Remnants of Trust. Elizabeth Bonesteel
autopilots in drones that size were almost always less imaginative than human operators.
“Especially with most of those Syndicate bastards too cowardly to risk their own skins hitting a Corps starship.” His jaw worked, and he looked away from her for a moment. “Shit, Lanie.”
“Later, Ted.” She put her hand on his arm, just for a moment. “Let’s get them out of this first.”
Easy enough to say.
She turned to the weapons console, taking in the bank of green indicators. She could see, in her mind, over and over, the replay of Exeter’s destruction. There might be survivors—if the ship’s environmentals had survived to seal in the atmosphere—but there would be many, many dead. And she would know their names.
Not now.
She heard the engine’s harmonic change as the field generator began to spin down, and then Greg’s voice over ship-wide comms: “All hands, enemy engaged.”
They dropped into normal space.
She had expected to see Exeter, to be facing its destroyed underbelly, burned and twisted metal over the exposed bones of the ship’s structure. Instead, she saw a massive, unfamiliar flat bulkhead scattered with lines of windows, and a swarm of those Syndicate drones firing into the dark hull. She glanced over at the generated tactical view to find they had emerged on top of another ship, larger and bulkier than Galileo, its graceful, hybrid lines identifying it as the PSI ship Orunmila. She beamed a silent thank you to its captain. If Orunmila had not been so close, she was not sure they would have found anything left of Exeter at all.
“Launch shuttles,” Greg was saying. “Emily, draw those snipers off the PSI ship. Galileo, head to Exeter’s other side.”
Galileo moved upward until she cleared Orunmila, then sped opposite the PSI ship to Exeter. Elena watched Galileo’s troop shuttles appear on the tactical readout. Exeter was still fighting, albeit with only one weapons bank—automatic defenses, or did they have crew left to man her remaining guns?—but the bulk of the raiders were focused on Orunmila. Elena frowned. “Why aren’t they protecting the boarding ship?” she asked.
And then she saw it.
Their flyby allowed her an unobstructed view of the raider that had attached itself, leech-like, to Exeter’s charred hull, and she swore when she saw where it was clamped. “They’re over Exeter’s generator battery,” she said grimly, her comm open so Greg would hear as well. Galileo couldn’t shoot at the raider, because taking out that ship would take out the generator, triggering an explosion that would then take out Exeter, Galileo, and Orunmila—not to mention irradiate the travel corridor for weeks.
“I see it, Chief,” Greg said. “Anything from Exeter at all?”
“Their comms are all dead.” But they were still firing that single gun, and making more shots than they missed. She didn’t think their traumatized automated system would be making such accurate shots. Surely there were still people inside, alive, fighting. People who could handle invaders on foot.
Then again, maybe it was only wishful thinking.
Elena saw half a dozen drones peel off Orunmila to follow Emily’s shuttles as they docked on Exeter’s intact side. Ted tracked and shot two of them, and Orunmila three; the shuttles handled the last one, maneuvering themselves against Exeter’s dark hull. “Stay on them, Ted,” Elena said, but Ted was ahead of her, taking out every drone that angled for an attack. One of the raiders caught the wing of one of the shuttles as it docked; she winced, but the shuttle fired in return, and the drone disintegrated in a silent flare.
Who’s hurt? Who’s hurt? Who’s hurt? But there was no time for that now. “Galileo, what’s the status of the limpet?”
“Engines are on standby,” Galileo said. “Internal atmosphere and gravity normal. Field generator running two-thirds above recommended levels.”
She switched her comm to the captain. “Greg, bring us around by that attached ship.”
“We can’t fire on her,” Ted warned.
“Not until she detaches,” Elena agreed. “But when she does, she’s going to rabbit. She’s half spun up already.”
His eyes widened. “A ship that small? She’ll pull herself to pieces.”
“And save us the trouble,” she said grimly. “She’ll need to pull away from Exeter to build the field without the whole thing going up.”
“Not a suicide mission, then.”
“When have raiders had the nerve for suicide?”
He threw her a nervous grin, and hovered over the tactical readout. “Galileo, target that ship. As soon as she’s minimum safe distance from Exeter, take her out.”
“Minimum safe distance is undetermined,” Galileo said calmly. “Calculation depends on unknowns.”
Galileo meant cargo, and possibly fuel levels, not to mention potential booby traps. “Manual targeting, then,” Elena instructed, meeting Ted’s eyes. “Watch that ship. Watch how it flies. If we assume they want to survive, they won’t take a risk. There’ll be a tell.”
She hoped she was right.
“The limpet is powering up,” Galileo said helpfully.
“Ted,” Elena began, “keep your—”
Before she could finish, all of the remaining drones turned in unison toward Galileo, and, like a flock of southbound birds, began flying with determined speed directly toward the ship’s midsection.
She swore and fired, Ted next to her doing the same thing, but there were too many of them. Galileo’s weapons caught drones, over and over: twelve, eleven, ten … but they were firing too slowly, and her mind’s eye saw Exeter: one second whole and intact, the next second flaming scrap. All those people dead, and here she was now with her own people, just the same …
… and the great, alien shape of Orunmila rose between Galileo and the oncoming raiders, so fast that fully five of them immolated themselves against her hull. Elena trusted the PSI ship’s pilot to do her job, and kept firing, her eyes flicking among the remaining raiders, watching them flame into nothing one by one.
“The limpet has detached,” Galileo said.
Four raiders.
Three …
Two …
One.
“Status of that ship!” she shouted.
“FTL field is powering up. Entrance in three seconds.”
It was too close. The risk of discharge against Exeter’s remaining power sources was huge. So much for no risk, she thought, furious with her mistake. They would not be in a position to take a solid shot anyway; if they caught the ship as the field was enfolding it, they might all get pulled to pieces.
Galileo spoke again. “Orunmila is targeting the raider.”
Blindly, Elena opened a channel to the PSI ship. “Orunmila, you can’t fire on that ship! Exeter’s generator battery is on that side, and the field—”
But it was too late.
Elena watched, helpless, her eyes leaving the tactical readout to look out the window. She saw the small bright projectile speed toward the escaping raider as the raider began to glow that familiar blue-white, the sharp edge of the developing field becoming defined around it. Maybe it would escape, and Orunmila’s shot would go wide, dispersing itself harmlessly into the vacuum.