Doomsday minus 10 standard hours.
Enter the Nandrians, hissing and snarling.
Enter the Corvou, clicking and snapping.
Enter the Humans—
“Lydia, wake up!”
With a gasp, she jackknifed to a sitting position. She was on a bed, inside a room, and the air felt chilly against her naked skin. In fact, it was downright cold, and becoming colder by the second. Shivering, she looked around for a blanket in which to wrap herself. There was none. What there was, was a jagged tear in the bulkhead. The hole went all the way through the hull. No wonder the temperature was dropping. If she tilted her head, she could see black space on the other side, and something growing larger as it came directly toward her.
Her hands had gone numb and she couldn’t feel her legs. She glanced down, surprised that she could still see. The room was as cold as the vacuum outside. Shouldn’t her eyeballs have frozen by now?
The object was close enough to identify. It was an asteroid, hurtling toward the station. Strangely, she felt unafraid. At least the collision would generate some heat, short-lived though it might be…
“Lydia! Wake up, babe!”
Her eyes snapped open. Walt was sitting on the edge of the mattress, staring down at her with concern etched on his face.
“Are they here?” she asked.
“Almost. They entered the system three hours ago.”
He stood up to let her swing her legs off the bed.
“You should have wakened me,” she told him. She slipped her shoes on and got to her feet.
“You were exhausted and we had everything under control. I let you rest.”
She stopped, reminding herself to breathe and to say, “Thank you.”
He nodded a You’re welcome. Then, hesitantly, he said, “This may not be the right time, but if I wait we may run out of time. I thought it wouldn’t matter to me, but I’ve come to realize that it does, and I really need to know…”
Lydia felt her heart constrict. She’d actually been expecting something like this. “What, Walt? Whether I let other men into my bed after receiving official notice that you’d been killed? Because the short answer to that is no.”
“Not into your bed. Into your life.” His face was a portrait of misery now. “Is there someone else you’ve opened up to? Someone else that you love?”
“Where the hell is this coming from?” she demanded, dumbfounded.
“I’ve been aboard Daisy Hub for a few intervals now, watching how people interact on the station, figuring out how I can fit in. And I couldn’t help noticing that … you’re the only one who calls the station manager by his first name.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You are. Even when he’s not around, everyone refers to him as ‘Townsend’ or ‘Mr. Townsend’. Or they have a moniker for him, like ‘boss man’ or ‘the Chief’. You refer to him as ‘Drew’ when he’s not there, and you call him ‘Drew’ to his face, and nobody bats an eyelash either way. That tells me you’ve established a special relationship with him, one that others are aware of and have accepted. I’m not judging you, Lydia, and I certainly wouldn’t blame you. Nine Earth years is a long time, so if—”
“Walt Garfield, you are an idiot!”
“What? Why? I’m just—”
“Jumping to conclusions is what you’re just doing,” she informed him sharply. “The day before Drew Townsend was shipped off-world, his best friend was brutally murdered. Drew was a field investigator on Earth, so he tried to follow the case from here. But for some reason, the investigation was shut down and his friend was removed from the database. It was like losing him a second time. I could tell he was devastated, and I could certainly relate to his situation, so I helped him through the grieving process. That was when I started calling him by his first name. Since then, I’ve continued to do it and he hasn’t objected to it, so I’m assuming he’s as comfortable with it as I am.”
She moved sinuously into his open arms and wrapped her own around his shoulders. “You are the love of my life, the only man who matters to me in the entire universe, so trust me when I tell you that there is nothing even remotely romantic going on between me and the boss. He cares about me the same way he cares about anyone else who works for him. In fact, when O’Malley found out you were still alive, Drew ordered him to find a way for us to contact each other, and then to do the same for every member of the crew.”
“He ordered him to do that? That’s very interesting.”
“Yes. He felt it was important for us to be in touch with family, right up until the end. And speaking of the end, my darling … there’s the small matter of an alien armada that’s coming to destroy us. Shall we go up to AdComm and start giving them what for?”
He was smiling again. “Good idea. Let’s do that.”
—— «» ——
Doomsday minus 6 standard hours.
The warmaster received the visual signal first, aboard the Marco Polo, and the ship’s communications officer forwarded it immediately to Zulu and Daisy Hub.
On AdComm, people gathered three deep around the main console, the ones farthest from the screen craning their necks for a first view of the alien threat that was headed their way.
Lydia was keeping a commlink channel open to Zulu. That meant everyone could hear Captain Rodrigues cursing vehemently through the mic.
“How big is that thing?” Walt wondered aloud.
“It reminds me of the pine cones we used to collect on school field trips back on Earth,” Jason Smith remarked. “The ones that hadn’t dropped their seeds yet. They were pretty small.”
“I suspect each of those things that resemble scales is actually a ship the size of the one on our landing deck,” said Soaring Hawk.
“Good Lord,” murmured Gouryas, “it looks as though there are hundreds of them.”
“Exactly!” Rodrigues declared. “It’s bloody enormous! When the warmaster said the heavy ship was protected by fighters, we thought he was talking about an escort squadron. Instead, it’s literally a blanket of ships wrapped around a superweapon.”
“How many of these … pine cone formations are you seeing on your long range scanners, Captain?” Lydia asked.
“Three at the moment, but they’re surrounded by Nandrian warships. With luck, the cruisers can blast their way through the fighters and render the heavy ships inoperable, leaving us only the smaller ships to deal with. Has the Hak’kor approved our change in plans?”
“Not yet, but I’m sure he will.”
A pause, then, “What if he doesn’t?”
“Then at least he will have been informed. We don’t have time to move everything back the way it was.”
“Great,” Rodrigues grumbled. “He’ll be informed, and we could be dead.”
“It is what it is, Captain,” she told him. “Is Zulu in position?”
“Locked into orbit, maintaining a distance of fifty klicks from the Hub. And Dr. Singh says he’s ready whenever you are.”
“Then let’s put up our expanded invisibility field and wow everyone with our special effect.”
Gouryas and Singh had spent hours programming both field generators. Each projected half the image. From inside the combined shield, the view was interesting but unspectacular. Space was still visible, but it appeared to be on the other side of a sheer curtain with a pattern printed on it. Anyone approaching from space, however, saw something quite different: the Midnight Muralist’s depiction of a space station, copied from the bulkhead in the Daisy Hub caf. A huge, important installation, painted in vibrant colors and extremely realistic detail.
What appeared to be an enormous target would actually be a blind from which a variety of defensive ordnance could be deployed: the escape pod mines, as well as EM grenades and disintegration bombs from the stolen Corvou ship, and weapons fire from the three Ranger shuttles. Enemy fire aimed at the supposed center of the station would pass harmlessly through the gap between Zulu and Daisy Hub. The field generators could simulate a strike, drawing the enemy closer to finish the station off. Then it would seem to disappear before their eyes, and Gouryas and Singh could work together to hit the heavy ship multiple times in rapid succession: first to paint it, then to reverse the effect, and finally to collapse the molecular structure of its hull. The weakened ship could then be destroyed by one of the mines, or by a shot from one of the allied ships.
Permission from the Hak’kor and the warmaster had been the last thing on anyone’s mind. It was an afterthought. A formality, really. This plan was perfect. There was no way it could be rejected.
And when the Corvou arrived, they were in for one hell of a surprise.
—— «» ——
“With respect, Hak’kor, this is a foolish plan,” said the warmaster. “It should be rejected.”
“And this is why I needed to go back to the Hub with them,” Townsend replied. “I can reject the plan, but I suspect it’s too late to change it, Vixor. They’ve already moved Zulu. What can be done to mitigate the damage?”
“Nothing. They have helped the Corvou eliminate both targets by moving them closer together and ensuring that they will draw fire. The shield blind is a commonly used Nandrian battle tactic, which the Corvou will recognize immediately, since they have been fighting our ships for over an interval. And no enemy relies entirely on eyesight in a war fought in space. They can make the station look any size they like — its true dimensions and location can be determined by a targeting scanner, which the Corvou no doubt possess and will use to make every shot hit its mark. I fear your House is doomed, Hak’kor.”
Takamura had been sitting quietly in his chair on the bridge, overhearing the conversation. Now he got to his feet and turned to face these two passengers.
“Gentlemen,” he said pleasantly, “there is an alternative strategy that relies for its success on drawing enemy fire. If I may make the suggestion…?”
“You’ve used this strategy?” said Vixor.
“Twice before. The first time, we were surrounded by Thryggian pirates. None of them survived, and not a single shot they fired touched our hull.”
“And the second time?”
“It was a precaution. As it turned out, the enemy didn’t even come near us.”
Townsend and Vixor exchanged freighted looks.
“Let’s do this, Captain,” Townsend decided.
Takamura returned to his chair. “Helmsman, take us back to Daisy Hub, best speed. And Mr. Brandt, notify Captain Dedrick that we’ll be executing Lania’s Plan B.”
—— «» ——
Doomsday minus 3 standard hours.
Daisy Hub was on the far side of Helena, in the dark half of its orbit. On the lower decks, technicians were busy crunching numbers. In about three hours, the orbit would swing sunward. The battle would be dangerously close, and its shock waves would buffet the station. Thruster burns would be necessary to keep it stable, and the adjustments would have to be precisely calculated.
Meanwhile, the fighting was belching enough dust and debris to blot out the light from Helena’s sun. The last visual transmitted by the Hak’kor’s ship had shown a thick cloud punctuated by brief flashes like lightning. It reminded Lydia of the way ancient cartoonists on Earth used to draw a knock-down brawl, as a ball of smoke with fists and legs sticking out of it in all directions. But this was no cartoon. It was death and destruction, headed for a rendezvous with Daisy Hub as soon as the station emerged into the light.
Three of the four communications satellites that shared the Hub’s orbit had been knocked out by stray weapons fire, and Lydia was using the remaining one to monitor the battle, keeping her fingers crossed that both installations would escape damage. The Corvou were down to two heavy ships, and the enemy fighters that had survived the destruction of the other eight were swarming like angry hornets around them, running interference each time a Nandrian ship took a shot at them.
On Lydia’s screen, there were too many blips to count, constantly threatening to coalesce into a single dark blot. For three hours now, she had sat ramrod-stiff at her console, doggedly keeping her eyes focused on the visual display, while Walt monitored the comms at Ruby’s station.
“It sounds like the Fleet is taking a beating,” he said, his voice as tight as Lydia’s back and shoulder muscles now felt. “The Corvou are really going after them. Then they’ll be coming for us. You know, whether or not this plan of yours works, we’re probably going to die today.”
She glanced up. “I know it’s hard,” she murmured. “You took your fate into your own hands and ended up trading one prison for another. And we’ve had so little time together. I’m sorry, Walt.”
“Don’t apologize. I was on Riviera Hub. I would already be dead if I hadn’t come here to be with you. In fact,” he said, uttering a syllable of laughter, “I’ve died twice. The database says Walt Garfield is deceased, and Brad Fuller is probably on a casualty list somewhere. Well, you know what they say — the third time is the charm. At least we’re together for the end.”
Lydia fought the urge to rush over and throw her arms around him. “Yes, we are,” she informed him, emphasizing each syllable, “and I’m not losing you again, no matter what happens. Go or stay, we do it together. Deal?”
Before he could reply, a light began blinking on the main console. “Incoming message,” he announced as he opened the commlink.
“And we have an incoming ship,” she told him, frowning at her screen.
“Daisy Hub Control to the unknown vessel on approach. Halt and identify yourself,” he said sternly.
“Daisy Hub, this is Captain Hiromasu Takamura of the star cruiser Marco Polo.”
Lydia broke into the link to demand, “Why is the Hak’kor’s ship returning here? You should be rounding Purgatory by now.”
“Relax, Lydia, we’re bringing you a new strategy,” came Townsend’s voice through the speaker. “We need you to stop rotating and maintain a constant orbital speed while the Marco Polo moves into position.”
Another voice piped up, “What’s the strategy, sir?”
“Mr. Smith? Where are you?”
“On my way to J Deck to adjust the attitudinal thrusters, as you’ve just ordered, sir. What’s the plan?” he repeated.
“When I give the signal, the warmaster is going to order all the allied ships to pull back. At that point, I want you and Zulu to launch everything you’ve got at the Corvou — mines, EM grenades, concentrated laser beams, everything. Don’t worry about making kills. The object of this exercise is to draw as much enemy fire as possible.”
The silence on the commlink could have given birth to an elephant.
“With all due respect, Hak’kor,” said Rodrigues, finally breaking it, “I would like to remind you of something you told me earlier about hitting a hornet’s nest with a stick…?”
“We have much more than a stick to protect us this time, Captain. The Marco Polo is equipped with Kularian shields, which will be extended around the Hub once you’ve expended your ammunition.”
“Around the Hub? And what about Zulu?”
“We’ll save the platform if we can, but the shield may not cover it. So, I would recommend you evacuate all non-essential personnel to the station.”
“Copy that, Hak’kor.”
“Sir, did I hear you correctly?” said Smith. “You want us to purposely make ourselves targets for enemy fire, some of which will be incoming before the shields are in place?”
A new voice joined the discussion. “Smith. Would that be former Lieutenant Jason Smith, Assistant Engineering Specialist on the Magellan, by any chance?”
“It would,” Smith replied slowly. “And who is this?”
“Admiral Harlan Tang, Commander of Fleet Operations. I wondered what had happened to you. We’re at war, Mr. Smith, and that means there will be casualties. It’s an unpleasant fact. That being said, Vice-Admiral Nelligan and I are convinced that the Hak’kor’s plan is our best chance to save possibly millions of lives all over Earth space. Are you prepared to risk your life for their sake?”
Lydia could practically hear Smith snap to attention. “Sir, yes, sir!”