Starhold (25 page)

26: Daze

Union cruiser Tempest

Somewhere near Earth’s moon

“The Daze.” It was a term spacers used for the disorientation, headaches, nausea, and other maladies that hindered human space travelers after translating from hyperspace back into realspace. Almost everyone had some problem in the moments following transition: blurred vision, vertigo, or just a cold chill up his or her spine. The exception to the rule was Sephora Nyondo, chief pilot of the
Tempest.
She was an anomaly, so much so that doctors had studied her to learn the secret of her smooth translations. Nyondo always left hyperspace as good as she went in, which undeniably had just saved the lives of everyone on board.

Chaz Pettigrew shook his head, and then shook it harder. He usually recovered quickly when sliding back into realspace, but this time was strange. His body felt odd, it felt heavy, as if something was pushing against it. There was some sort of noise too, a buzzing. The captain slowly realized it was the sound of a collision alert klaxon, and that his body was feeling the force of gees as it strained against the vessel’s sudden movements.

Pettigrew looked around and saw the bridge crew still strapped into their seats, pulling against the ship just as he was. After a while, the press against his body lessened and
Tempest
slowly seemed to be leveling off. “Report!” he said in a hoarse voice.

“We just missed hitting something as we made the translation,” Knox answered, clutching his console and fighting off some dizziness.

“It was a ship, or a big part of one,” said Lieutenant Nyondo. “Our computers weren’t going to correct fast enough, so I went manual, sir.”

At her station, Commander Adams nodded. “She’s right, Captain. Without manual helm, we’d have hit it.”

Pettigrew exhaled slowly, tension bleeding out of him. “Good flying, Lieutenant. Can anyone tell me exactly what we almost hit?”

Knox responded first. “It was the frigate
Corius
, or what’s left of her. She’s been shot to hell and she’s drifting.”

“Ms. Adams, sitrep please.”

“The ship is now secured, all stations report green and fixed at general quarters. Sensor drones away. Tactical on main viewer.”

Cold icons were painting a picture of death and destruction. About 300,000 kilometers away, Task Force 19 was locked in a desperate engagement with what looked to be a single gigantic ship—and TF 19 was being hammered. The cruiser
Ballista
had been destroyed, as had the destroyer
Trident.
So had the frigates
Scyther
and
Alvis
, in addition to their sister
Corius
. The destroyers
Bocsor
and
Erion
were still operating, but showing heavy damage.

The enemy ship, whose icon was designated by the computer as
Imperial Wrath
, was currently directing most of its attention at the Sarissan flagship, the
Vespera
. The Union battleship was already severely damaged and its opponent was continuing to pour on heavy fire.

“Gods, that ship is a monster,” muttered Knox.

Adams was reviewing the information coming from the CIC. “The data we’re receiving includes the enemy ship’s name. The flag must have communicated with them at some point.”

“Or intercepted communications,” speculated Pettigrew. “Where are the rest of the enemy ships? And for that matter, where are the Gerrhans? They were supposed to rendezvous with us.”

“I have them, Captain,” replied Knox, checking his instruments. “The Gerrhan fleet is over a billion klicks away, all the way out near Iapetus, one of Saturn’s moons. So is the rest of the enemy fleet, and the two forces are engaged. It looks like the enemy still has thirteen active ships and the Gerrhans are down to seven.”

“Any sign of our scouts?”

“Negative.”

Pettigrew leaned forward. “Helm, make for the enemy ship near Earth, best possible speed. Mr. Swoboda, have forward weapons ready to blast any debris in our path.” Pettigrew did some rough calculations on his datatab. “I make it to be about six minutes to the enemy. Mr. Swoboda, when we—”

From the communications station, Ensign Davis interrupted his captain. “Sir, we have a TachCom coming in from the
Vespera
. It’s Admiral Getchell.”

“Main viewscreen, Mr. Davis.”

Levi Getchell’s image appeared at the front of the bridge. Physically, everything looked normal and calm onboard the Vespera’s flag bridge. Getchell’s staff busied themselves in the background and the admiral himself wore an almost placid expression. The compartment then shook as another enemy plasma beam ate into the hull of the battleship.

“Captain, we’re sending all of our battle data to you. As you can see, we’re not going to last much longer. When this ship goes, you are to take command of the task force. You’ve been briefed on the parameters of this mission. Do the best you can to carry them out, if in your judgment that’s still possible. Any questions, Captain?”

Pettigrew looked Getchell in the eye over some 300,000 kilometers of space. “No, sir. Admiral, we’re about five minutes from your position.”

“We don’t have five minutes, Captain,” Getchell said with a resigned look. “Hey, what about the Pan-Union Cup? How did my Merrifield side do in the first round?”

“I’m afraid they lost, two to one.”

“I see. Well then, it’s been a lousy day all the way around.” The transmission cut out.

“Captain, the
Vespera
,” said Taylin Adams in a barely audible voice. On the tactical display, the gold icon representing the battleship turned red and dimmed slightly to signify its destruction.

There was silence on the bridge, a combination of respect for those who had just perished, and dread at what may lie ahead.

“Helm, proceed to the coordinates I’m sending to your station. Ensign Davis, inform the task force that I am assuming command. Order all remaining ships to break off the attack on that enemy vessel and form up on
Tempest
at these coordinates, which will be designated as Rally Point Beta.”

Parker Knox walked to his captain’s side. “Sir, we only have eight ships remaining.”

“Seven,” said Adams from her console. “There goes
Erion
.” Another gold icon turned red on the tactical board.

“Seven ships then,” said Knox, “and only two cruisers. I strongly urge that we—”

“That we do what, Commander?” Pettigrew’s ebony skin did not betray a face that was flush with anger, but his expression and voice did. “I hope you’re going to suggest a positive plan of action, Mr. Knox, because we’re not withdrawing. We’re not falling back, we’re not retreating, and we’re not making for Rusalka to warn Central Command. Right now, I’m not exactly sure what we’re going to do, but unless someone has a positive plan for defeating the enemy, I’m not interested in hearing what they have to say. Am I coming through to everyone?”

“Loud and clear, sir,” Adams spoke up for the bridge crew. Most had never heard the usually even-tempered Pettigrew speak with such intensity. Knox’s stance stiffened, but if Pettigrew expected him to shy away, it wasn’t happening.

“Sir, as your XO, it’s my duty to point out options.”

Pettigrew reeled in his emotions. “You’re correct, Commander, and for the record, what is your recommendation?”

Knox drew in a breath. “Sir, with respect, I believe that the best course of action actually would be to return to Rusalka. Take all the data we have on the enemy back with us and let Central Command formulate a new plan. They had no way of knowing we’d need more ships to deal with that—thing out there. We have to withdraw from the system before we lose the entire task force.”

The captain’s eyes bore into Parker Knox for a few seconds, seconds that probably seemed like hours to the XO and the bridge crew. “Your recommendation is duly noted. You may return to your station, Mr. Knox,” said Pettigrew in an icy tone. “Ms. Adams, crunch every piece of data we have on that big ship and find me a weakness. What’s our ETA to the rally point?”

“We’ll be there in nine minutes, sir.”

“Is the enemy ship in pursuit of the fleet?”

“No, sir, they’ve edged a little further out from Earth orbit, but they’re not chasing our ships.”

“Very well,” responded Pettigrew. “Ms. Nyondo, continue on course to the rally coordinates.”

“Belay that order.”

All eyes turned toward Parker Knox. He had taken a few steps back toward his station, stopped and turned around. Pettigrew saw a dangerous resolve on Knox’s face and blamed himself for what he feared was about to happen.

“Everybody, may I have your attention!”

“Don’t,” said Pettigrew under his breath. He saw Commander Adams starting to rise from her chair, but used eye contact and a subtle hand gesture to coax her back down into her seat. Adams and her captain had always worked well together on an intuitive level and she understood what he was silently saying.
Let me handle this…

The entire bridge crew focused on the executive officer. “Everyone, it’s clear to me that the Captain is about to order what remains of this fleet into a hopeless battle, one that can only result in the death of every person in Task Force Nineteen. Such an order would be irrational and irresponsible, to the point of making him unfit for command.”

“Park, listen to me,” said Pettigrew. “Don’t do this. Once you say those next words, it can’t be undone. Stop and think.”

“I have been thinking, Captain. I’ve been thinking about our survival. You don’t have enough tricks in your bag to win this time, and I’m not going to let you kill everyone on board. Captain Pettigrew, per article ten, section fourteen of the Union Military Code, I hereby relieve you of command.”

Pettigrew cringed at the last words. Everybody on the bridge remained perfectly still. If looks could have killed, Adams would have already slain Knox a thousand times.

Knox took the bridge crew’s silence as a sign he was winning. “Sergeant Hiteshaw,” he called out to one of the two Marine sentries on the bridge, “escort Captain Pettigrew off the bridge and confine him to his quarters.”

Hiteshaw and his fellow Marine stepped forward to position themselves at either side of the captain’s chair. For an instant, it flashed through Pettigrew’s mind that the Marines might take Knox’s side. Perhaps he had cut a deal with Lieutenant Cruz or something else equally bizarre.

Sergeant Hiteshaw turned to Pettigrew and addressed him in a grave voice. “Sir, I’m very sorry about this.” Hiteshaw glanced at Knox and then looked back to Pettigrew. “What are your orders, Captain?”

Knox’s proud shoulders slumped. Adams let out a small, imperceptible sigh of relief. Lieutenant Commander Swoboda, who had slowly been edging in Knox’s direction, stepped back toward his station.

Parker Knox pointed at the captain. “He’s been relieved Sergeant. Escort him to his quarters, that’s an order.”

Pettigrew looked into the eyes of his executive officer.

“Commander Knox—
you
are relieved of all duties and restricted to quarters until further notice. Sergeant Hiteshaw.”

“Sir.”

“Place a guard on the Commander’s door. He is not to leave his quarters.”

“Aye, sir.” The two Marines moved to the XO’s side. “Mr. Knox, if you will please accompany me,” Hiteshaw asked in a polite but firm manner.

Knox was melting before everyone’s eyes. “Please, you all have to believe me,” he bellowed in the strongest voice he could muster. “We need to leave this system, or we’re all going to die.” He started to surge toward Pettigrew, and the Marines grabbed his arms. “Pettigrew, understand what we need to do. Don’t try to be a hero with our lives, please! Don’t let him! Adams! Taylin, convince him—we have to go home. We all have to go home!”

The two Marines wrestled the frenzied Knox into the turbo lift. His whaling could still be heard several seconds after the lift doors slid shut. Pettigrew stood. “Bridge crew—give me your eyes.” The stunned crewmembers shifted their attention to the CO.

“What Mr. Knox said, that we may all lose our lives if we continue this fight, is absolutely true. The enemy vessel is obviously formidable, and much of the task force has already been destroyed. However, what Mr. Knox underestimates is the will, skill, and courage of this crew and of the other crews that remain with us.

“As for the Commander himself, I still believe him to be a good man. We all have weaknesses that show themselves from time to time, and sometimes we can’t control them when they rise up against us. The best way we can help Mr. Knox, and ourselves, is to attend to our duties with maximum effort and believe in each other. Carry on.”

The crew’s attention turned back to their work, and a small amount of chatter began to fill the bridge. Pettigrew beckoned Taylin Adams to his side.

“Commander, I’m naming you acting XO. Before you take your station, who would you recommend to take over tactical?”

“Mr. Swoboda, and have Lieutenant Rojas take over weapons.”

“Order it.” Pettigrew had always thought Adams would be an outstanding second in command, but he hadn’t wanted it to come like this. “XO, update on the fleet, if you please,” Pettigrew said, loud enough to let the entire bridge in on the new chain of command.

“All ships should make Rally Point Beta within fifteen minutes, except for
Bocsor
. She’s heavily damaged and just limping along. Honestly, from her incoming status report, if she sorties again, I don’t think she’ll last two minutes.”

“Order
Bocsor
to rendezvous with the tankers at Jupiter. Mr. Swoboda, what about the enemy vessel?”

“She’s station-keeping, about forty-two thousand klicks from Earth,” the Lieutenant Commander reported, sneaking a peek at his console to verify the figures.

“Very good, Commander. Ms. Adams, what’s happening out near Saturn with our Gerrhan friends?”

There was a pause as Adams checked her readings. “Not good, sir. It looks like the enemy is about to finish them off.”

“How many enemy ships still active?”

“Twelve, sir, and these readings are from seventy-five light minutes ago. It’s likely the enemy force has already finished off the Gerrhans and is headed back this way.”