Star Peregrine Page 16

  He looked around the bridge. "Well, a small ship would double its speed. This thing?" He shrugged, then winced and touched his chest. "We'll see."

  The Kestrel entered seventh-dimensional space, and Ham and Dupuis gave directions. They couldn’t give precise coordinates. The storms moved constantly, and precise coordinates weren't the way small ships navigated.

  The storms of hyperspace, not much more than scenery to Tom, spoke volumes to the Free Planets men. They peered through the windows, conferred briefly, then pointed. O'Reilly got the ship moving in a broad arc that would take them around the bulk of an enormous tangerine energy storm.

  "Wait," said Dupuis, and glanced at Ham. "We're telling them to go the way we would go. We'd be avoiding the heart of the storm." He stamped a foot on the deck, making the deck plates ring. "This thing can plow right through." He pointed at the middle of the storm. "Take us that way. Stop when the clouds turn dark."

  O'Reilly glanced at Tom, who nodded. The nose of the ship swung to port and rose several degrees, then surged forward. Tom had a moment to fervently hope the repairs to the hull were as good as Sawyer claimed.

  Then the storm engulfed them.

  For more than an hour the ship flew blind, nothing visible through the windows but seething red-yellow light. Ham sagged back in his hoverchair, staring through the windows with slitted eyes. Dupuis stood beside the hoverchair, arms folded, looking uncomfortable. Tom watched the storm and tried to picture what might happen when they reached Black Betty.

  The windows went dark, and for a moment Tom thought they'd broken through into open space. This was a darkness born of seething storm energy, though. There were no stars, just tendrils of pure energy, midnight blue mixed with an orange so dark it was nearly black.

  When the view faded to a softer blue Ham said, "You have to turn. Stay in the dark stuff. Right between the storm fronts, that's where the action is."

  O'Reilly's hands danced across the helm console, braking the ship and turning it. The blue continued to lighten. Then, by gradual degrees the windows darkened until the ship might have been flying through muddy water.

  "You'll have to do actual flying for a while," Ham rasped. "You don't get to just punch in a course and forget it."

  "I'll manage," O'Reilly said dryly.

  For the next twenty minutes very little changed. O'Reilly steered the ship, his hands constantly moving as he made tiny course adjustments. From time to time the storm would lighten slightly, the fingers of energy smoothing out and taking a tint of either blue or orange. Each time, O'Reilly would adjust the course and the storm would darken again.

  "I don't think I can help any further," Ham said. "I only know how to get into the current. From here all you can do is go where it takes you."

  "That's fine," Tom said. He looked at the medical corpsman. "You'd better take him back to the surgery."

  As the hoverchair began to turn Ham caught Tom's eye. The expression on his face was difficult to read, but there might have been some gratitude mixed in with a lot of pain and exhaustion.

  Tom nodded and watched as the corpsman pushed Ham out of the bridge. Dupuis trailed after them.

  "How's our speed?" Tom asked as the bridge hatch slid shut.

  It was Harris who answered, O'Reilly being busy with the helm controls. "We're definitely moving quickly. I can't really tell how fast. The storm energy moves with us, and we can't get readings on the stars." He shrugged. "Sorry, Captain. I can't be precise."

  "That'll have to do. O'Reilly, are you going to need a break?"

  "I’m good for now, Sir," O'Reilly said without looking up. "I've finally got the hang of it. I'd rather not stop. It'll be hard to get back into it."

  "Good enough." Tom rose and stretched. "What's our current ship status?"

  "High Alert, Sir," Harris said.

  "Put us on Low Alert." Tom rubbed his eyes, which felt gritty. "I'm taking a break. Mr. O'Reilly, you have the bridge."

  "Aye aye," O'Reilly said, his eyes still on his console display.

  "If anyone needs a decision made, call me directly. Don't break Mr. O'Reilly's concentration," Tom said. Then he left the bridge and headed for the wardroom.

  Chapter 20

  The Kestrel was out of the worst of the storms and flying through mostly clear seventh-dimensional space when Ng opened a portal and brought the ship back into normal space. The shimmer of distant storms vanished, replaced by a spray of cold white stars on a field of deep black.

  "The rogue planet should be dead ahead, Sir," Ng said. "I can't make it out from here, though." She peered through the bridge windows, then turned her attention to the nav console. O'Reilly was off the bridge, taking a much-needed break. "Found it," Ng said. "Dead ahead, just under point one of a light year."

  Tom cloned her display and looked at a magnified, highly processed image of a planet. Without a star to light it, Black Betty was a featureless orb. He zoomed out, then leaned forward as another shape appeared. "Is that a moon?"

  "More or less," said Ng. "You could call them twin planets. The two orbit each other. Betty's about five times bigger."

  "The supply depot's on the bigger planet?" Tom looked around the bridge.

  It was Harris who replied. "Yes, Sir. Far side of Betty from Little B. That's what they call the moon. The two are tidally locked, so the depot always faces away from the moon."

  Tom spent a moment looking at the display, considering his options. "Okay. Since we don't know what's there, we'll come out of hyperspace on the far side of Little B. The far side from Betty, that is. I want us to come out as close to the moon as we safely can. I want us invisible when we arrive."

  Ng nodded her understanding.

  "Sound Battle Stations," Tom said. "With any luck we're first, but anyone at all could be there. Let's make sure we're ready for anything."

  A portal opened before them, the ship slid through, and for several minutes the Kestrel moved through seventh-dimensional space. O'Reilly came in, zipping up his vac suit, and took over the helm station. Then a second portal opened and they dropped back into the normal universe.

  Tom tried to inhale, discovered he was already holding his breath, and made himself breathe out. He badly wanted to ask Harris if he saw anything, but it wasn't as if the man would keep it a secret. Tom turned his attention to his own console instead.

  No ships showed on the plot.

  "Looks clear," Harris announced.

  Well, keep your eyes open. Tom managed – barely – not to speak the thought aloud. He's a professional. You don't have to tell him to do the obvious.

  He looked out the windows, saw only darkness, and looked back at the tac display. Little B should have been directly ahead, at a range of less than two thousand kilometers. He looked up, puzzled, then shook his head as realization hit him.

  The sky in front of him held no stars. He was staring at the moon. This far from the nearest star, the moon was completely dark. There was literally nothing to see.

  This is the obvious place to come out of hyperspace. Little B is the only cover in the neighborhood. We're lucky there wasn't a ship here lying in wait. There was something about that thought, something his subconscious wanted him to notice. He frowned, trying to tease out whatever his mind was telling him. The more he chased the thought, though, the more it eluded him, and he gave up.

  "Take us around the moon," he said. "I want the engines cold by the time we're in line with the planet."

  O'Reilly nodded, and a sprinkle of stars appeared as the Kestrel turned.

  "Let's not waste any time," Tom added. He had no idea how long they had before the DA fleet arrived.

  "Right," said O'Reilly, and increased speed. The swath of stars grew as the surface of the moon raced by beneath them, and then O'Reilly tapped his console and the distant hum of the engines disappeared.

  Black Betty was a big round hole in the starfield. Tom checked the tactical display, then glanced at Harris. Harris looked up and said, "We appear to be alon
e."

  "We have a simple radio code we use on Free Planets ships," Naomi Silver said. "It'll identify us as friendly if there's anybody out there from the colonies."

  "Send it," Tom said, and she moved to the comms console.

  A reply came back thirty seconds later, just a repeat of the same short code burst.

  "We know they're listening on that frequency," Tom said, and nodded to Onda. "Put me through."

  Onda tapped at the communications console and nodded.

  "This is Tom Thrush of the United Worlds Frigate Kestrel. I know we've been enemies in the past, but in my mind, we have a common enemy now, and that makes us allies. There are Free Planets personnel aboard the ship. That's how we knew about this rendezvous."

  There was silence from the other ship.

  "I'm here because your meeting has been betrayed to the Dawn Alliance," Tom continued. "In fact, a Dawn Alliance fleet is on its way here. I recommend you bug out immediately." He thought for a moment. The anonymous ship still hadn't appeared on the Kestrel's scanners. "Or stay where you are, and warn off any more ships that arrive. You can hide more easily than we can."

  There was a long silence. Finally the bridge speakers crackled and a voice spoke. It was a woman, with the familiar drawl of a colonist. "This is Captain Brubeck of the Morning Breeze. I appreciate the warning."

  "You're welcome."

  "Problem is, if we leave now, anyone who comes in later gets ambushed. We can warn one ship, maybe. After that, they'll get a fix on us from the radio broadcast."

  Tom glanced at his tactical display, which now showed a directional arrow for the Morning Breeze. The range was unknown, but a fleet would have no trouble triangulating and getting a fairly precise location.

  "We'll have to leave. And that means late arrivals don't get a warning."

  Tom nodded, though she couldn't see it. "We can only do what we can do."

  "That's easy for you to say, Captain," she said sharply. "They aren't your friends."

  He bristled. It wasn't Brubeck he was angry with, though. Not really. She was right. He'd achieved very little by dashing to Black Betty. And now he was going to slink away.

  "I don't suppose you have a fleet with you?" she said.

  "No."

  "Pity. We know they're coming, after all. Be nice if we could set up an ambush of our own." Her voice grew thoughtful. "There are some mines in the stockpile, too."

  Mines? What the hell? They're more militarized than I realized. Space mines were not a terribly effective weapon. They had to be tiny or they'd be detected. That meant small payloads and not much maneuverability. The biggest problem, though, wasn't the mines themselves. It was the sheer magnitude of space. The UW fleet could come out of hyperspace anywhere within tens of thousands of kilometers. It would take trillions of mines to give any semblance of effective coverage.

  "We'll touch down and detonate the whole lot," she said. "It's a pity. But at least they won't go to the Dawn Alliance."

  A yellow circle appeared on the tac display as the engines on the Morning Breeze lit up. Tom watched as the ship headed for Black Betty, moving fairly quickly. Brubeck would want to get in and out fast, before the fleet arrived.

  An idea was piecing itself together in the back of Tom's mind. An idea that scared him. It also filled him with a hot fierce joy, which he distrusted. He was angry at the Dawn Alliance. Angry at what they'd done to the fleet at Garnet, to the Kestrel, to Garth Ham. He was furious and frustrated at the way he'd been forced to hide and cower and flee.

  He wanted to hit back. He wanted to strike. And he knew himself well enough to know that his temper was a poor guide for his actions.

  People will die. If you stay in the system, if you try to take the fight to a superior force, people will die. You may die. Or Alice, or O'Reilly, or Janine and Anderle and their crew. You swore you'd get them safely back to Garnet. You can't ask them to stay.

  But if you go, if you slip away, people will die. Different people, but they'll die just the same. While you're slinking back to Garnet and protecting your own precious skin, people right here at Black Betty will die. They'll blunder into a Dawn Alliance ambush, and they'll be killed.

  And there's another factor. This is war. There will be a battle fought here, a battle with ramifications for the rest of the war. If you leave, it will be a one-sided battle between the Dawn Alliance and a lot of ragged-ass armed freighters. The freighters won't stand a chance, and the only home-grown resistance in the Green Zone will crumble.

  But if you stay …

  Tom took a deep breath, trying to force himself to be objective. Because the truth was, he wanted to talk himself into doing something rash. His anger demanded it.

  If you stay, you'll be in a position to ambush a couple of cruisers and a corvette. You'll strike a real blow. You'll save the Free Planets fleet, and you'll give the Dawn Alliance a bloody nose.

  He looked around the bridge, wishing desperately that Captain Nishida was still here, or anyone else to take the burden of this decision from his shoulders. He looked at the bridge crew. I have a duty to them. To the whole crew. To keep them safe. To get them back to Garnet unharmed.

  His gaze fell on Naomi Silver, looking out of place in her red vac suit. I have a duty to the Free Planets as well. They're our allies. Or they could be. If we help them now. He looked at the spot where Garth Ham's hoverchair had floated, and he made his decision.

  On the tactical display the yellow circle showed a red underline as the Morning Breeze's engines flared when she touched down. Tom said, "Onda, get me the Morning Breeze." When Onda nodded he said, "Captain Brubeck? Wait a moment. I have an idea."

  Chapter 21

  "You can't do this."

  Tom looked around the mess hall. He stood with Janine near the back wall, far enough from the half-dozen or so people sitting at tables that their conversation would be private if they spoke quietly. Janine, however, was not speaking quietly. He said, "Maybe we could discuss this somewhere-"

  "No!" She stood rigid, her fists clenched, radiating fury. "You're not postponing this or sweeping it under the rug! What you're doing is wrong, and someone needs to make you see it."

  "I know it's dangerous," he said. "But I swear, I'll do everything I can to keep you safe."

  "I'm not worried about my own safety!" She wasn't just angry now. She was offended as well. "You're planning to kill people. You have to see that it's wrong."

  He lifted his hands in helpless frustration. "Somebody's getting ambushed," he said. "Somebody's getting killed. It's either Dawn Alliance warships or it's Free Planets revolutionaries. I choose to save the revolutionaries."

  "And what gives you the right to decide who lives and who dies?"

  He stared at her, gritting his teeth and fighting a rising exasperation. It was a fight he quickly lost. "This." He tapped the rank stripes on the front of his uniform. "This gives me the right. And the responsibility. I command a warship, and I have my duty."

  "You're a human being!" she snapped. "That gives you responsibilities too. Like an obligation not to kill people."

  "There's a war on." He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her. Couldn't she see what was right in front of her face? "People are going to die. There's no way to avoid it."

  "But you don't have to kill anyone," she said. She sounded just as exasperated and impatient as he felt. "Can't you see? You can choose not to kill. If everyone did that-"

  "Everyone isn't doing that! If only decent people lay down their arms, then the very worst people get to decide what happens to everyone."

  Her hands came up, chopping at the air in quick, fierce gestures. "Can't you see you're part of the problem? You're making things worse!"

  Tom glanced past her. No one in the mess hall was looking their way, but it wasn't as if they couldn't hear. "You don't understand."

  "No, I don't understand!" Her voice rose. Now the kitchen staff would hear the argument as well. "You seem like a decent person. But you
're plotting murder!"

  "It's not murder!"

  "You're planning to kill people, aren't you?" She looked as if only a massive effort of will kept her from punching him. "You could fly away, couldn't you? But you're not flying away. You're scattering mines and readying weapons and trying to figure out how to kill as many people as you possibly can."

  "I'm trying to save lives!" Now his own voice was rising.

  Her lip curled. "You don't save lives by killing people."

  "Oh, for-"

  "Tom." Her voice was soft now. "Don't do this. Look past your excuses and your rationalizations. You're going to kill people. Innocent spacers who are just following orders, the same as you. They don't deserve to die. And you have no right to kill them." Her right fist unclenched and she reached out her hand, touching his chest. "Please. You're better than this."

  She said it so earnestly, so sincerely, that he made himself consider her words. Could she be right? Could adrenaline and testosterone be clouding his judgement? Would it actually be better to fly away?

  The idea tempted him. He could be back in Garnet in a few days. He'd be safe. His crew would be safe. Janine would be safe.

  And she would see him as wise, decent. She would look at him and see a hero instead of a murderer.

  But that wouldn't last. The realization left him feeling sick and hollow. The war was far from over, and his role in it was far from complete. Unless he got reassigned to a fuel barge he was going to do things Janine Greyeyes wouldn't approve of. There was simply no way for him to do his duty in wartime without earning her revulsion.

  He tried to imagine heading for Garnet and abandoning the Free Planets fleet to its fate. And he knew he couldn't do it.