The hellhawk accelerated at eight gees, tearing along a valley of cylindrical radiator towers. Kiera let out a muted yell
of surprise and pain as she was squashed back into her acceleration couch.
“Give me fire control,” Etchells told her. “You can’t program the combat wasps for this scenario. I can.”
“That would make me nothing,” she said. “No deal. Fly us out of this.”
“Fuck you.” He abandoned the secondary manipulation of the distortion field, which countered the acceleration. Kiera groaned
as the full eight gees rammed her down into the couch. She began channelling her energistic power to strengthen her body.
Lasers raked across his hull, and Etchells looped round a glass spiral turret, pulling twelve gees. The radiator mechanisms
were a constant leaden smear to his optical senses, he was navigating by distortion field sense alone. And going too fast:
the valley end was a sharp turn, almost a right angle. He swooped up above the peaks, decelerating madly as he turned. For
a moment the two starships were in direct line of sight. Lasers and masers slashed across the gulf. Then Etchells dived back
down into a deep gully of vertical mirror-surface dissipaters.
Oenone
matched the manoeuvre and fired again. Etchells flicked from side to side, accelerating and decelerating in wild bursts.
His own masers fired back. The energy beams ripped long gashes across the cliffs of dissipaters as both starships twirled
and rolled. Magenta effluvium percolated out, clotting the whole valley.
Etchells shot out of the smog blizzard with cyclonic eddies rolling away from his hull. He swung round a splayed clump of
black pentangular pillars, then used a mushroomlike industrial refinery to slalom again.
The way Syrinx’s hands dug into the acceleration couch padding was nothing to do with the appalling gee forces washing across
the bridge. The image of the craggy diskcity surface hurtling past mere metres away was shining directly into her brain. Her
eyes were tight shut from reflex, and it wasn’t the slightest use. There was no escape.
Oenone
’s steady determination as it pursued the hellhawk prevented any censure. To doubt her love now would be selfish betrayal.
She fought her own fear to bestow trust and pride.
On the other side of the bridge, Oxley was emitting a constant low moan of dismay without ever needing to draw breath.
Its resolve weakens,
Oenone
claimed buoyantly.
It is slowing to turn now. We will catch it soon.
Yes. There was absolutely nothing in the tactical programs she could use to help this situation. If they rose above the artificial
valleys, the hellhawk would be able to fire combat wasps straight at them. They couldn’t fire back down, one errant submunition
would slaughter thousands of Mosdva. So the chase continued, which was ultimately to their advantage. It prevented the hellhawk
from firing on Lalarin-MG. At a terrible cost to her nerves.
Another wormhole terminus opened a hundred kilometres above them.
Hello Etchells,
Rocio said.
You?
Etchells exclaimed in shock.
Shoot the shit chasing me, they’ve found something here that’ll wipe us out.
The
Mindori
fired three lasers at a glass cone heat exchanger a couple of kilometres ahead of Etchells. The mechanism detonated, shattering
into crystalline splinters spinning inside a writhing gas cloud. Etchells screamed his fury into the affinity band and accelerated
at seventeen gees, desperately trying to rise above the lethal kinetic debris. Irradiated gas streaked over the hellhawk’s
polyp. Energistic power flared, warding off the crystals with a ragged shield of white fire. Etchells’s barrel rolled up away
from the bloating indigo nimbus.
Oenone
had a few extra seconds before collision. It pulled up fast, skirting the boundary of the whirling crystals. The
Stryla
was only thirty kilometres ahead of it.
Oenone
’s targeting radar locked on to the hellhawk. Then the electronic sensors warned Syrinx that the
Mindori
was targeting their hull.
Don’t shoot,
Rocio warned.
Kill them,
Etchells demanded.
Syrinx aimed five lasers at the
Mindori
.
Etchells also targeted the other hellhawk with three masers.
Kill them now,
he said.
I won’t shoot if you don’t,
Rocio said to Syrinx. Two of his lasers were aligned on the
Stryla
.
At least find out why we’ve come here first.
So tell us,
Syrinx said.
______
Jed and Beth were pressed against the port in the bridge, gazing in veneration at the xenoc artefact spread out below the
hellhawk. There weren’t many details, it was so dark, but the rim was close enough to see a silhouette of enticing geometries
in the backscatter of red light. Gerald Skibbow was sitting on the acceleration couch behind the weapons console, Loren Skibbow
studying the tactical displays keenly, watching the voidhawk and hellhawk rising fast from the darkside.
Traitor,
Etchells spat, pushing his shaky anger behind the word.
To what, exactly?
Rocio asked.
What’s your crusade, Etchells? What do you care about other than yourself?
I’m trying to stop these people from flinging us all back into the beyond. Maybe you’re all for that.
Don’t be absurd.
Then for fuck’s sake help us wipe out that cylinder. Whatever they’ve come here for, it’s in there.
There’s no weapon in there,
Syrinx said.
I’ve already told you that.
Maybe I’ll take a look later,
Rocio said.
Shithead,
Etchells raged.
I’ll blow you to fucking pieces if you don’t help wipe out that voidhawk.
And that’s why I’m here.
What? What are you fucking talking about?
Rocio enjoyed the irritation and confusion Etchells was emitting.
Death,
he said.
You’re very keen to see others die, aren’t you. You never gave Pran Soo a chance.
You’ve got to be shitting me. You came after me because of her?
And Kiera. I’ve got someone on board who would like to see our ex-leader.
Kiera is on board?
Syrinx asked.
Yes,
Rocio said.
Listen you half-wit dickbrain, we’re on the same side,
Etchells said.
I know the hellhawks have found another supply of nutrient fluid. That’s brilliant. We’re free of doing any fighting for people
like Capone and Kiera. That’s what I want.
You were Kiera’s number-one cheerleader. You’re still doing what she wants even with the blackmail removed.
I was looking out for me. Just like you were doing for yourself. We had different methods, but we want the same thing for
ourselves. That’s why you’ve got to help us. Together we can beat those Confederation ships and destroy the cylinder.
Then what?
Then whatever we want, of course.
You don’t really think we’d let you share our nutrient supply, do you? After what you’ve done.
You’re starting to piss me off.
Jed and Beth saw the monstrous bird rise into view through the port, a jet-black shadow against the ruddy darkness of the
umbra. Malevolent eyes gleamed scarlet, looking straight in at them. They backed away from the port together. To one side
of the bird was another shadow, an elongated oval.
“Gerald,” Jed said nervously. “Mate, there’s
things
out there.”
“Yes,” he said. “The
Oenone
and the
Mindori
. Isn’t it wonderful?” He sniffed, wiping moisture from his sunken bloodshot eyes. His voice became high again: Loren’s. “She’s
there. And there’s nowhere for the bitch to run anymore.”
Jed and Beth gave each other a defeated look. Gerald was activating a lot of systems on the console.
“What are you doing?” Rocio asked.
“Bringing the remaining generators on line,” Gerald answered. “You can route their power into the lasers. Kill it with one
shot.”
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
“YES IT IS!” Gerald cried. “Don’t you try to back out now.” He clutched the edge of the console, blinking in confusion.
“Gerald?” Beth pleaded tremulously. “Please, Gerald, don’t do anything rash.”
Loren’s face flicked up over Gerald’s tortured expression. “Gerald’s fine. Just fine. Don’t you worry.”
Beth started sobbing, clutching at Jed. His arms went round her as he stared miserably at the mad figure hunched over the
console. When Skibbow had just been bonkers it’d been bad enough. This new demented combination was hell’s own gatekeeper.
Loren ignored the two kids. “Rocio. Ask the voidhawk to help. It’s to their advantage. We don’t want any mistakes now.”
“Very well.” There was an edge of worry in the voice.
I have a proposition,
he said to Syrinx, on singular engagement.
Go ahead.
I have no quarrel with you, nor do I care about your mission. Etchells and Kiera threaten both of us.
Then why did you stop us from firing at them?
Because I need to capture Kiera alive. The father and mother of the body she possesses are on board. Unfortunately, they have
fire authority over my combat wasps. My energistic power can disable the missiles, but the Skibbows would be able to detect
my intent. There is no way of telling how they’d react; they are not a stable combination. They could choose to kamikaze;
in which case I’m not sure if I could block their commands to the warheads in time.
I see. What do you suggest?
From this range, my lasers are quite capable of killing the
Stryla
’s central organ cluster in one shot. Etchells will be flung back into the beyond, and Kiera will be left intact. I will dock,
and the Skibbows can deal with her.
So what do you want us to do?
Nothing. Do not interfere when I shoot. That’s all I ask.
What about Kiera’s control over the
Stryla
’s combat wasps?
A second laser strike will eliminate the combat wasps in their launch cradles. I can be fast. She will not have time to launch
or detonate them.
You hope.
Can you provide an alternative?
Etchells spoke into the general affinity band:
Rocio, I can see you’ve powered up your weapon pod generators. Know this, Kiera and I have rigged my combat wasps. Any energy
beam strike against me or my life-support module will result in every warhead blowing simultaneously. Both of you are well
inside the lethal blast radius.
All right,
Rocio said.
We’ve all been real smart and blocked each other. Nobody can win now, so why don’t we all just back off?
No,
Syrinx said.
If either of you accelerate away or attempt to open a wormhole interstice, I will fire. I will not give you the freedom to
return to the cylinder.
So just what the hell are we supposed to do now?
Rocio demanded.
We are negotiating for the cylinder to be evacuated,
Syrinx said.
When all the Tyrathca have left, I will permit the three of us to retreat simultaneously. Not before. You will not slaughter
innocent entities to appease your paranoia.
For fuck’s sake,
Etchells said.
Rocio, join me, we’ll blow this voidhawk to shit and stop them getting the weapon.
There is no weapon,
Syrinx insisted.
I’ll tell you something, Etchells,
Rocio said.
If it comes to a choice, I’m with Captain Syrinx.
Shithead traitor! You’d better pray their weapon works and pray real hard, because if it doesn’t I will personally track you
down past the end of the universe.
You won’t have to chase me anywhere.
Syrinx looked over at Ruben and pouted her lips. “Maybe we should just let them go at it.”
“Nice thought. I wonder what the Mosdva dominions are making of all this.”
“As long as they don’t start shooting at us, I don’t care.”
“We’re getting something,” Oski announced. “It’s not the full almanac, but I’m accessing files with colony planet locations;
they’re linked to star map references.”
“Can you access their star map files?” Syrinx asked.
“Loading a questor now,” Oski said. “Stand by.”
Syrinx and
Oenone
waited eagerly as the information began to trickle across the communication link. The first maps the questors accessed showed
unknown starfields, but the third has a portion of the Orion Nebula covering a quarter of the picture.
Oenone
matched the image to the navigational plot of the nebula it had made on the voyage to Mastrit-PJ, instinctively correlating
the Tyrathca coordinate formula into its own astronomical reference frame. More star maps followed, allowing the voidhawk
to expand and refine the coordinate grid, correlating with recognizable star patterns. After eight minutes it could visualize
a globe of space five thousand light-years across, centred on Mastrit-PJ. Tyrathca designations tagged the constellations.
Syrinx’s thoughts flowed through the mental construct, filled with quiet pride as she absorbed the detailed configuration.
It was easy,
Oenone
said modestly.
You handled it superbly,
she said.
That needs to be said.