
He took a breath. “Grant it,” he ordered. “And prepare to lower shields.”
If the timing worked… if the timing worked…
“One ship has lowered shields,” Mongo reported. There was a grim note of frustration in his voice. “The other is keeping its shields in position.”
Steve gritted his teeth. The ambush, it seemed, was about to get bloody. “Beam the first set of assault teams to the enemy starship,” he ordered. “And then target the other ship’s shield generators and open fire!”
Mongo keyed a switch. “Aye, sir,” he ordered. “Phasers engaging… now!”
On the screen, the second enemy starship was suddenly wrapped in a bubble of glowing light as the directed energy weapons burned into its shields. Its companion was already partly disabled — the attackers had beamed stun grenades and modified screamers as well as the assault team itself — but Steve kept an eye on it anyway. Maybe someone had been wearing a mask or a spacesuit, something that would provide enough protection for them to rally the troops and counterattack.
“Enemy ship is returning fire,” Mongo said. The starship shuddered a moment later as pulses of energy slammed into her shields. At least none of the consoles seemed inclined to explode as the starship was hammered. That always happened on Star Trek, but it was more than a little unrealistic. “They’re coming right towards us.”
Ramming speed, Steve thought. If the Horde Commander thought he and his crew were doomed, he might as well try to take the captured starship down with them. It would fit in with what they knew of the Horde’s Code of Honour, although Steve wouldn’t have called it Honour. More like bloody-minded stupidity.
“Evasive action,” he snapped. It wasn’t going to be easy. The smaller ship was considerably more manoeuvrable than the Warcruiser. He hastily checked with the interface and discovered that a small cruiser ramming a full-sized Warcruiser would almost certainly result in mutual destruction. “And continue firing.”
“Target their drives,” Kevin advised. “Slow them down!”
“It doesn’t fucking matter,” Mongo snapped. He didn’t look up from his console. “We either board them or destroy them or we’re thoroughly fucked.”
Steve cursed under his breath, feeling helpless as the smaller ship converged on his starship. They were evading, but the smaller ship was easily altering its course to ensure that it would still manage to ram the larger ship. Statistics raced up the side of the display, charting the damage to the enemy ship’s shields and the time to impact, when the two ships would collide.
I kept Mariko on the ship, Steve thought, with sudden bitter regret. He didn’t mind risking his own life — it ran in the family — but risking the life of his partner and children were quite another matter. And, with Mongo and Kevin on the ship, there would be no one left to look after the children. All of their children. I’ve killed her.