“You don’t think you’re fighting people, do you?” asked Mirsky. “This is a fully integrated robot defense network. And it’s big. Mind-bogglingly big.” He looked almost pleased with his own perspicacity. “The Admiralty didn’t listen when I explained it to them the first time, you know,” he added. “Eighteen years ago. One of the reasons I never made flag rank—”
“I listened,” Bauer said quietly. “Proceed, Captain.”
“Yes sir. Solution on target alpha?”
Fire controclass="underline" “Time to range on target alpha, two-zero-zero seconds, sir.”
“Hmm.” Mirsky contemplated the display. “Commander. Your opinion.” Ilya swallowed. “I’d get in close and use the laser grid.”
Mirsky shook his head, slightly. “You forget they may have X-ray lasers.” Louder: “Relativity, I want you ready to give me a microjump. If I give the word, I want us out of here within five seconds. Destination can be anywhere within about one-zero AUs, I’m not fussy. Can you do that?”
“Aye aye, sir. Kernel is fully recharged; we can do that. Holding at T minus five seconds, now.”
“Guns: I want six SEM-20s in the tube, armed and ready to launch in two minutes. Warheads dialed for directional spallation, two-zero degree spread. Three of them go to alpha target; hold the other three in reserve ready for launch on five seconds’ notice. Next, load and arm two torpedoes. I want them hot and ready when I need them.”
“Aye aye, sir. Three rounds for alpha, three in reserve, and two torpedoes. Sir, six birds on the rail awaiting your command. The hot crew is fueling the torpedoes now; they should be ready in about four minutes.”
“That’s nice to know,” Mirsky said, a trifle too acid; the lieutenant at the gunnery console flinched visibly.
“As you were,” added the Captain.
“Proximity in one-two-zero seconds, sir. Optimum launch profile in eight-zero.”
“Plot the positions of the nearest identified mines. Show vectors on command station alpha, assuming they fire projectiles holding a constant acceleration of ten kilo-gees. Can they nail us in just four-zero seconds?”
“Checking, sir.” Navigation. “Sir, they can’t nail us before we take out that command post, unless target alpha also has a speed demon or two up his sleeve. But they’ll get us one-five seconds later.” Mirsky nodded. “Very good. Guns: we launch at four-zero seconds to target. Helm, relativity: at contact plus five seconds, that’s five seconds after our fire on target, initiate that microjump.”
“Launch T minus five-zero seconds, sir … mark.”
Rachel watched the display, a fuzzball of red pinpricks and lengthening lines. Their own projected vector, in blue, stretched toward one of the red dots, then stopped abruptly. Any second now, she guessed, something nasty was bound to happen.
Guns: ‘T minus three-zero. Birds warm. Launch grid coming up to power now. T minus two-zero.“ Radar One interrupted: “I’m picking up some fuzz from astern.”
“One-zero seconds. Launch rails energized,” added the gunnery post.
“Fire on schedule,” said the captain.
“Yes, sir. Navigation updated. Inertial platforms locked. Birds charged, warheads green.”
“Light particles!” yelled Radar One. “Big explosion off six M-klicks, bearing six-two by five-nine! Looks like — damn, one of the cruisers bought it. I’m getting a particle stream from astern! Bearing one-seven-seven by five, sidescatter, no range yet—”
“Five seconds to launch. Launch commencing, bird one running. Lidar lock. Drive energized. Bird one main engine ignition confirmed. Bird two loaded and green … running. Gone. Drive energized. Bird three running—”
“Radar One, I have a lidar lock! ECM engaged from directly astern! Someone’s painting us. I have a range — five-two K — and—”
Mirsky stepped forward. “Guns. I want all three spare missiles ejected straight astern now. Passive seekers, we will illuminate the targets for them.”
“Aye aye, sir. Bird four, coming up … green. Bird four running. Five, green, running.”
“Radar Two, we have a seeker on our tail. Range four-five K, closing at — Holy Mother of God, I don’t believe it!”
“Bird six running astern. What do you want me to lock on?”
“Radar Two, feed your plot to gunnery for birds four through six to target. Guns, shoot as soon as you see a clear fix — buy us some time.”
“Aye aye, sir.” The Lieutenant, ashen-faced, hunched over his console and pushed buttons like a man possessed.
“Range to firing point on alpha?” asked Mirsky.
“Three-zero seconds, sir. You want to push the attack?” The nav officer looked apprehensive Every watt of power they pumped at the attack salvo via the laser grid was one watt less to point at the incoming interceptor.
“Yes, Lieutenant. I’ll trust you not to tell me my job.” The nav officer flushed and turned back to his console. “Guns, what’s our situation?”
“I’ve pumped the forward birds right up, sir, maximum acceleration the warheads will take. MECO is in one-five seconds. Soon as that happens I’ll divert power to our trailers. Ah, bird one burnout in one-zero seconds.”
Rachel nodded to herself. Remembering lectures on the basics of relativistic physics, strategy in the post-Einsteinian universe, and the implications of a light cone expanding across an evenly spaced grid of points. Any moment now the fossil light from the next shell of interceptors should reach us …
“Holy Father!” shouted Radar Three. “I have beam spillover on all sides! We’re boxed!”
“Control yourself,” snapped Mirsky. “How many sources?”
“They — they—” radar punched buttons. Red lines appeared on the forward screen. “One-six of ’em, coming in from all points!”
“I see.” Mirsky stroked his moustache. “Helm, are you ready with that microjump?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good.” Mirsky smiled, tight-lipped. “Guns, status.”
“Bird one burnout. Boosting bird four. Bird two, bird three, burnout. I’m diverting all propulsion beam power to the second salvo. Salvo time to target, one-five seconds. Ah, we have one-seven inbound aggressors. Three outbound antimissiles.”
“Hold further fire,” ordered the Captain. “How long until the first hostile is in range?”
“Should happen at — oh. Two seconds postcontact, sir.”
“Nav! Pull the jump forward five seconds. We’ll not stay around to count coup.”
“Aye aye.”
Radar One: “More scattering! Sir, I have … no, they’re not going to get us in time.”
“How many, Lieutenant?”
“We’re boxed. Incoming beamriders in all directions, at long range. I count—”
“Bird one detonating now! Bird two, detonating. Bird three gone. Sir, three detonations on target.”
“Jump in five. Four—”
“One-eight-point-nine K — no, one-nine K beamriders incoming!”
“Incoming number one, range one-two K and closing—”
“Confirmed kill on target alpha, oxygen, nitrogen in emission spectra.”
“Two.”
“Nine K.”
“Three-two K incoming hostiles! No, three-two and—”
“One. Jump commit.”
The red emergency lights dimmed as the main overhead lights came up. There was silence on the bridge for a moment, then Commodore Bauer cleared his throat. “Congratulations, gentlemen,” he announced to Mirsky and his stunned ops crew. “Of all the ships in the squadron who have run that tape so far, you are the only one to have escaped at all, much less to have taken any of the enemy down. There will be a meeting in my office at 1600 to discuss the assumptions underlying this exercise and explain our new tactical doctrine for dealing with situations like this — massively ramified robot defense networks with fire control mediated by causal channel. Then we’ll run it again tomorrow and see how well you do with your eyes open …”