“So there’s the plan, folks,” said Lanson. “If anyone has a better one, I’d be more than happy to hear it.”

  “If the Tyrantor was out of the way, it would buy us some time to escape,” said Matlock. “As long as it stayed away for long enough.”

  “Which isn’t guaranteed,” said Lieutenant Massey. “Still, we’d have a chance.”

  “What if the New Beginning explodes when we don’t want it to, Captain?” asked Corporal Ziegler.

  “That’ll be the luck of the draw, Corporal,” said Lanson. He turned to Abrams. “Are you ready to do something stupid, Lieutenant?”

  “Just give me the order, sir.”

  Lanson smiled. The plan was nearly ready to put into action, and he spent a short time explaining the details to his crew and the soldiers, so there’d be no screwups when the shit started hitting the fan.

  The telling didn’t take long, and when it was done, Lanson readied himself for what was to come.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “I’m remotely connected to the New Beginning, Captain,” said Lieutenant Abrams. “The propulsion readouts are all over the place, but there’s no runaway reaction yet.”

  “Lieutenant Perry – please confirm you’re linked to one of the Ragnar-3’s shuttles,” said Lanson.

  “Yes, sir, I’m linked.”

  “Commander Matlock, have you managed to access the warship’s weapons systems?”

  “Yes, sir. The Ragnar-3 is equipped with a multitude of Gradar repeaters, and they are tracking numerous targets. A single instruction will turn that bay into an alien bloodbath.”

  “Hold fire for the moment, Commander.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lanson took a deep breath. Everything had to be timed just right, to maximise the chances of making it to the Ragnar-3.

  “Lieutenant Abrams, send the New Beginning into an instant lightspeed transit, aimed to arrive within two hundred klicks of the Tyrantor.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Abrams. “Sending the command.”

  “I’m watching the external sensors,” said Lieutenant Turner. “The New Beginning has exited lightspeed, eighty kilometres from the Tyrantor’s portside flank!”

  “Come on, come on,” Lanson muttered. If the enemy vessel held in place, the game was likely over.

  “The Tyrantor has vanished from the sensors!” yelled Turner.

  It was exactly the outcome Lanson had been hoping for. “Lieutenant Perry, order the Ragnar-3’s shuttle to launch.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Commander Matlock, as soon as the shuttle emerges from its bay, activate the Gradar repeaters.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A hatch opened on the Ragnar’s flank, about two-thirds of the way up and about a third of the way back from the vessel’s nose. Within moments, a shuttle – tiny in comparison to the parent vessel - sped from the opening and accelerated directly towards the shattered control station window.

  “Gradar repeaters activated,” said Matlock.

  Lanson was prepared for noise, but what he got was far in excess of anything he’d expected. A thunder like nothing he’d heard before filled the bay with such intensity he felt as if his skull would crack with the pain of it. As quickly as he could, Lanson reduced the volume of his helmet mic, but even then, the insulating properties of his suit couldn’t entirely protect him from the sound.

  The bay is nearly in a vacuum, he thought. And yet the sound is still like this.

  The Gradar repeaters cut out within seconds. Recovering from the shock, Lanson leaned across the control room console, in order that he could see the outcome in the bay. Three of the linking bridges had been pulverised by the Ragnar-3’s weaponry, and one had snapped completely, leaving it to sag down the middle.

  Of the aliens who’d so recently been standing on those bridges, there was no sign – their bodies had been reduced to microscopic smears amongst the chewed-up corpses of the Sagh’eld.

  Diverting his gaze to the incoming shuttle, Lanson hoped the attacking aliens still hiding in the tunnels wouldn’t recover quickly enough to launch missiles at the transport.

  “I’m opening the shuttle’s starboard door, Captain,” said Perry. “And I’ll bring that same flank as close to the window aperture as I can manage.”

  Suddenly, the Gradar repeaters fired, this time in a burst that lasted no more than half a second. It was confirmation that the enemy had not been entirely cowed by the slaughter on the bridge.

  “Keep watching for the Tyrantor, Lieutenant Turner,” Lanson growled. “We know the enemy warship entered lightspeed, but it’s possible the comms travel time from its ground troops isn’t long. If the Tyrantor’s crew decide the risk of losing the Ragnar-3 is too great, they might just decide to return.”

  “We don’t know what the hell they’re going to do, Captain,” said Abrams. “All we can do is hope.”

  Lanson knew the truth of it, and he nodded in acknowledgement. As he looked through the window opening, he could see the shuttle rotating as Lieutenant Perry aligned its flank opening with the aperture. The transport wasn’t much to look at – few were – but this one looked reassuringly solid, as if it had been clad in a double thickness of armour.

  Once the alignment was done, Perry guided the shuttle towards the window. Eschewing care in favour of speed, she allowed it to thump against the bay walls.

  “Autopilot set,” she confirmed. “We can leave anytime.”

  “I’ll go first, Captain,” Gabriel volunteered.

  “Go ahead,” said Lanson. He needed an extra few seconds of thought, in case he’d missed something.

  Gabriel clambered up onto the hardware, his feet landing on buttons and touch controls. The console’s false input rejection software was well-designed and the soldier didn’t trigger anything unwanted.

  Standing on the ledge, Gabriel sprang across the metre-and-a-half gap, and landed inside what appeared to be an airlock. Rather than vanishing into the transport’s interior, Gabriel turned, ready to help the next person.

  “Did we get everything?” asked Lanson of his crew.

  “We have command access to the Ragnar-3, Captain,” said Matlock. “Our next step is relocation to the warship.”

  “I agree,” said Lanson. “Let’s get our asses out of here.”

  The members of Gabriel’s squad knew how to hustle and they were already jumping eagerly from the ledge into the shuttle. Corporal Hennessey spotted that Lanson and his crew were ready to go and she held the line in place.

  Remembering his near-death experience on the way in, Lanson was determined not to hesitate, nor to show fear. He climbed onto the console’s top panel, walked rapidly to the ledge and then jumped straight across the gap. His feet landed solidly, though Gabriel grabbed hold of his arm, just in case.

  “I’m heading for the cockpit,” Lanson said.

  He exited the airlock into the passenger bay, which he spared hardly a glance. Steps exited the bay through the forward bulkhead and he looked upwards. The cockpit was visible at the top and Lanson ascended rapidly.

  Entering a space measuring four metres across by three deep, he headed directly for the control console and dropped into the centre one of the three metal seats. Scanning the alien hardware, Lanson saw nothing that gave him pause. Shuttles were generally designed to be piloted with only a minimum of training, and this one appeared to be no exception.

  A single, full-width holographic screen floated in the air above the console, just in front of the forward bulkhead. The shuttle’s sensors were online, and their feeds were aimed at different parts of the bay.

  Moments after Lanson was seated, Commander Matlock entered the cockpit, followed by Lieutenant Turner. They chose their seats and immediately began studying the console. Soon after, Lieutenant Abrams appeared. He had nowhere to sit, so he positioned himself between Lanson and Matlock, in order that he could see the main viewscreen.

  “The sensor hardware looks straightforward,” said Turner. “Let’s get the arrays directed where we need them.”

  “Captain, everyone’s inside,” said Gabriel on the comms.

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” said Lanson. “I’m closing the flank door.”

  Lieutenant Turner was already on top of the sensors, and the feeds provided all the information Lanson needed. Using the transport’s twin joysticks, he piloted the vessel away from the control room window, rotating it towards the Ragnar-3 at the same time.

  “The Gradar turrets fired again,” said Turner.

  “I’ll try and link to the Ragnar-3 from here,” said Matlock. “Maybe I’ll be able to see what it’s tracking.”

  Lanson doubted she’d have enough time, but he didn’t say anything. As long as the Ragnar-3 was forcing the enemy to keep their heads down, that would give him the chance he needed to guide the shuttle back into its docking bay.

  “Captain, I’ve detected a runaway reaction on one of the New Beginning’s Rodos modules,” said Abrams. “I expect it to spread to the other modules soon.”

  “How long before detonation?” asked Lanson.

  “I don’t know, Captain – even if I were sitting at my bridge console on the destroyer, I doubt I’d have enough data to give you a meaningful prediction.”

  “Ready the New Beginning for another instant lightspeed transition,” said Lanson. “We’ll need to send the warship away from Ilvaron before its engines explode.”

  “That’s assuming its Rodos drive will execute another transition, Captain,” said Abrams.

  “We have to accept some things are out of our control, Lieutenant,” said Lanson.

  The situation was coming down to the wire. If the New Beginning’s propulsion detonated at the wrong time, it was likely Ilvaron would be wiped out in the explosion. However, if the destroyer managed one last ILT, then the Tyrantor would surely return. Escape was looking less likely by the minute.

  “Rocket launch detected,” said Turner.

  Lanson’s eyes darted to the underside feeds, where he saw a missile race from one of the lower bay entrances. A split second later, Gradar fire smashed the rocket into pieces, while slugs from a different turret tore into the passageway from which the attack had been launched.

  “Rocket neutralised,” said Turner. “And then some.”

  “There’s the docking bay entrance, Captain,” said Matlock.

  “I see it,” Lanson confirmed.

  He held the shuttle on course towards the opening. The transport was nimble and easy to control, and its propulsion offered much greater acceleration and deceleration than Lanson had expected. Therefore, it wasn’t challenging to guide the vessel into the bay opening, which, given then pressures of time, Lanson did at a high velocity.

  The moment the shuttle was within the docking tunnel, he hauled back on the controls. Ahead, a door rose and then fell shut once the transport was past. A second door did likewise and then a third. After the third door, Lanson could see that the tunnel ended and he brought the vessel to a halt adjacent to an alloy platform.

  “Time to leave,” he said, climbing from his seat.

  With his crew following, Lanson descended the cockpit stairs and entered the passenger bay below. Sergeant Gabriel and his squad were ready, but they didn’t know from which flank to exit.

  “Starboard side,” said Lanson.

  He hurried to the airlock and discovered that the outer door panel was showing a red light, indicating the bay was in a full or near vacuum. Since Lanson didn’t know how to override the panel, and didn’t want to spend time trying, he cycled the airlock with only half of the mission personnel inside.

  The outer door opened, and Lanson stepped across the twelve-inch gap separating the shuttle from the docking platform. Moving clear of the exit, he looked around. The bay was lit in a blue as cold as the air, and Lanson could feel the immense mass of the warship pressing in from all around, while its engines droned with the thickness of treacle.

  Although the situation was far from a happy one, Lanson smiled. He might well be dead in the next five minutes, but for now, he felt right at home on the Ragnar-3.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Two exits led from the bay, each sealed by a door. Lanson chose the forward exit and waited until the mission personnel were gathered.

  “The Ragnar-3’s onboard systems will recognize us,” he said. “So we shouldn’t have to worry about automated defences, or doors we can’t open.”

  Reaching out, Lanson tapped his fingers on the access panel. The door opened, revealing a short passage leading to a room.

  “Captain, I should go first,” said Sergeant Gabriel.

  “Negative, Sergeant,” said Lanson. “This warship belongs to the Human Confederation and I’m its commanding officer. I’ll lead.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Lanson headed along the passage until he emerged into the next room. Looking around, he counted three additional exits, one of which was behind a closed door. A metal plate was bolted to the door, and Lanson’s suit translated the alien symbols etched into its surface.

  Armoury.

  Elsewhere in the room, Lanson spotted two wall screens, one of which had a console mounted flush beneath.

  “Now I remember what we forgot to check when we were in the control station,” said Lanson, striding over to the console. “The layout for this warship.”

  “We could probably find our way to the bridge without map, sir,” said Matlock.

  On a vessel smaller than this one, Lanson would have taken his chances. This time, he feared becoming lost and thought it best to make sure of the route. Accessing the console, he quickly located the layout plan for the warship’s interior, which he downloaded into his suit computer.

  “This way,” said Lanson, pointing to the forward exit. “We’re three levels below the bridge, but there’s an airlift which should take us to the right place.”

  Although he hadn’t spent long studying the layout, he’d managed to commit the route to memory. It turned out the Ragnar-3’s interior was compact like he’d expected, and that would make it easy to navigate.

  Lanson dashed along corridors and through rooms in which more tech was in evidence. He didn’t slow, and continued until the airlift leading to the bridge was close by. Then, he stopped for a moment.

  “Sergeant Gabriel, my crew and I will head on to the bridge. You and your squad have access to the layout plans. Explore the interior and see what you can find.”

  “Yes, sir. Will we be able to reach you on the comms?”

  “It’s likely your suits will have tied in automatically with the warship’s internal comms,” said Lieutenant Turner. “If not, I’ll make sure it happens manually when I reach the bridge.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  Lanson resumed his journey with his crew close behind. Soon, they entered a room from which a single airlift offered the only exit. The moment Lanson touched the operation panel, the lift door opened. He stepped inside and activated the inner panel when the others had joined him.

  “Once we’re on the bridge, we’ll have to act fast,” he said. “Do you all know your priorities?”

  The members of Lanson’s crew nodded confidently and he saw no sign of doubt in their faces. When the chips were down, he could always rely on them.

  Following a short journey, the lift car came to a halt and the doors opened. Outside, a small room was monitored by two automated ceiling-mounted miniguns, which tracked Lanson as he stepped from the lift. He ignored the guns and headed directly for the narrow steps which led upwards from the forward bulkhead.

  Lanson climbed, feeling his excitement rise. Twenty steps up, he arrived at a small landing area, with a single wall-mounted panel on the left and a solid-looking door straight ahead. Lanson wasn’t required to provide any further authentication – the door slid quietly aside, admitting him to the bridge.

  Crossing the threshold, he looked around. The Ragnar-3’s bridge was hardly large enough to accommodate its eleven stations. Three consoles were installed at the front, and two separate four-person consoles were installed behind them, one to port and one to starboard, with a narrow gap between them. A glance was enough for Lanson to recognize the hardware here as being the same as the type installed in the bay control room.

  “To your stations,” he ordered, heading for the centre console at the front.

  Lanson’s seat was made up from bare metal and nothing else. As he was lowering himself into it, he noticed clips around the edges and the back of the seat. He’d already guessed that this alien technology was old, and he found himself wondering if, rather, it was not just old but ancient, such that the padding had completely perished into dust.

  The bridge consoles were fully online and Lanson was able to access the software without any delay. Several menus appeared, many of which he recognized from his recent experience in the control station.

  “Is everyone logged on?” he asked.

  The crew responded in the affirmative.

  “Lieutenant Massey, bring the Ragnar-3’s engines online,” Lanson ordered. “Lieutenant Abrams, please confirm the state of the New Beginning’s Rodos modules.”

  “I’ve sent the command to our engines, Captain,” said Lieutenant Massey. “A timer has appeared – it’ll be twenty minutes before we’re able to prepare for a lightspeed jump.”

  As he spoke, the background rumble of propulsion changed to something deeper and more menacing, like the raw edge of barely controlled technology. Lanson smiled at the sound, despite his frustration at the thought of a twenty-minute delay.

  “I’m waiting for the warship’s comms to re-route my link to the New Beginning, Captain,” said Abrams. “Done.” He fell quiet.

  “Tell me,” said Lanson.

  “The reaction has spread to every one of the New Beginning’s Rodos modules, sir.”

  “Is a critical event imminent?” asked Lanson.

  “Whatever’s coming, it’ll happen soon.”

  Lanson cursed. “How soon?”

  “I can’t offer you an estimate, Captain. This is a listen-to-your-guts kind of situation, and for that, your guts are as good as mine.”