Sean Dalton - Operation StarHawks 03 - Beyond the Void Read online

  “Siggerson!” shouted Beaulieu, her voice raw with reaction. “Who the hell cares how good a shot they are? We just got our pants scorched.”

  A pulse was beating hard in Kelly’s temple. He gestured at Phila. “Open a line to Lewis.”

  Within seconds the viewscreen cleared and Captain Lewis’ craggy features filled it. “Ready to surrender yourself for treason, Commander?” said Lewis.

  Kelly’s jaw was so taut it hurt to open his mouth. With all the will he possessed, he kept himself from screaming at the captain. “Firing on a fellow vessel without just cause is a worse offense, Lewis. You have no reason to shoot at that squadron or at us.”

  “The time is past for quibbling,” said Lewis with a glower. “I know my job. I work by the book.”

  “You idiot!” shouted Kelly. “If that missile hits one of those ships, you’ll be guilty of murder. Look at them! They’ve had plenty of time to shoot that missile to bits and they haven’t done it. Doesn’t that tell you they’re helpless?”

  “I have made my decision according to my best judgment and training,” said Lewis heavily. “If you attempt to interfere again, Commander, you will be treated again as the enemy.”

  “I’m not going to let you compound this blundering,” said Kelly. “Cut it, Phila.”

  Lewis’ face vanished, showing them space once again. The missile was dangerously close to the leading destroyer of the squadron. From this angle, Kelly could now see that it was towing one of the other ships on a tractor beam. The towed ship’s lower hull was dangerously crumpled. He saw other indications of damage along the line in twisted struts, blackened engine drives, broken conning towers. Phila increased magnification, and the registry names sprang at him: ESS Sounder, ESS Dragon, ESS Fortya, MSS Omu Dar, MSS Omu Hochu, ESS Kelso.

  “They’ve been in one rough fight,” said Phila.

  “Look at that,” said Siggerson, gazing openmouthed at the screen. “They’re all linked together with tractor beams.”

  “Yeah,” said Phila. “Only one ship is registering engine power. It must be pulling the whole mass. Commander, I’m reading life signs. Full crew complements. Still no communications. Life support looks iffy in spots.”

  Kelly clenched his fists. “Siggerson, we’ve got to make another pass and stop that missile. It’s heading right for the powered ship.”

  “We still have the speed. We may lose heat as well as gravity on the way. Something has shorted.”

  “Do it,” said Kelly.

  The Valiant picked up speed with an unusual vibration running through her decks. It set Kelly’s teeth on edge, but he did his best to ignore the sensation.

  “Hey, boss?” said Caesar over the comm. “Are we done having our cage rattled?”

  “No,” said Kelly grimly. “We are making another pass.”

  “Oh. Firing tube three is jammed, I think. Uh, 41 says it may blow out backward into our laps down here if we try to shoot it.”

  “Sir,” said Phila, and her voice wasn’t quite steady. “Jefferson is locking onto us again. We still have no shields.”

  Kelly hesitated. No command decision was ever fair. That was why officers couldn’t sleep at night. But now, as he looked at the faces of his squad—worried, doubtful, yet trusting faces—he wondered if he was doing the right thing. Could Lewis be right? After all, Kelly was placing everything on one childhood memory. It could be strictly coincidental that these ships had come up out of nowhere in that formation ...

  “Commander,” said Phila. “I’m getting a faint signal from the squadron. It’s weak and full of break up ... sounds like it’s a wrist communicator.”

  Kelly unsnapped his harness and let himself float over to her station. “Put it on audio. Boost it all you can.”

  “... emergency. Earthship Sounder calling oncoming vessels. Call off ... attack ... damaged. Can’t steer—”

  “Could be a faked message,” said Beaulieu. They all stared at her, and she added, “If Lewis is right.”

  “That old croaker!” began Phila indignantly.

  Kelly gestured. “Open a channel on that frequency.” As soon as Phila nodded, Kelly said, “This is Commander Kelly of the MSS Valiant. We read you, Sounder. But you are approaching a space station on a closed space lane without authorization or identification. Can you identify yourselves more definitely?”

  He stopped speaking and grimaced, his mouth dry as he watched the missile closing on the helpless ships. He could imagine the chain reaction that would occur when it struck. One exploding vessel at such close range would explode the others. And yet ... he had to be sure before he laid the lives of his crew on the line.

  “Sounder to Valiant,” replied a voice that despite the static sent shivers down Kelly’s spine. “This is Admiral Kelly, commanding Red Squadron back from classified maneuvers in Nielson’s Void. Repeat ... Kelly ... back from ... Broken wing formation—“

  “I knew it!” shouted Kelly. He let out a shrill whoop. “Siggerson, put us on intercept. Phila, launch our log recording. Get everyone assembled in the teleport bay. On the double!”

  Beaulieu unsnapped her harness and floated tentatively free. “Teleport?” she said. “Why?”

  But it was Siggerson, ashen-faced, who answered for Kelly. “You’re going to let the missile hit the Valiant. Kelly, you can’t!”

  It was the cry of a man in anguish. Kelly knew how deeply Siggerson loved this little ship. He knew it was the Valiant that kept Siggerson loyal to them, for Siggerson had joined the Hawks for no other reason than to pilot her. But Kelly had other loyalties that ran deeper.

  “We’re doing it,” said Kelly in a voice that allowed no argument. “Go, Beaulieu. Phila.”

  “Launching the log now,” she said, her voice small and tight. She scrambled from her chair and shot expertly across the quarterdeck to the turnaround. She went down the ladder headfirst.

  Kelly floated, one hand hanging onto the corner of the helm console. “Set the course and program her to stop in the missile’s path,” he said.

  Siggerson stared at him with eyes like milky glass. Blinking, he finally dropped his gaze and complied. “Go ahead, Kelly,” he said in a choked voice. “I’ll finish the task, then report to—”

  “No. Clear the quarterdeck.”

  Red flooded Siggerson’s face. He glared at Kelly, but Kelly never relented an inch. Slowly, reluctantly, Siggerson unsnapped his harness and pushed himself off from his chair.

  “There’s got to be another way. I could find it—”

  “We don’t have time,” said Kelly. “Move.”

  He launched himself from the console and as he passed Siggerson, he grabbed the pilot by the arm and let his impetus pull Siggerson along. When he bumped gently into the turnaround, he hooked his right leg over the top to stabilize himself and pushed Siggerson toward the ladder.

  “There’ll be other ships,” said Kelly. “Don’t be a fool. Move!”

  “You know there won’t,” said Siggerson as he went down the ladder. “You’ll be busted for this, and we’ll all go down with you. I’ll be lucky if I can get signed onto an ore freighter.”

  “Hey, Siggie! Complaining again?” called Caesar’s cheerful voice from the lower deck. “Boss, I hear we’re teleporting over to the main target.”

  “Right,” said Kelly, reaching the end of the ladder and pushing off down the corridor.

  Caesar whistled. “Great. Looks like we can get blown to smithers here or go over to the other ships and be blown to—”

  “We’ve got about four minutes to teleport,” said Kelly.

  Caesar turned pale and abruptly shut up.

  In the small teleport bay, Phila and Beaulieu had their wristbands on and were crouched on the platform, holding themselves on the contact points with their hands. 41 was floating up near the ceiling in one corner, wrestling to fasten a band on Ouoji who was struggling with angry lashings of her tail. She squawled loudly.

  “What are you doing to her?” said Siggerson.
He grabbed Kelly’s shoulder and launched himself up toward 41. “Let me do that. You’re just frightening her.”

  Kelly touched the controls and Phila and Beaulieu shimmered out. Caesar sent a wristband floating his way, and Kelly wedged his knee into a corner of the control board to hold himself in place while he fastened it on.

  “Siggerson!” he said sharply. “Get down here and prepare for teleport.”

  41 planted his feet on the ceiling and gave Siggerson a push down. Siggerson held the unhappy Ouoji cradled in his arms. Her blue eyes were slitted, and her ear flaps were clamped tight. She squawled again, a low, eerie cry of rage and fear. Since Siggerson couldn’t take a chance on releasing her, Caesar put a band on his wrist for him.

  “Guess the little fur face hasn’t had her freefall training,” said Caesar with a grin. He maneuvered Siggerson onto the platform and got on with him. His thumbs-up gesture was the last of him to shimmer from existence.

  “Get down here,” said Kelly to 41, who was still floating near the ceiling. “We’ve got about forty-five seconds.”

  41 moved in zero gravity as though he had been born to it. He got into position on the platform as Kelly joined him.

  “The automatic controls are always slower than the manual says.”

  Kelly looked at him in surprise. “You’ve been reading the ship’s manuals? Why?”

  “To learn. I have no science training. When there is trouble with the ship, as now, I cannot help much.”

  Kelly thought about 41 gravely plowing through the heavy technical material in the manuals and started to tell 41 that there were easier ways to learn the skills he was seeking when an explosion rocked the ship. The lights cut out, and Kelly was conscious of an enormous roaring sound that engulfed him along with tremendous heat.

  41 said something that he couldn’t make out, then there came the familiar nausea and sense of displacement that told him the teleport had engaged. But if it would send them correctly or leave them in limbo as the power failed, he had no way of knowing.

  Until he came to on a thinly cushioned steel deck, feeling as though he had been drop kicked. He opened his eyes, focused on nothing, closed them long enough to feel a nasty headache coming on, and opened his eyes again. This time the blurs around him became shapes with color and motion. He blinked and rubbed his eyes, and the shapes became people with faces and uniforms. Human people, not Salu-kans or Jostics. Relief melted through him.

  A hand gripped his arm. “Awaken,” said 41. “We are in trouble.”

  Kelly shook the webs from his mind and pulled himself together. He sat up, muffling a groan, and let 41 haul him to his feet.

  Around him was a curved corridor of Fleet gray, plain and slightly cramped. Kelly remembered long-ago days of Fleet service and overcame the urge to stoop slightly beneath the low ceilings.

  Facing him and 41 were three young ensigns and a female lieutenant. Smoke-smudged and red-eyed, their faces had the grimness of battle fatigue. Their eyes held horror and grief.

  The lieutenant stepped forward. “Welcome aboard the Sounder, Commander. All your people arrived intact. You’re wanted on the bridge. Would you come with us, please?”

  Words, pared down to the essentials, delivered in a voice of weariness. In silence Kelly and 41 followed their escort. As they walked Kelly noted the exposed panels and blackened traces of electrical fires. Cables as thick as his arm hung from the ceiling in places. He could hear dangerous humming inside as he ducked warily beneath them.

  A lift whose door did not completely shut rose jerkily to the bridge. Kelly stepped off to find himself in the gloom of battle lighting. Crimson, green, and amber glowed from data boards and tactical displays around him. The narrow, rectangular bridge was crammed with equipment and the crew manning it. At the far end stood two officers, a man and a woman. Their backs were to Kelly for they faced the large viewscreen that looked like a window onto space. Stars glittered in a backdrop to the motley flotilla commanded by Captain Lewis.

  But Kelly didn’t care about the view. His gaze went to the man whose back he could have recognized anywhere, anytime.

  “Dad?” he whispered.

  The admiral turned sharply. A full head taller than anyone on the bridge except for Kelly and 41, he was a handsome man with piercing blue eyes and thick silver hair cropped short military style. In his mid-sixties, he was as lean and fit as a man half his age, and his step always had a spring in it.

  A smile touched his aquiline features briefly, and the look in his eyes warmed Kelly through. He stuck out his hand according to Fleet custom, and Kelly shook it with a grin.

  “I knew it,” he said. “As soon as I saw the formation on the viewscreen, I remembered our old strategy games.”

  “Pity your colleagues didn’t believe you,” said the admiral. He kept drinking Kelly in with his eyes. It had been two years since they had last met face-to-face. But with Lewis and company bearing down upon them, it wasn’t much of a time for reunions.

  Kelly stared at the viewscreen with disgust. “They’re still coming? Can’t they understand anything! Damn! I won’t believe we sacrificed the Valiant for nothing.”

  As he spoke he glanced at Siggerson, standing wedged in a corner, looking lost.

  The admiral cleared his throat. “Yes, well, you pulled quite a spectacular stunt out there, but now you’re stuck with us. I take it you disobeyed orders?”

  “Orders!” said Kelly scornfully. “Lewis is a fool. He proclaimed himself in charge, but he has as much business commanding a starship as our Ouoji.”

  “Meanwhile they’re still coming,” said the woman officer. “Any ideas as to what we might do now?”

  She wore a gray uniform tunic with captain’s bars on her collar. Close to Kelly’s own age, she was blond and gray-eyed, with a lean, strong-featured face and tiny lines starting to carve themselves around her eyes.

  “Captain,” said the admiral. “I’d like to introduce Commander Bryan Kelly. Captain Aurie Serula.”

  Kelly shook hands and found hers dry and hard-gripped. She looked as tired as her crew. Her lovely, wide-set eyes were hollow as though she had seen more than anyone should.

  “With two Kellys on board, we can’t lose,” she said, “Welcome to what’s left of the Sounder.”

  “What we need,” said Kelly, “is some decent communications.”

  “One of your operatives has tackled that project,” said Serula with a shrug. She spoke Glish with the lilting accent of the Rim colonies. “We’ve been working on it for days with not much result.”

  Kelly glanced around the crowded bridge and finally spotted Phila and Caesar conferring together over a tangled mess of a circuit panel. He smiled and returned his gaze to the captain.

  “Well, my people have some special areas of expertise. Phila may be able to patch something together. What about your wrist communicators? The Jefferson is within range—”

  “They don’t answer! We’ve been hailing till we’re hoarse,” said Serula angrily. “I know you can’t approach a station without passing identification checks. But we’re so crippled we can barely hold each other together.”

  “I think you ought to break up,” said Kelly. “If they start firing, the whole squadron will go out in the chain reaction.”

  The admiral and Serula glanced at each other. After a slight hesitation, Serula gestured to her first officer and gave the order.

  “Will they see our drifting apart as a hostile action?”

  “If the science stations are doing their job,” retorted Kelly, “they ought to know that you have neither weapons nor propulsion. You’re no threat, and if they fire again they are in violation of—”

  “Commander!” shouted Phila across the bridge, temporarily quieting the noise. “I’ve established a link with the Jefferson.”

  “How?” began Serula in amazement, but Kelly was already hurrying across the bridge to crouch beside Phila.

  She grinned at him. She was holding the circuit board on
which had been rigged some kind of primitive Morse key. “The problem is that the system has been shorted out down to a few electric pulses. Not enough strength for voice transmissions, but enough for Morse, which is just dots and dashes anyway. Sconey is the communications officer on the Jefferson. Years ago, in Fleet training, we learned old Morse and used a bulkhead tap to send messages on the grapevine that the regular electronic snoops couldn’t catch. I figure if I send Morse, and remind him that he owes me fifty credits, he’ll know we aren’t aliens.”

  Nothing could beat the noncom network of favors and debts. Relieved, Kelly squeezed her shoulder. “Good thinking! You just earned your pay for the week.”

  Her dark eyes gleamed. “How about a raise?”

  “Captain, they’ve stopped. They’re just sitting out there,” said someone.

  A babble of relieved voices broke out.

  “That will do!” said Serula sharply, restoring order. She joined Kelly and frowned down at the sending key as though she hadn’t a clue as to what it was. “They are looking us over. Have they replied?”

  “Not officially,” said Phila. “Just a recognition from Sconey. Uh, he’s the Jefferson’s comm officer. Something coming in now.”

  They all waited, tense, until Phila finished translating. Then she looked up with a grin. “Message reads: Jefferson to Sounder. Apologies for firing. Permission to send over a boarding party.”

  A cheer went up. Serula’s shoulders sagged a bit. She smiled at Phila. “My compliments to Captain Lewis. Permission granted.”

  As Phila went to work, Serula glanced at Kelly. “Would you care to greet them aboard, Commander?”

  It was a polite way of giving him the chance to rub in Lewis’ faulty judgment. But Kelly didn’t need the satisfaction of saying I told you so. He shook his head and looked right at his father.

  “I would rather,” he said, “know who shot you to pieces like this.”

  “That’s classified,” said the admiral promptly.

  As stubborn as the admiral suddenly looked, Kelly felt even more determined to have some answers. Touching his father’s elbow, he led the admiral over to a quiet corner.