“Good.” Hadeishi took a deep breath and set down the extra tools. “Don’t lock the areas where the gas is released. Let them believe free movement is possible.” He stood at her shoulder, watching the suddenly superior v-pane displays with envy. “And where was all of this when I was cleaning the bilges?”
“That one knows there’s a problem,” De Molay observed softly, a blood-caked hand tapping the feed from the bridge. A Khaid under-officer stood uncertainly at the captain’s station, rubbing his eyes. “He could signal for help if the comm system has been recoded since they came aboard.”
Hadeishi shrugged. “I struck down one reviewing our technical manuals-but how far they’ve gotten beyond the nav system-”
The crewman sat down in the captain’s chair, looked around in apparent puzzlement, and then suddenly pitched forward. The sound of his fall was audible in the camera pickup, and was more than enough to draw the attention of three more Khaid who had been working at consoles on the far side of the small bridge. These turned, then one of them pointed at an environmental display flashing a warning.
De Molay shook her head. “They see the air warning lights. How quickly will they be overcome?”
Mitsuharu looked thoughtful. “Not long, but it may be enough to cause us mischief. I will stand watch at the lift between decks.”
After a swift review of the weapons to hand-his machete and knife were now supplemented by another Khaid shipgun-the Nisei slipped out of Engineering. As the hatch closed behind him, De Molay ventured a crooked little smile, saying: “I’ll let you know if anyone resists taking a very long nap.”
Sitting in the junior officer’s mess aboard the Tlemitl, Engineer Second Helsdon was acquainting himself with a fresh-baked chicken pie and a jug of Ceylon black tea. The Jaguar Knights who had dragged him before the Prince had no interest in escorting him all the way back to the Can -so they’d jobbed him off on Logistics to ferry over to the research station when convenient. This left the sandy-haired engineer at loose ends for six or seven hours, so cooling his heels in the well-appointed mess seemed the perfect answer.
But scuttlebutt from the ensigns slouching at the next table indicated the Can itself was being abandoned, with the Mirror scientists returning to their transports. Which left Helsdon with nowhere to go, but for the moment he wasn’t too concerned about finding a bunk-the chicken pie was excellent and he guessed the engineers aboard the Tlemitl would look out for their own in a pinch. He’d hot-bunked himself, more than once, when a fellow mechanic needed a place to sleep and hadn’t found an official posting yet.
A steward passed by, and Helsdon flagged her down. “Could I get another cuppa, please?”
She was pouring, the tea shedding curlicues of steam, when an alarm Klaxon sounded. The noise was harsh, shocking to the ear, and unmistakable.
“All hands to battle stations,” boomed the overhead, “all hands to battle stations.”
The decking itself suddenly shivered; every cup, saucer, and pot rattling on all of the mess tables. Aft of the cafeteria, in the engine ring, the super-dreadnaught’s maneuver engines were flash-heating to full combat power. Everyone was already up, on their feet, sealing the regulation shipsuit under their uniforms and scrambling towards the emergency lockers for helmets.
Helsdon seized hold of the edge of the table, stuffed the rest of the pie into his mouth, and then sealed his helmet. He, unlike many of the others present, was still wearing a proper z-suit and carried his full EVA helmet slung over his back on a lanyard. Surviving in the wreck of the Calexico had made him intimately familiar with every piece of survival gear Fleet provided.
“Incoming hostiles at all points,” bellowed the overhead. “Missile impacts expected in one minute, one minute. Brace for hull rupture, all hands secure compartments and brace for zero-g.”
Oh Lord of my Sainted Fathers. Helsdon bolted for the nearest damage control station. Work to do, I have work to do. I need to do my work, he chanted as he ran, fearing he’d freeze up if he faltered for even an instant.
Kosho stiffened in her shockchair as the executive threatwell displayed by her console filled with a swarm of angry red icons, each circumscribed by rapidly mutating glyphs. The ship’s threat assessment AI triggered, sounding alarms the length of the Naniwa.
“Battle stations!” Kosho barked, feeling the shockchair fold around her automatically. A helmet was already lowering over her head and she reflexively tucked her hair in. Combat readiness subsystems were kicking in at every station, discarding the patrol-specific displays and replacing them with battle configurations. The lights shaded to red, and behind her the main hatchway sealed itself. Her eyes flicked across the storm of data flowing into the main threatwell. “We are under attack by a Khaid fleet-repeat, we are under attack by a Khaid fleet.”
The Khaiden armada-or nearly so, given the usual size of their raiding squadrons-had dropped gradient directly on top of the Imperial ships loitering around the Can. The Naniwa ’s sensor suite was already flooded with the fury of beam weapons igniting, and the threatwell was filled with swarm after swarm of missiles and bomb-pods spewing into the void.
Kosho spared an instant to thank Hachiman they were in motion and a fair distance from the rest of the squadron.
“Message drone away,” Oc Chac barked reflexively. “Transit to hyper in one hundred thirty-six seconds.”
Susan’s habitual calm turned icy and everything around her narrowed down to the storm unfolding in the threatwell. She could feel Oc Chac’s attention on her, hot and wavering, an unsteady flame. The other officers were still scrambling to bring deflectors up, or confirm gun crews and missile teams were standing by. Pucatli at comm was speaking rapidly into his throatmike, confirming readiness of the interior compartments and sections.
Kosho caught the Mayan’s eyes. “ Sho-sa, this is a brawl for dreadnaughts. I’ll handle maneuver, combat targeting, and tactics; you keep us able to move, fight, and react. Do you understand? We’re going to get hit hard, and you’re going to have to put us right with all speed.”
Oc Chac stared back at her for a second, almost paralyzed with panic, and then nodded sharply. “ Hai, Chu-sa, hai! ”
“Pilot, full ahead,” Kosho grated, seeing Naniwa ’s velocity climb. They had not, luckily, been at full stop when the attack began. The initial confusion around the Can had started to stabilize and she could see every Imperial ship was trying to get underway. They’ve jumped in “orumchek” formation, she realized, watching the spiderweb attack pattern of the Khaid ships unfold. And they’ve caught almost all of us at zero-v, pants down, finger up the nose.
“Weapons, all launch racks deploy, give me every sprint missile we can throw, configure for independent terminal tracking.” The stylus slashed through her copy of the threatwell, describing a second “shell” of target areas around the periphery of the combat area. “Pilot, full combat power, angle for thirty-two degrees off axis. Take us hard up along the Barrier line. Transit deflectors at maximum power.”
The Naniwa surged ahead, engines flaring sun-bright, warning lights flashing in every compartment as the crew raced to battle stations. Susan ran through a brief internal checklist, confirming all drives were showing green, no bay doors were open to space, and internal battle compartments were sealing. Already the ship shook with the vibration of the ammunition Backbone shuttling fresh shipkillers to the primary rails, while the missile racks rolled out from the hull.
“ Chu-sa, targeting solutions are locked.” Konev seemed absurdly happy. “Hardpoints are clear to launch.”