16. A Different Attack
Time was their only true constraint. Within their bodies they possessed the skill. Within their brains, they possessed the intelligence. And within their memories, they possessed the knowledge. Some prerequisites, however, simply required time. Certain steps had to be followed, certain procedures needed to be executed. Resources needed to be discovered and then mined. Components manufactured. The overall designs were placed in their memories at the time of conception, but many facets required mapping. The creation of certain basic and even archaic contraptions was essential to pass to the more advanced stages.
But trial and error, the plodding steps of experimentation, this was not an impediment. The understanding of great technology was unlocked at their birth. There was no need to waste time in discovery. Advancing simply meant the creation of a manufacturing base and the ever constant progress through obvious stages of development. If possible, the Fenrites could have built a cloning lab on the first day of their existence, but progress had its own path.
Through it all, the Fenrites remained tireless in their pursuit. Their focus, their grasp of what must be done, never waned. They worked together, an entire society. They worked without a thought to individual wealth, without a desire for personal luxuries. There was no division, no argument over the distribution of resources. Common goals pressed them all into this incessant service.
During their meager existence, they had but two absolute objectives. One was to find their “Mother”. That instinct was born with them, and it overpowered any other natural desire. It snuffed out any controversy which might have created dissension or diversion. It removed every intrinsic barrier, either naturally inherent or manufactured by the human geneticists that created them. The Fenrites simply produced food to eat and basic shelters to live. Beyond that, they focused entirely upon building the means to recreate their own giver-of-life. It was a path that brought them through hundreds of other inventions. And it brought them to “Mother”.
It was also the key to reaching their second desire, to unravel the mystery of the sky. Just as there was an understanding of cloning technology, there remained within each Fenrite a clear picture of space, of the galaxy, and what it meant. The Fenrites did not have the time or the desire to develop their own folklore. They did not create myth and fantasy about the edges of their world or the reaches of darkness. They did not fool themselves with false conceptions about the importance of their tiny planet. There existed a deep memory centered on the stars, a trip through the blackness of space. It was a part of “Mother”, a part of their birth.
They had also witnessed mechanical birds, the only birds they had ever seen. First the scout, then the melees. They were birds that had flown not only through the sky, but through space as well. And these birds were predators.
The melees had brought death and destruction to Fenrir. Space was now not only a part of the Fenrites origin, but the source of an enemy with great power. In response, the Fenrites focused their energies on defending themselves, defending their home, and defending “Mother”.
They gave the enemy a name steeped in the knowledge implanted in their brains. The Storm Bringers. The enemy ships brought streaks of lightning and claps of thunder, and hot winds that melted their homes. And the storm was considered another threat to the crops, and thus a threat to the Fenrites themselves. And just as the agricultural knowledge infusion transferred the instinct to fight drought and pestilence to save their harvest, the Fenrites possessed the desire to end the threat of the storm.
The secrets of the enemy were only a partial mystery, and the Fenrites understood far more then some researchers might have ever guessed. They knew that the key to the Storm Bringers' power rested in the ships that carried them across the sky and beyond. To fight the storm, the Fenrites would need to reach the stars. With the tenacity used to create “Mother”, the Fenrites turned toward duplicating what they learned from the invading melees and the downed missiles
“ Mother” was now secure, her presence spread all over Fenrir. She was there, making more of them, replacing the losses reaped at the hands of the enemy. There was no longer a need to devote resources toward that end. The stars were now the destination and the Storm Bringers were now the target.
#
Rath spent several long dull days at the large complex on Semele. He spoke with no one. He was afforded three meals, but no other comforts were offered. Mercenary guards warned him to stay put, to stay out of their way.
No problem there. Rath wanted nothing to do with these miscreants. He wasn't here on some pleasure visit. He had delivered his message, released his burden on someone else. If anything, it was time for him to go.
He spent the long hours considering his next move. Hopefully, they would return his scout, minus the beacon of course. He would wave a happy farewell to this system and never look back; head for the most obscure trading post he could find. After that, he'd wait; wait for the news to spread of the Fenrite deception. As for the Regency response, he didn't care. He'd worry about that later. Right now, it was enough to know that others carried the secret, that he was not the only one that endangered Regency security. Just let the dust settle; wait for his own importance to fade.
It wasn't a bad plan. He still had funds in his account; at least he hoped he did. He looked at the wristband and portable Opal had returned to him. They didn't give him access to a link, so he couldn't check his account, but if they would return his scout, he could only hope they'd leave his money alone.
A good deal of this was wishful thinking. He knew that. These weren't the good fairies. These were marauders; pirates, looters and swindlers. They made money off of other people's misfortune. He simply had to hope for some honor among these particular thieves. He had brought them something of value, information that could save them. Rath didn't consider it too much to ask to be allowed to leave in his own ship and with his funds intact.
The graceful entrance of a fair-haired man with a mustache interrupted Rath's considerations. The newcomer moved like a curtain flowing with the wind, and his age was almost indeterminable. His body appeared young and quick, but his eyes held the caution of aged wisdom, or perhaps it wasn't age, but caution driven by living among those with few principles.
Rath had not yet met this man and he sighed at the thought of another guard entering with a warning and leaving with a threat to do bodily harm if orders were not followed. He barely looked up at first, but the voice of the stranger demanded attention.
"Mr. Scampion. I am Angelo. We must move quickly. Follow me." Rath wasn't given a chance to ask any questions. The man with the mustache turned his back on the scout with a bevy of trust or confidence.
Maybe both, but he was certainly in no mood to linger.
As they left the room, Rath noticed Opal waiting at a side corridor. Angelo walked straight toward her, but said nothing as he passed. Rath nodded, but Opal ignored him. She fell two steps behind and followed them to a small room.
Angelo opened the door, but turned to Rath before entering. He held a finger to his lips, making it very clear he didn't want Rath to speak.
Rath nodded as he followed the pirate inside.
The room felt almost alive. A charge of static electricity lingered about like a coarse smell that would not dissipate. Their steps fell on thick cushioned pads, adding a sense of moment to the very floor. Angelo walked under what appeared to be nothing more than a metal umbrella, basically an inverted satellite dish. He pressed several control switches and Rath heard the start of a conversation.
The recording began with Angelo's voice, questions about Rath's experiences on Fenrir and his knowledge of the Fenrites. The scout was very surprised to hear another recorded response. It was his voice. Before he could question, the pirate instructed him to stand under a second umbrella.
He did so, just as Opal took a position under a third, and only after all three were secure, Angelo offered an explanation.
"Simple precaution, Mr. Scampion. Regency has very good vision and even better hearing. In fact, they hear things at a great distance. This little device was made to divert their attention. They can't hear us now. Only these recordings I'm transmitting. Forgive the unauthorized use of your voice. Opal recorded your discussion on her portable. I simply edited your previous answers, re-spliced them to make it sound like an entirely new conversation."
"You think somebody's listening?" Rath looked upwards only to see his dim reflection in the polished white of the inverted dish over his head.
"Someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to keep track of you. It's highly probable. Now before you step out from underneath that dish, I want you to cover your head and shoulders with that gray blanket that's hanging next to you. It'll mask our presence once we walk out of here. As of now, the synthesizers have analyzed and recorded all the physical characteristics which can be captured by Authority surveillance equipment. The dishes are replicating and transmitting a shadow image of all three of us. We can leave the room and anyone using satellite recon will think we're still here.
Satellite recon? Rath almost shivered at that thought. That meant the Authority was already here. That didn't make any sense, but Rath was in no true position to argue. He had been bottled up in an empty room. He had no idea of what was going on outside. Again he looked up, and again he saw only the concave shell over his head. He wanted to ask if the Authority was truly there, and if so, how many ships. He wanted to know if they had come as they promised - in force and prepared to deal with Angelo harshly.
One look at the pirate, and he swallowed his questions. He lifted the blanket off a pole hook with a shrug. The material felt surprisingly heavy, though it remained soft and flexible. Rath threw it over his head like the cloak of a pauper. He parted the blanket in front of his face and watched with suspicious eyes as Angelo and Opal followed suit.
The pirate leader issued one last warning. "Remain silent until I let you know otherwise, and keep that blanket over your head. We can remove the blankets after we reach a lower level. By that time, we'll be far enough away so that anyone keeping tabs on us will fail to make the connection."
#
The Fenrite built vessels were exact duplicates to the melees from the Planning Station in every way. The only exception involved their form of the Boscon Prop. It lacked the power to go hyperlight. Fenrite ships relied more on ancillary engines and gravitational thrusters. This is what powered the melees during their excursion in Fenrite airspace, and this is what Fenrites monitored and recorded during the attack. As for Boscon props, they had seen them used for accelerated takeoff and landing, but they had yet to witness the utilization of full push. They had no idea that such propulsion was even possible. In truth, a few modifications would have allowed for hyperlight speed, but the Fenrites lacked the awareness of such potential and thus, remained ignorant of the possibility.
For their immediate needs, however, hyperlight was inconsequential. Their space faring vessels would take them out of the atmosphere and into orbit, even to farther reaches of this particular star system. They did not believe they had to travel far, only to a point where they could strike out against the enemy.
They still could not see the Storm Bringers directly, but they could sense them. They still acted very much on instinct. They believed the threat still existed. They felt the existence of the enemy. The Storm Bringers were there and the Fenrites would wait no longer.
They prepared every ship, and the meager force represented the embodiment of their full concentration, effort and resources. In very real terms, this fleet of small ships signified the very existence of the Fenrite society. Each had labored tirelessly to build these vessels. And now, they stood ready to risk it all on one brazen assault.
The Fenrite pilots lacked experience. They had not yet logged the time in actual space flight, and there were no simulators available for training. They flew on instinct, letting the technology of the craft handle nearly every response. Still, some fatal mistakes were made on launch and two Fenrite attack ships burned up before escaping Fenrir's atmosphere. Every other ship escaped undamaged, took flight in space and headed for the backside of the moon.
#
Planning Station surveillance picked up the launch immediately. Authority personnel called out warnings to subcommanders.
"Eight launch sites detected. Airborne objects on radar. Independent guidance systems or steering controls on all bogies. Incoming on our starboard underside."
The Station General picked up the reports on his comlink. The news was more than undesirable, it was unexpected. The station received reports from Espial agents that the Fenrites were constructing ships, but no launch was considered imminent. He turned to an aide monitoring ship defenses.
"Status on our curtain?" he demanded.
"Up and functional."
"But they're still coming after us. Launch all melees. Battle stations."
The metal floor rang out with the echoes of the general's footsteps. He eyed a subcommander with impatience.
"Give me a readout on those bogies."
The response was almost unthinkable. "They appear to be quite similar to our own melees. In fact, I believe if we had our own ships in flight, we'd be unable to identify friendlies without beacons."
To his credit, the general didn't waste time questioning the information. Instead, he turned a quick order to a flight control relay station. "Belay that launch order. Don't let one melee launch without a beacon. I don't want any confusion out there as to who's who."
The subcommander gave more surprising information. "All bogies are manned and armed. We have not picked up any Boscon signatures. No enemy craft has gone hyperlight. They're coming in direct, but without apparent formation or attack plan."
Attack formation or not, the Station General simply did not expect this; several squadrons of Fenrite space craft armed and apparently willing to attack.
"What do they have in weaponry?"
"No direct confirmation, but readouts remain consistent with intelligence obtained from the Espial agents on the ground. They appear armed with mimics of our own Spearhead missiles."
"Nuclear warheads?"
"That we can confirm."
"Shit." The general whisked about and made a near dash to his command chair. "The enemy is coming in weapons hot. I repeat, the enemy is coming in weapons hot. Initiate all defense measures. Navigation, get us moving. Plot a course to the nearest base. Get us in push ASAP. Spartan base is the closest, right?"
"Yes, sir," an aide confirmed.
"Relay a message to all airborne melees that they are to divert back to Base Spartan after we're in push. Get a messenger shuttle out now. Send it to the nearest fleet. Command's got orders to hit Semele, so send it there. Read, 'Base at Fenrir under attack. Fenrites have melee response. Need assistance.' And drop the damn curtain. They know we're here. No need to waste the energy. Divert power to countermeasures and engines. How many melees do we have off dock?"
"Only two sir."
"Damn. Navigation, estimated time to hyperlight?"
"Four minutes, eighteen seconds."
The general gritted his teeth. "Too long. Emergency procedures only. To hell with locking down. You've got two minutes, then, ready or not, initiate push. Bring up full monitor display. I want camera angles on those bogies."
Like the separate sides of a die, six terminals relayed a wide angle monitoring of all around the base station. The Fenrite attack ships were imaged on three of the six terminals.
They approached with haphazard disregard for their own survival, like kamikazes, or angry wasps stirred from a nest. Each ship remained on course, displaying little in the way of evasive maneuvers. The Fenrite pilots simply aimed their vessels at the station and waited for their weapon systems to lock automatically.
Had the Planning Station been prepared, Authority melees would have easily crushed the Fenrite assault. The flying skills of the human pilots would have meant the end of Fenrite ships that could not respond to dog fighting maneuvers, but such interceptors were simply not in position, most not off dock at all.
By the time the attacking ships passed beyond Fenrir's moon, only a half dozen melees from the base were in flight. With precision flying, the human pilots engaged and thwarted the attack of several Fenrites, but they were outnumbered and the incoming bogies were spread too thin for a handful of melees to be of any true consequence.
Station Control monitored yet more launches, not from the ground, but from the enemy vessels.
"Missile launch. Missile launch. Enemy bogies have fired."
The general rubbed his head as he peered into the display screens. "Fire all counter measures. Not one missile gets through, not one."
The panel lit up, first with blips identifying incoming missiles, and then, with defensive responses. Anti-missiles, much more advanced then what the Fenrites had used to save their own world, streaked toward the incoming nukes at near hyperlight speed. In some cases, the explosion destroyed not only the incoming missile, but the craft which fired it as well.
Defense panels lit red with an abundance of vectors, course precepts, and intercept links. The number of Fenrite vessels dwindled, as did the number of remaining missiles in flight.
"Radar, any new launches detected from the surface?" the general demanded.
"Negative."
"Any bogies en route that have not engaged?"
The answer was the same.
The news brought confidence to the commander. "Navigation, kill emergency Boscon push. I think we may be alright, but continue to prepare lock down, just in case. Flight Control, how many enemy ships remain in flight?"
"Four, sir"
"Signal our melees to take them out."
One of the last four Fenrite ships fired its missile just as the other assault craft exhausted their own weaponry. The arming device on the Fenrite version of the spearhead was designed to prevent accidental detonation on launch. The safety measure failed and the ship itself exploded in a wave of nuclear fire.
The blast occurred far enough from the station for the base to avoid damage, but the magnetic pulse bathed all ships and weapons in the region.
The flash on the screen held the general's attention for only a split second. "That was nuclear detonation. What the hell happened?"
The din of communications turned into a massive blare. Operative shouted out downed sensors and image echoing. Control displays flashed with confused precepts. A single aide shouted clear enough for the general to hear.
"A Fenrite warhead detonated on launch. Some kind of misfire. Our countermeasures never reached it. I've lost contact with it. It may have lost its lock and is searching for a new target. Recommend abort and selfdestruct."
That single countermeasure was not the only defense system to lose its lock. The wave from the nuclear detonation jammed other countermeasures. Anti-missiles previously locked on incoming Fenrite Spearheads with nuclear payloads lost their targets. The defenses misfired and three enemy warheads impacted on the hull of the Planning Station. The devastation was near complete.
#
Semele's satellite space control picked up the incoming Authority vessels just as the fleet-sized accompaniment dropped out of Boscon push.
Pirate cruisers scrambled to intercept. They hit the advance scouts hard and fast. Before Authority combat ships could respond with
countermeasures, two dozen Pinwheel torpedoes shredded the hulls of four small escorts.
Semele's defense perimeter of orbital catapults fired Boscon sensitive charges in compact clusters. The large metal canisters locked on the fading Boscon signatures, propelled themselves to a point within the Authority formation, and detonated en masse. A large cloud of chemically corrosive gasses rotated in the very midst of the arriving fleet, forcing the Authority vessels to break formation or face hull decay.
Each of these defenses was anticipated by Authority Command, and Fleet General Hollins issued his first combat order.
"Mist that cloud with detergents. Neutralize it before any of our own ships fly into it by mistake."
While watching clipper ships shoot absorbent crystals through pressure cannons, Hollins issued orders to the carriers in the group.
"Keep all fighter class ships on alert, but don't launch." He demanded immediate status reports from his com links. "What's the damage report on their initial attack? Any manned ships struck by their torpedoes?"
"No, sir. The four ships struck were all decoys. Three of the remotes no longer functioning. The fourth is still responding."
"Send the functional ship around the far side of Semele. I want them worrying about their flanks and focusing on remotes, not us. Self destruct the other three before they can get any readings. I don't want them to know that they're targeting decoys. And initiate attack pattern Pharaoh."
The main display lit up with three bright flashes indicating the fulfillment of the general's orders regarding the decoys. Sector status charts affirmed fleet movement toward the proper formation.
The commander stole a glance at the time table displayed on a planning console. "Five seconds to Sibling. Give me immediate confirmation."
Over three dozen Boscon signatures appeared on the surveillance displays just as a radar tech announced confirmation. "Sister fleet has arrived."
Semele was now sandwiched by two attack groups. Pirate cruisers broke off all forward attacks. They had managed to destroy the fourth unmanned decoy, but only now realized the scope of their dilemma. Raider captains pulled their cruisers back, deferred all engagement against the Authority fleets. They tried to coordinate a flank run, but all ship-to-ship messages drowned in a sea of communications.
The Command Station of the flag ship hummed with message transmissions. Coordinated attack plans, both real and deception, flowed through uuencoded channels.
"Let 'em chew on that for a while," Hollins growled, but a satisfied nod graced those around him.
# The SH-4 spy vessel slowly altered its course just before the sister fleet arrived near Semele.
"The Authority is coming in," Taranson advised as he flipped flight control back to manual. "I'm transmitting a coded identifier. Authority vessels will know we're here, but no one else. I don't want anyone flying into us by mistake. I'm also easing back so we don't get caught in a cross fire."
A scowl crossed Jack Lasonelli’s face. "You just make sure you maintain a lock on our three targets down there. I don't want anyone of them to leave that complex alive."
"Don't worry. I've got a lock on all three. They're all there."
Jack peered through the viewshield at the arriving Authority fleet. "Have your ops monitor the battle, but the main priority of this vessel is to maintain surveillance on our three marks."
"Confirmed. Auxiliary sensors tracking pirate and Authority vessel movement. Reports will be sent to your terminal."
Display maps offered a three dimensional tactical of the battle. Right after breaking ranks to avoid the corrosive defense cloud, Authority ships regrouped to a pyramid formation. A large space carrier sat at the top.
Taranson offered his own findings. "A second attack group has just dropped out of Boscon. Authority vessels are transmitting uuencoded attack formations on all channels. They're flooding the wavelengths."
"You still got a hold on Scampion and his friends?"
"Affirmative. Still in a secured room, no other marks. They're still discussing the merits of Scampion's findings."
"They aren't trying to evak?"
"Not yet. They might not know what's going on outside. No one has come into warn them and no one's receiving any transmissions."
Jack shook his head. "Careless for such an infamous pirate" He scanned the viewshields once more. Marauder cruisers continued to follow rogue Authority crafts, but the larger ships engaged with a great hesitancy. They fired weapons from long range and avoided entanglement with the bulk of the Authority strike group. Smaller pirate controlled ships darted about like buzzing flies, moving too quickly to be of any true threat, but also avoiding Authority tracking guns.
Jack monitored the battle reports with a growing appreciation for what was to come. Both the display terminals and the transmitting channels were filled with confusion, but one overriding fact stood clear. The Authority fleets were converging on Semele and the current formation revealed an impending surface attack. With the number of ships involved, Semele's fate was assured.
"This is how they should've handled the Fenrites," the coordinator mumbled to himself.
The words caught the pilot's ear but Taranson said nothing. He maintained his charge of keeping a fix on Rath Scampion, Angelo, and Opal Stelbound.
The Authority vessels continued to press forward. The two fleets merged in Semele's shadow. The pyramid expanded at the base, and picket ships launched defense measures to thwart any counter offensive. Within the spherical outline of the planet's shadow, the frigates and cruisers shimmered like beacons of doom, but it was the larger vessels near the top of the formation which would carry death to the planet. The space carrier at the pinnacle of the pyramid launched all craft, and a blanket of melees, blitzers, fighter escorts, and bombers took flight toward Semele's atmosphere.
Jack saw the finality in what was to come next. "Tell me if anyone leaves that conference room, or if any guards enter. It looks like this is coming to a conclusion and I don't want any loose ends. I want confirmation that each one of those targets is dead. The Authority is going to want confirmation of Angelo's death, but it's Scampion I want."
#
Near pure silence. Only the whir of a few ventilation fans broke the emptiness of sound. Angelo stared almost absentmindedly at the command terminal which revealed the coming disaster.
Rath wanted to shout. This was sheer stupidity. Maybe they had fooled any long range surveillance ops with their little trick of body covers and false recordings, but they were still in the same complex, and the Authority was coming. The Authority was here! Rath counted enough attack ships to blanket charge the entire continent. In his mind there was no question, it was time to leave.
The pirate apparently did not agree. He made no motion to evacuate, only tapped a few controls on a security pad. He monitored a weapons launch with near amusement.
On Semele's surface, accelerator cannons propelled magnetic charges in wide spread patterns. The explosions in the upper atmosphere created a flux in wave reception. Any sensors focused on Semele broke apart in the distortion.
Angelo's fingers danced once more. There was no obvious result to his actions, but he decided to reveal his intentions.
"I've created a wave pulse over this installation, over a good deal of the countryside, in fact. This will ultimately cause the disruption of all monitoring devices fixed on this complex. I cancelled the fake transmissions and shadow imaging in the conference room. No need to continue that charade. I'm ordering the evacuation of the planet. We, however, are not going to leave."
#
"Damn!" Taranson muttered.
"What?" Jack demanded with an unhappy tone.
"I lost contact. They fired some kind of charge into the air, probably to
break up ship to ship communications so the surface attackers can't coordinate. I'm picking up launch detections as well. Several small ships. They're buggin' out."
"What about Scampion?"
"I'm trying to reestablish a link, but there's too much interference." "Break through it, damn it."
"Refocusing now. Increasing power. No, I can't get anything. Nothing
there. I'm on their last known position, but I'm not getting any readings. Not even breathing. They must have left the room."
"Those launches. Where did they take place, from the complex?"
"Some."
"Could Scampion be on one?"
"Not possible," Taranson responded with certainty. "He wouldn't have had enough time. He was in a security area less than a minute ago. No launches took place close enough for him to be on one, but I don't think it matters anyway. Take a look. Several smaller ships from the complex are going into full push, but it looks like Authority hunters are locking onto Boscon paths and firing tracking torps. No one's going to get away."
"Track every ship that launched from the complex," Jack demanded. "To hell with the cruisers and escorts that were in flight when Scampion was still on the ground. I want to make sure that every ship leaving the complex is destroyed. Transmit to the fleet command that Angelo and Scampion may be trying to escape. That'll make 'em follow up."
"Message sent. Authority is responding with orders to the hunters. All tracking torpedoes are being fired with confirming beacons. Every ship evacuating will be accounted for."
The attack display offered a grim truth for the pirates. Marauder frigates and cruisers still able to reach hyperlight ignored any pleas from crippled sister ships and took to full escape power. Hunter ships with tracking torpedoes fired in their wake. The egg-shaped, Boscon-propelled weaponry ate the signature of the fleeing ships until they impacted in the core of the engine. A loss of power at that speed, combined with the detonation of the torpedo, meant total obliteration.
Authority light cruisers took on the task of eliminating escape shuttles and escorts before they could reach hyperlight. Particle beams tore holes in the hulls, forcing a full integrity collapse. The crushed shells of metal either took to a satellite orbit, or were caught in Semele's atmosphere and burned up on reentry. Artillery Rovers handled the crippled pirate vessels unable to reach hyperlight but remained too well armored for particle beams. Hundred ton Slagmans turned any armor into scrap and left blasted, cavity-filled hulks in their wake.
Jack watched with near detachment. He cared little for the pirates. They were a nuisance, nothing else. The true threat remained on Semele, at least he believed so, and for that, he demanded assurances.
"Start scanning the area around Scampion's last known position. I want him found. Now! Use everything you have. He may be dead so don't rely on motion. I want a confirmed picture of his body and you don't have much time. Those blitzers are going to make short work of that complex and I want to reestablish contact before there's nothing left to scan."
#
Rath slunk over to a corner and watched with exasperation, but he didn't need the command terminals to know the complex he was in was targeted for complete destruction. They were deep in the ground, some kind of bunker, but the walls still shook from the force of blitzer strikes. Authority attack ships were simply whittling at the structure, blasting away layer after layer. It was slow agony. He guessed the Authority wanted it that way, punish the rebels and show off their might at the same time.
He looked up to the ceiling, wondering what it would feel like when it would ultimately collapse, what it would feel like to be crushed to death.
He forced the unpleasant image out of his mind. No sense in dying that kind of death more than once, even if it was just in his imagination. He simply prayed for it to be quick.
The courier broke out of Boscon Push during uuencoded message transmissions. The pilot had left Fenrir before the base station was destroyed. She was ordered to send an emergency message, and she delivered it now.
She sent only one communication, unaware that the Authority fleet was engaged in wave flooding. It was received in three separate locations.
#
General Hollins made a decision based more on personal preference than on a strategic consideration. He could have quickly completed the destruction of Semele, but he remembered his last encounter with the Fenrites, when he was the Station General and the attack on Fenrir failed to exterminate the species. He examined the communication for only a second.
"Break off the attack. Recall all ships. Transmit new orders on a secured channel. Redeployment necessary. Coordinate Boscon Push initiation with this vessel. Destination Fenrir."
No one dared to question his orders, not the other ship captains, and not the pilots that were forced to break off and return to their carriers. The full fleet regrouped away from Semele and left the planet behind, many of the surface complexes still somewhat intact.
Angelo never took his eyes off the command displays, but he could sense Rath's discomfort. There were others about, guards and mercs, who also displayed a sense of urgency.
The shaking had ceased, as did the muffled sound of explosions. Quiet again seeped into the last existing levels of the main complex, but it offered no true respite. It served more to amplify dread than offer relief, like the eye of the hurricane.
The pirate decided to alleviate all of their concerns with one sweeping statement.
"The Authority is breaking off their attack. They've sent a secured message to all vessels. I don't know what it is, but I know they're leaving. I also know why. It seems the Fenrites have attacked a Planning Station and a courier ship was sent to obtain assistance."
"The Fenrites?" Rath professed in near amazement.
Angelo continued to monitor his screens. He did not turn to look at the scout, but he addressed him with a tone of dissatisfaction. "Does that surprise you, Mr. Scampion? You were attacked by the Fenrites, were you not?"
"Yeah, but I was on a transport. To attack a Planning Station, that's ...."
"A surprise? I assume it must be. The Authority was obviously not prepared for such an event. Otherwise they would not have been in this position. I suppose timing is important in most things. If events remain confused, I suppose it's time I sent a message of my own."
Jack shook his head with disgust, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't transmit to the fleet, he knew who was in command, remembered the last time he spoke with General Hollins. The fleet commander would probably laugh out loud if he tried to order him to stay.
"Keep scanning the complex. See if you can match any of the patterns with the three targets. I'll take anybody at this point. Maybe one will lead us to another."
"The ops are having a hard time getting through the static. The blitzers must have destroyed over half the complex. The bomb residue from the targeting mechanisms is playing havoc with our sensors. I'm picking up trails of survivors, but nothing I can pinpoint."
"Keep trying. What about Scampion's scout, anything on that? The beacon's been removed so I can't locate it. What about you?"
Taranson grunted. "I can put an op on it, but there's so much debris, I can't make any promises."
A view of turmoil greeted the coordinator as he peered through the front viewshield. The battle had ended with the fleet's departure. Wreckage filled every line of sight. Far off to the portside, remnants of destroyed marauder freighters drifted casually toward the sun. A few crippled vessels labored to establish a safe anchor for emergency repairs. A handful of space tugs appeared to assist the truly crippled, but not near enough to do the job. Jack could only wonder how many hands would be lost in the next few minutes as power supplies failed and life support systems dwindled on these disabled vessels.
"What a mess."
He felt no sense of loss, only an impression of unfinished business. Scampion wasn't dead and neither was Angelo. He had no real evidence for that assumption, only another feeling, and a presumption that was quickly confirmed in unanticipated fashion.
"Sir, I've got lock on some marks deep within the complex."
"Can you identify?"
"Absolutely. It's Angelo. I've also got a confirmed reading on his wife and Scampion. There are a few guards as well."
"How were you able to locate them?"
Taranson grimaced and spoke reluctantly. "I'm just trailing his own signal down to his position. He's transmitting a message to us. He knows we're here. He wants one of us to come down to meet him."
Jack closed his eyes, but he still saw red.