“Missile detected and locked on!” Sensor Operator yelled, clearly taken by surprise. “We're in its search cone.” The air-plant, running on minimum, had barely cleared the fight/fear scent from the control room. Now the atmosphere thickened again. Sraowl-Navigator's screens danced as he calculated the weapon's acceleration vector. “It's got us.” His voice was clipped, in control, but his pheromones told another story.
Chraz-Captain screamed a curse and yelled. “Get us out of here, emergency speed, full evasive action. Senior Gunner, target that missile and launch! Command-detonate the current spread, and as soon as that destroyer shows herself, launch another!”
He felt his weight build up as Chief Engineer pushed the gravity polarizers past the point where they could compensate. The deck thumped and the lights dimmed as Senior Gunner fired. The missile streaked away under full acceleration. White spheres blossomed on his plot board as the other spread went off. The cover they gave would last for seconds at most. Perhaps that would be enough. The lights flickered briefly before going down again as the distant whine of the power plant rose to a scream. Chief Engineer was pouring every last erg into the drive coils. Inexorably his weight increased. A ship symbol appeared on the plot and the deck thumped again as Senior Gunner punched out his last three missiles. Without warning a series of massive hammerblows struck the ship. Alarm klaxons sounded and half the lights on the damage-control panel came on but the crushing acceleration continued so Chraz-Captain ignored them, his attention focused on the plot board, his hand poised over the Jump button. Ever faster Silent Prowler sped towards freedom. His very weight stole his breath but still he screamed for more speed. The pain was immense, his vision dimmed and brightened in pulses. The line was very close now, just a few more seconds.
The universe roared and flared searing white, then faded to silent darkness. On Chraz-Captain's plot board Silent Prowler's symbol slid over the singularity line. Then it too flickered and went out.
The scoutship tumbled end over end, spinning slowly about its long axis. It was a mess. Blast pitting marred her prow, though Excalibur had gotten no missile hits. The kzin captain must have ridden right through the shock pulse of his first covering salvo. The destroyer's lasers had cut massive gouges through the ablative armor and in many places had melted the hullmetal underneath. A major penetration, probably the fatal one, had occurred in the drive section and a secondary explosion had blown most of it off. The sensor dome was ruptured, spilling cables and electronics into space like entrails. Reports from the boarding party told a similar story. Three kzinti dead on the bridge, their combat armor riddled with metal droplets sprayed from the hull by a beam that didn't quite get through. Another crushed by a failed support beam in the weapons bay. The realities of victory were sobering. Mace could feel no hatred for her enemies, only a sense of loss. Flatlander propaganda pictured the kzinti as soulless predators but she felt more kinship with her victims than Earth's teeming, ground-bound billions. They too had known the soul-searing grandeur of the void, the ultimate emptiness which made fragile life so much more precious. They had undertaken a dangerous mission and when it went wrong they had fought well against long odds rather than surrender. She only hoped she would go down as bravely when her time came.
The commlink jolted her out of her reverie. “Commander, we've got a survivor.”
The fleet support ship Andromeda was immense, dwarfing even the massive attack carrier that floated beneath her, swaddled in scaffolding. On Excalibur's bridge Elizabeth Mace held absolute authority, backed by traditions extending through captains of space and air and sea to before recorded history. Waiting in a debriefing room aboard Andromeda she was just another cog in the military machine. Perhaps some people could acknowledge the difference and ignore it, but Elizabeth found it oppressive. The same initiative and spirit that had driven her to command made her uncomfortable in the armed forces bureaucracy. Taking orders from officers with Ph.D.s in systems analysis and no combat experience was annoying. Of course they too served a purpose, but it was hard to respect a superior who had been promoted for exceptional logistics planning while she was out getting shot at.
The door slid open and Admiral Tskala came in, followed by a ground-force major wearing intelligence insignia. Mace rose and saluted crisply. Tskala was no paper pusher. His first command was the depressurized bridge of the cruiser Hermes as the sole surviving officer. He had brought her through the battle with three quarters of the crew dead or disabled. Now he commanded the defense of the entire solar system. His position gave him enormous power, military and political, and the responsibilities to go with it, but he still kept in close contact with his line officers. She had no difficulty respecting him.
He returned her salute and offered his hand. “Congratulations, Captain,” he said as she shook it. He handed her a small box containing the badges of her new rank, smiling at her surprised expression. “There'll be an official notice soon enough, but I wanted to be the first to tell you.” He noted the concern in her eyes and added, “Don't worry, we won't hide you behind a desk.”
“Thank you, sir,” she said, pleased and relieved at the same time.
Tskala gestured to the intelligence officer. “This is Major Long,” he said. “He'll be interrogating your prisoner, but first he has some questions for you. When you're done here let me know and we'll get the paperwork out of the way. In the meantime I'll leave you in his capable hands.” He waved her into her seat before she could salute, thumbed the door and left. Long sat down opposite her, putting a vocoder on the table and switching it on.
“What can I help you with, Major?” Mace smiled. The intelligence officer stood in stark contrast to Tskala's energy and authority. There were no service stars on his uniform and his manner lacked the blend of caution and confidence that marked the veteran. He was clearly a civilian pressed into service as a fleet staffer. Andromeda's debriefing rooms were probably the closest he'd ever been to combat. On the other hand he didn't have the air of defensive self-importance that most of the rear-echelon specialists seemed to develop. She decided to reserve judgment and see how he performed.
Long adjusted the vocoder before starting. “I have your official report, Captain, but I'd like to hear your thoughts on the engagement.” His tone was relaxed and unhurried.
“We were lucky, that's all. We had all the aces on our side and they damn near got away and they damn near blew us up into the bargain. I would have liked to meet that pussycat.” There was a trace of regret in her voice as she said it. She pushed her feelings aside and continued.
“They did ninety-eight Gs in their final dash. Prowler class are nominally rated at eighty. Their tactics were sound given their capabilities. They surprised us with the haze screen and took the initiative away. It was more than I hoped for to get a lock-on with a blind spread the way we did. Their captain did everything he could to maximize his advantages and minimize ours, and he did a good job. On our side I think we reacted well to the unexpected, taking the best available course at each stage. Perhaps the kzinti were counting on that and used it to their advantage. My crew performed extremely well, particularly the weapons section. It isn't easy to hit a ninety-eight-g target at a light-second even with a laser beam. Perhaps in retrospect I should have plotted the interception point deeper into the singularity, but I wanted to ensure the safety of my ship and crew in case the intelligence appraisal turned out to be wrong.” She didn't add that she rarely found intelligence appraisals to be right.