“What’s going on?” asked Antonio.
She heard Matt’s voice, too, but she was preoccupied at the moment.
The cloud was lighting up.
Hutch turned hard to port, went lower, and ran it to full throttle. But a starship is a lumbering thing.
The sky behind them lit up.
“Lightning,” said Phyl. “I think it was directed at us.”
“Keep the wall on-screen,” she said.
“I can’t. Not from this angle. The aft telescopes are sealed.”
“Unseal them, Phyl. Come on.”
“Working.”
She watched the screens. Saw clouds and stars dead ahead. “Matt.”
“Listening.”
“It attacked us. Stay clear. We are okay.”
The cloud wall appeared on-screen. Glowing. Getting brighter.
She cut to starboard.
Come on.
The sky behind lit up and the ship shuddered. The displays failed, and the lights went off and blinked back on.
“Lightning bolt aft,” said Phyl.
One by one, the screens came back.
“It’s starting again,” said Phyl. “Energy levels rising.”
“Phyl, how much time was there between bolts?”
“Thirty-seven seconds, Hutch.”
She could hardly move under the pressure of acceleration.
Antonio was clinging to his chair. “Can we outrun it?” he asked.
“A lightning bolt? No.” She was watching the time. Counting the seconds. At thirty-five, she lifted the nose and again moved hard to starboard.
The screens lit up.
“That one missed, Hutch. May I congratulate you on your maneuver?”
She turned back to port. Headed straight out from the wall, trying to put it as far behind as she could. And she had half a minute again. But the Preston was moving along now at a pretty good clip.
“Can we get clear?” demanded Antonio.
“Sit tight, and I’ll let you know. Give me a countdown, Phyl.
“Eleven.”
She swerved again. Superluminals weren’t really built for this sort of thing.
“Three.”
Cut back. Dived.
Held steady, past the end of the countdown. “It did not fire.”
Swerved. And as she came out of it, something massive struck the ship. The engines died. The lights went out. Fans stopped running, and the screens went off. She rose slightly against the harness. They’d lost artificial gravity.
“It came off the pattern,” said Antonio.
“I know.”
The emergency lights came on. The fans restarted, and the flow of air began again. “I guess it doesn’t play by the rules.” She threw her head back in the chair. Nothing she could have done. It had come down to pure guesswork. “Phyl, what is our status?”
The lights flickered, but stayed on.
“Phyl?”
There was no response.
“She’s down,” said Antonio.
They were drifting in a straight line, an easy target for a second shot. No way the damned thing could miss. Frank, you are a son of a bitch. “Matt, do you read me? We’ve been hit. Stay away from the cloud. Do not try to retrieve us.”
“You really think Frank did this?” asked Antonio. “He’s thousands of kilometers away.”
“Maybe there’s another one here. I don’t know—”
There was no answer from Matt. Damn, she didn’t have enough power to transmit over a distance of four thousand klicks. What was she thinking?
She was suddenly aware of being pushed against her harness.
“What’s going on?” said Antonio.
“We’re slowing down.”
“How’s that happening?” His voice was a notch or two higher than normal.
“I don’t know,” she said. “Maybe we didn’t really get clear of the cloud.” The only thing she could imagine was that something had grabbed them. Was pulling them back. She looked again at the blank screens.
Chapter 38
“Hutch, do you read?” Matt listened to the crackle of cosmic static. It was hard to make much out at this range, but the Preston seemed to be tangled in long tendrils of cloud. “Goddam it,” he said, “I knew something like this was going to happen.”
The eyes were watching him.
“Matt,” said the AI, “the other ship, the one that issued the call for help, is gone. It must have been taken inside the cloud.”
“Jim, get us over there. Minimum time.” That meant using the Locarno, but they’d need about thirty minutes to charge. “Hutch, I don’t know whether you can hear this, but we’re on our way.”
“Wait,” said Jon.
“We don’t have time to screw around, Jon.” They began to move.
“Kill the engines. You’re doing this the wrong way.”
“How do you mean?”
“Shut the engines down. Please.”
“Why?”
“Just stop the goddammed thing.”
“Do it, Jim.”
“Complying, Captain.”
“Okay,” said Jon. “Now ask the AI to put me on with Hutch. And just one live mike.” He touched the one in front of him. “This one.”
“Why?”
“Time may be short. Will you just do it?”
“Okay. Jim, open a channel.”
Jon hunched over the mike. “Hutch, this is Jon.”
“You understand—”
Jon shushed him, and covered the mike. “Okay, go ahead.”
“You understand she probably can’t hear you.”
“That’s okay.”
Matt sighed. Shook his head. When dealing with a lunatic, it’s always best to pacify him. “All right. Do what you have to. But make it quick, all right?”
Jon went back to the mike. “Hutch,” he said, “we don’t know whether you can hear us or not. But the thing in the cloud wants to seize the Preston. You can guess why. We’re sorry, but”—he held up a hand, signaling Matt not to interfere—“but we’re going to have to destroy you.”
Matt almost jumped out of his chair. Jon covered the mike again. “Trust me,” he said.
“What are you doing?”
“Have faith, Brother. You want to save them?”
“Of course.”
“This might be the only way.” The hand went up again, index finger pointed at the overhead, his expression warning Matt to be silent. “We’re starting a countdown, Hutch, to allow you and Antonio a few minutes for prayer and reflection. We’ll blow the ship in precisely five minutes. I’m setting the clock now.”
He shut off the mike, sat back, and exhaled.
“What did you just do, Jon? They may have heard that. If they did—”
“Matt, we don’t actually have the capability to destroy them, do we?”
“No.”
“Okay. Then what would they be worried about?”
“At a time when they’re in deep trouble? They’ll think we’ve lost our minds.”