“I think I can give you more than just hope,” Thurfian said, taking his arm and leading him away from the cliff edge and back toward their skycar. “Let’s head back to your hearing chamber and give the Xodlak Patriel a call. I think there’s a good chance we can get this resolved by dinnertime.”
For once, Thurfian was wrong. It actually took them until nearly midnight.
CHAPTER SEVEN
It was the final Nikardun base, the last one listed in General Yiv’s records in this part of space. As such, Ar’alani had anticipated a major battle against whatever desperate, hopeless enemy forces might have hitherto escaped the overall sweep of Chiss vengeance. Nothing a Nightdragon man-of-war couldn’t handle.
That was what she expected. What she got was silence, emptiness, and more debris.
A lot more debris.
“Looks like our mysterious friends with the sledgehammers got here first,” Wutroow commented as she and Ar’alani stood gazing out at the twisted shards of metal and ceramic floating across the starscape. Most of the wreckage was dark or dulled, but there were occasional small glints as something turned enough to catch the light from the distant sun.
“So it would seem,” Ar’alani agreed, frowning at the rubble. Something about the whole scene seemed odd. Odd, and wrong.
“That base,” Wutroow said, pointing toward the twisted and broken metal shell drifting in the midst of the field. “Does it look too big to you?”
“Too big for a listening post, you mean?” Ar’alani eyed the shell. “Probably. But Yiv’s records didn’t specifically identify this base as such. We just assumed that because that’s what all the rest of his group were.”
“I know,” Wutroow said. “And that bothers me, too. All the rest of the bases were marked as to size and purpose: listening post, scout refueling depot, sector coordination base—whatever. Why not this one?”
“Good point,” Ar’alani said. Wutroow was right. But there was something else out there …
Abruptly, she had it. “Biclian: that clump about thirty degrees starboard, ten nadir,” she called toward the sensor station. “The one that looks almost spherical. Scan that and tell me what it is.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Biclian said, his hands moving across his control board.
“Looks like ordinary battle debris to me,” Wutroow said, craning her neck to check the main sensor display.
“Probably,” Ar’alani said. “But it seems to be clumped too close together.”
“Good point,” Wutroow said, her voice suddenly thoughtful. “A normal explosion should have sent the pieces way farther apart. And you’re right about the array being too spherical. Not a missile, then. A spectrum laser barrage?”
“I don’t think so,” Ar’alani said. “It’s too clean, somehow.”
“It’s also too rocky,” Biclian put in. “It’s not refined metal, ceramic, or plastic, Admiral, but solid rock. Spectral analysis suggests it’s the remnants of an asteroid.”
Ar’alani and Wutroow looked at each other. “So our mysterious attackers are taking potshots at asteroids now?” Wutroow asked.
“Or something else is going on,” Ar’alani said grimly, a strange thought starting to form in the back of her mind … “Octrimo, take us over there,” she instructed the pilot. “Slow and easy—I don’t want to disrupt the debris field any more than we have to. Biclian, does our asteroid clump have any overall vector?”
“Yes, Admiral, it does,” Biclian said. “Backtracking it now.”
“Good.” The asteroid’s path would likely have been distorted by the battle that had taken place around it, Ar’alani knew, but a backtrack might still be useful. “Specifically—no,” she interrupted herself.
“Admiral?” Biclian asked, frowning at her.
“I was going to offer a thought, but I don’t want to influence your analysis,” Ar’alani said. “Carry on.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Biclian turned back to his board.
“If you can’t tell him, can you at least tell me?” Wutroow asked.
“I especially can’t tell you,” Ar’alani said, giving her a wry smile. “Your brain is the one I rely on to make sure mine is functioning properly.”
“Ah.” Wutroow gave Ar’alani a sideways look. “Always something of a disappointment when you open up a compliment and find a no wrapped inside.”
“Patience is a virtue,” Ar’alani reminded her.
“So I’ve heard. Not a big fan of it, myself.”
For a few minutes the bridge was silent as Octrimo delicately maneuvered the massive warship through the debris toward the odd cluster of rock. Ar’alani found herself gazing at the remains of the Nikardun base, studying the damage with particular focus on the large gaps where heavy missiles had gotten through the defenses. That big one had probably been the first impact, she decided, shifting her attention back and forth between the wreckage and the analysis data scrolling across the secondary sensor display. The edges of the jagged hole had some odd coloration to them, the scan had noted, which the analysts were still working to identify.
“Got it, Admiral,” Biclian spoke up. “Asteroid backtrack on the tactical.”
Ar’alani looked at the display. The plot was fuzzy, reflecting the inherent uncertainties of tracking something that had been drifting through multiple volleys of missiles and laserfire.
“And here,” the sensor officer added, his voice going darker as the new data overlaid the plot, “is where I estimate it was when the pieces first came apart.”
Wutroow muttered something under her breath. “I will be—” She shot a look at Ar’alani. “How did you know?”
“I didn’t,” Ar’alani said, her stomach tightening. If Biclian’s track was accurate, the asteroid had broken apart directly in front of the gap in the station she’d identified as the point of first impact. “I just wondered why anyone would waste a missile on an asteroid.”
“Because no one did,” Wutroow said darkly.
Ar’alani nodded, mentally re-creating the scenario. A harmless-looking asteroid, drifting through the Nikardun station’s defense perimeter … reaching its closest approach to the base … the outer shell shattering to reveal the missile launcher concealed inside it … a single massive missile, blasting through the base’s hull before the Nikardun had any hope of reacting … the rest of the attackers then blazing in through the confusion to wreak havoc on the stunned and disorganized defenders.
“They would have had to set that up well in advance,” Wutroow continued, clearly thinking aloud. “Start the asteroid from far enough out that the Nikardun didn’t spot it.”
“And have it moving leisurely enough that it didn’t look out of place,” Ar’alani agreed. “We’re talking months of prep time to make it work.”
“Before Yiv’s little empire even collapsed?” Wutroow asked doubtfully. “Who knew back then what was going to happen to him?”
“I don’t know,” Ar’alani said. “Maybe it wasn’t anything to do with Yiv. Maybe someone just didn’t want anyone else setting up shop in this part of space.”
Wutroow made a sound in her throat. “That sounds ominous.”
“I know.”
“Admiral?” Biclian said. “We have an analysis of the blast hole edge discoloration now. It’s a chemical reaction to unusually high amounts of flash-burned missile fuel.”
“Consistent with a missile fired at point-blank range,” Wutroow said, nodding. “Most of the time they get to burn off more of their fuel before they reach their target. This one’s tanks burst open and were fried the same time the warhead went off.”