Defender

51

Two days later, Kris was on the pier, impatiently waiting for the Intrepid to lock down and unseal her quarterdeck. As soon as she did, Kris was aboard and headed for the bridge. Someone from the quarterdeck must have been on their toes this time. The captain called “Atten-hut” even before Kris entered the bridge. For the first time in her life, Kris let them stay at attention.

“I thought I ordered you not to get in a fight.”

“We didn’t, Admiral. The lasers never fired.” The captain was trying to avoid smiling, but it was clear she was proud of herself and her crew.

Kris knew exactly how it felt. She’d done that often enough when she was a junior officer and hung a senior officer on his own petard. Kris didn’t like being that senior.

“You came very close to having to unload a few rounds. I’ve seen the reports. Their fast squadron was closing in on you.”

“We left an hour before they got there, Admiral. You told me to be guided by calculated risk. We detached the first probe at the farthest jump, and it came up dead. I launched the next two and sent them through while we retrieved the first probe and fixed it. Then one of the probes returned and gave us a picture of what was happening on the other side. Yes, there were three ships headed for us at 3.5 gees, but they were hours away. So we hung there, switching probes through the jump point and getting a better and better picture of what was on the other side.”

“Yes,” Kris said. “You got very good intel. You deserve a very well done.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” Now the proud smile did slip out. “We left an hour before they were in range of the probe. They did enter the system, but when they saw us an hour ahead of them, they went back, after blowing up our probes. Ma’am, I was an hour ahead of them, and if I’d had to, I could have gone to four gees.”

“And showed them what we have,” Kris pointed out.

“Yes, ma’am, but if they had gotten there any sooner, they would have showed me what they had. Our cursory review of the intel says the big monsters are stuck at two gees and the mother ship is holding at around .75 gees. The new fast ones can’t beat 3.5. From the look of smaller ships spread out behind the three that reached our jump, I’d say they built a lot of fast ships, but most of them can’t hold 3.5 gees.”

Kris’s analysis of the report agreed with hers. “Thank you, Captain. I’m glad to see you back. Now, the yard is waiting to reinforce your armor. Next time out, I’m sure you’ll need it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” sounded way too eager for the coming fight.

Two days later, Kris was at the Mitsubishi yard to christen ships: the Temptress and the Kikukei, which someone said meant Lucky Chrysanthemum. If so, Admiral Benson’s Temptress had started something of a competition for the most outrageous name. The next two ships spinning at Mitsubishi were the Proud Unicorn and the Lucky Leprechaun. The two forming at the Canopus yard would be the Fairy Princess, with hints Kris should use it for her flag, and the Mischievous Pixie.

While Kris had her reservations about approving the names, they seemed to be working. Crews were lined up for all six ships, and they might go to space with more than they needed.

Kris said a few encouraging words, then stood by as two lovely young women from each of the yards broke a bottle of water over each ship’s bows.

“Lovely girl, isn’t she?” Admiral Benson said as the girl emptied the water on the Temptress.

“Very lovely,” Kris agreed, hoping her new policy hadn’t started April to December hookups.

“My granddaughter,” the retired admiral said.

“Your wife let her come?” Kris said, raising an eyebrow to back up the question.

“My granddaughter signed up on her own. I spotted her name on the crew list and ordered her ashore. She hid out until we sailed. That little pixie has a heart of oak and a whim of iron.”

“Will she be fighting with you on the Temptress?”

“I’ve tried to persuade her she should join the Marines dirtside. How much luck do you think I’ve had?”

The young woman caught sight of her grandfather. She gave him a sassy wave.

“About as much luck as my great-grandfather had keeping me safe,” Kris said.

“Oh, the younger generation. Thank God they aren’t as bad as my generation was.”

And with that Kris returned to work.

The aliens were in the last system out. Their speedy scouts had blown away the probes at the last jump, but not before the probes had gotten solid intel. Kris knew exactly what she faced.

One mother ship, of the gigantic variety. Of the four- or five-hundred-tonners, there were 257 in two flavors. Most shared the same power plants as the three raiders Kris had fought around the dead mother ship and the Hornet’s refuge. Forty-five had different reactors, of the kind Kris had fought with the first alien horde. Apparently, the survivors had transferred their allegiance to this swarm.

And swarm they were. Kris had poured over the reports, studying the way the smaller monsters huddled around the slow-moving mother ship or came to roost on it. Of squadrons or divisions, she could spot nothing. The ships seemed to ebb and flow around the central ship like a hive of bees.

Would they fight that way?

Kris arranged for one last probe to be deployed at the jump point. This tiny spy alternately deployed two different periscopes through the jump, getting a visual and a sensor fix on the advancing death. Together, they told Kris she had a good seventy-two hours before the mother ship would be ready to come through the jump.

The twenty-four smaller but high-speed ships that lurked around the jump failed to detect the periscopes. Kris hoped they stayed as blind while she readied her deployment for battle.

Kris had finally come up with an idea for how to get a Hellburner on that third, watery moon. Kris’s research in the twentieth century had given her the hint. They’d quickly spun out a submarine from the last of the Smart MetalTM and shipped it off. They drilled a hole through the kilometer-thick ice to launch it. The aliens could scorch a lot of ice and not get close to the sub deep in the ocean below. They would have to retrieve the sub as soon as the battle was over; it had only a week’s worth of oxygen.

If the fleet died in battle, the sub crew would die a long, slow, and cold death.

All through the system, operations were closing down. The last loads of ore and their miners had ridden in on the carriers that were now being converted to fighting ships. The moon fabricators were processing their final stock and shipping most personnel to Alwa, where they’d at least have air to breathe and a fighting chance. A handful of volunteers would keep the reactors going. In the event of the fleet’s defeat, they’d make sure the reactors lost containment. The aliens would find little to examine in their victory.

When the fleet sortied, Canopus Station would not be totally abandoned. The fleet’s auxiliaries, the repair and replenishment ships, were still tied up to their piers. Their reactors produced enough plasma to blow them to gas. The last of the 18-inch lasers were being mounted on the station. Several teams of trained Ostriches had refused to withdraw and were demanding the chance to fight. Other than the Alwans and a volunteer reactor watch, the last humans would depart for Alwa in a matter of hours to hide away. There to await the victory or a long, bitter war of wits against overwhelming force.

If Kris’s fleet couldn’t keep the aliens out of Alwa’s orbit, the station and the attached auxiliaries would also blow themselves to atoms. There was one last shuttle still attached. The crew on final reactor watch could use it to try for Alwa.

They might make it if they were lucky.

Very lucky.

Kris’s next reinforcements weren’t due for at least a month, probably two. Those would be cruel days on Alwa if Kris’s fleet couldn’t stop the aliens.

Kris went down her to-do list and found very little left. Nelly interrupted. “Kris, there’s a call from Jack.”

“Hi, love. Have you found a nice south sea island to sit out the war on?” she asked.

“Any south sea island here would be surrounded by ‘eats everythings’ and no fun to be on. How are you doing, Kris?”

“I’m about done. We’re closing up shop and sending you everyone but the reactor operators and a few die-hard laser gunners.”

“I know. We’re putting folks to work digging shelters in the deep woods or anyplace else we think they won’t flatten. There are a lot of colonials and elders who don’t want to abandon their homes. Despite my best effort, the bombardment may get a few people.”

“You can only advise folk. This is a democracy, I think.”

Jack paused to think long and hard before he asked, “Do you want me back?”

“Of course I do, but you’ve got your job, and I’ve got mine. Isn’t that the way it goes?”

“How are you making do? Your entire team is scattered to the winds.”

“Lord, do I miss a good argument with you or Penny or lots of folks,” Kris said, seeing ghosts around herself.

“When this is over, we’ve got to take a hard look at setting you up a staff,” Jack said.

“When this is done,” Kris repeated. Emphasizing the “when.” No “if.”

“Have you come up with a battle plan?”

“I’ve got an idea that should take advantage of all we’ve got,” she said.

“I know it’s a good one, honey, trust your gut. It’s taken good care of you so far.”

“Thanks, love. You take care. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“I’m looking forward to that. I’ve reserved our cabin on the beach for us once this is over.”

“I’ll take you up on that promise. As I see it, I deserve a monthlong honeymoon, and only one day’s been used up.”

Jack chuckled. “I like a girl who keeps count.”

Maybe Jack ended the call with a kiss. Kris knew she did.

She looked around the station. The silence echoed. Somewhere, Ostriches shouted in their own language as they rigged the last laser. They’d be sitting ducks if the fleet lost, but at least they would not be shot in the rear with their head in the sand. Kris found she was beginning to like those crazy folks. Maybe she should have one on her staff.

She boarded the Wasp. This time out, it would be the last to leave the station. The battle squadrons were already launched and forming up. It was time to go.

Kris crossed the brow and turned to salute the flag painted on the aft bulkhead, then saluted the OOD. “Permission to come aboard,” she said.

“Permission granted.”

Somewhere, the 1MC announced, “Alwa Defense Commander arriving.”

Immediately, the order came down. “Seal hatches. Single up the lines. Prepare to stand out.”

Kris headed for her command center. The final battle. No. This battle had just begun.