"Yes sir."
"Are you taping?"
"We're getting everything we can, sir."
"Twenty seconds to hyper."
Von Drachau glanced at the display tank. The missile salvos were driving closer. Weapons Department was not bothering with anything but defensive fire. Considering the nature of the mission, engaging a handful of raidships was pointless. "Anything near that sun?" he asked.
"No sir. We have a lot of activity near and on the planet."
That made sense. The Sangaree would be scrambling everything in fear that Lepanto might be the spearhead of a thrust against their Homeworld. That was the doom they had dreaded for centuries.
"Hyper in five seconds. Four."
Von Drachau did not think these picket ships would jump with him. They should await the rest of a suspected battle fleet.
"One. Taking."
The universe shifted. Screens went blank. The display tank, cued in norm, remained active. Von Drachau stared, willing the Sangaree raidships to remain where they were.
"One minute to drop." Astrogation had programed a very short, slow arc.
Von Drachau reached back into his soul, searching for any wisp of feeling that might bear on the orders he had to give. He did not want to do this thing. Every cell of him protested. And yet... And yet he knew too much. He knew the critical importance of obtaining results. And he had his own orders.
"Special Weapons Party, stand by."
His orders would be a formality. The pre-launch program had begun an hour ago. The only significant command he could give now would be the abort.
He checked the tank again.
"Damn!" They were coming. Their detection gear was good. They knew no one else was coming in right away. "Looks like we knocked over a beehive," he said. The six raidships from the drop zone were being joined by a horde quartering in from the planet.
"Twenty seconds till drop."
It would be a narrow squeak, making the launch and getting clear in time. And some of them would chase him all the way home... "Astrogation, program your next jump for Carson's." He did not want to lead the pursuit too close to the action on The Broken Wings.
"Sir?"
"Pull the cassette and reprogram." An attack squadron would be on station near Carson's. He could scoot in and cling to its protective skirts.
"Yes sir."
"Drop."
"Special Weapons Party, launch when ready."
There. It was too late to take it back. Too late to keep from having to live with it the rest of his life.
"Special Weapons launch in three minutes, twelve seconds," launch party captain replied.
"What's the holdup? We've got Sangaree crawling up our backs."
"Sorry, sir. A coupling jammed."
"Long range hunter missiles bearing... "
"Visuals, please," von Drachau said. His screen came to life. "Show me the star."
In a second he was staring at an endless plain of fire. Broad continental reaches of darkness lay upon it. The star appeared to be passing through a period of heavy sunspotting. But, as he remembered it, the Sangaree home star was supposed to be highly active, with exceptionally intense solar winds.
"Two minutes to special launch."
Von Drachau checked the display tank. The Sangaree were coming on in a mob. They were not organized, but there were too many of them. Lepanto wouldn't have a prayer in a heads-up fight.
"Astrogation, how's your program coming?"
"Five minutes, sir."
"We don't have five minutes. Make it a basal arc that'll drop us in the neighborhood. Do your fine calculation during the fly."
"Yes sir."
"... to intercept fifty-two seconds."
Von Drachau glared at the tank. They would have missiles in their pockets by launch time. Power weapons would be pounding Lepanto's energy screens. "Damn!"
It looked bad.
"Time to launch one minute."
The bridge watch took on that hunchbacked look of people anticipating the kiss of the whip. Sixty lousy seconds. That could make a damned short life. Mayflies lasted longer.
"... to intercept fourteen seconds."
That was close. And the next salvo would be closer.
"Astrogation. One millisecond free hyper straight linear," von Drachau snapped.
"Sir?"
"Do it!"
The alarm hooted as the ship lurched.
The Ship's Commander's screen returned to life. The Sangaree sun had moved. He could see a horizon line. It had no curvature.
Weapons Department howled. They had to reprogram.
"So do those boys over there. Special Weapons. Time to launch."
"Thirty-two seconds, sir."
"Missiles bearing two five-niner relative, one two degrees nadir. Time to intercept two six seconds."
Von Drachau sighed. That was right on the line. "Gentlemen, we're going to make it."
The bridge watch did not relax. They knew his remark was half prayer. The tank proclaimed that in its totally unambiguous display. A saturation barrage was hurtling toward them.
And it was a long, long run back to friendly space.
"Ten seconds to launch."
And there was the problem of the weapon safely reaching target. If the Sangaree sniped it, Lepanto would have to try again. A second pass could get hairy.
Lepanto shuddered and lurched. Someone yelled, "That was too goddamned close!"
"Two. One. Launch. Weapon away."
The warship lurched again. "One tenth second free hyper straight linear!" von Drachau ordered. "Detection, lock on that weapon. I want to know if it makes it."
The cruiser dodged. Von Drachau shifted attention between display tank and screen, following the weapon into the sun.
Sangaree missiles had no chance to catch it. Scores of laser and graser weapons probed for it, caressed it with their deadly tongues.
"Telemetry. How are its screens holding?"
"Perfectly, sir."
Lepanto rocked. Time was running out.
"She's in, sir. They can't stop her now. Her sun screens are stable."
"Astrogation, get us out of here."
"You still want an observation pass, sir?" R & D had asked them to hang around and study the results.
"The hell with that noise! Get out of here before they barbecue us."
The hyper alarm hooted. The ship twisted away into an alternate dimension. Von Drachau turned to the display tank.
"Some of them are good," he murmured. "Very good."
Four vessels had caught the trail already, and were coming hard.
"Drive. Run your influence factor to the red line."
"Sir!"
"You heard me. You'll take it over if you have to. Stand by for it."
"Yes sir."
Von Drachau glanced at the sun shape dwindling in the display tank. The weapon would be sinking toward its heart. The killing process would begin in a few hours. He turned into himself again, looking for his feelings. All he found was a big vacancy, an arid desert of the soul.
He did not think much of Jupp von Drachau just then.
Book Two
THE BROKEN WINGS
Twelve: 3050 AD
The Contemporary Scene
Lemuel Beckhart felt totally vulnerable while walking the streets of Angel City. The berg was domed, of course, but the glassteel arced too far overhead. He had been born in Luna Command and had spent most of his life there and in warships. He needed overheads, decks, and bulkheads close at hand before he felt comfortable.
Worlds with open skies were pure hell for him.
He shoved his hands into the pockets of the civilian trousers he wore. It was coming together. The timing looked good. The leaks had the commentators howling for blood.