Rift in the Races (59 page)

The crowd began to surge up the stairs in the absence of the fire wall. Any lingering shock or fear of the wizard’s ability to make another one had apparently disappeared with it. A rush of them came up the stairs, several with weapons in their hands, eager for a fight. From the looks of it, most of them didn’t even care which side they joined.

The man in the silver armor cut his way through the last of the guards and turned to face them. Orli could see that the man in the black armor was down. Perhaps dead.

The wizard threw a series of the long ice spears across the front of the encroaching crowd, a rapid succession that reminded Orli of the fifty-caliber guns the fleet Marines so enjoyed. The spray of piercing ice was intimidating enough to force the crowd back, the mass of them retreating down the stairs, waiting.

The wizard quickly cast another fire wall before they could change their minds.

So much for drunken bravery
, Orli thought.

The slave-handler stood with his huge axe guarding the space between Orli and her would-be rescuer as the knight approached. The auctioneer had also come down and had pulled a dagger from his belt. He was so little. Orli wondered what could possibly have made him think joining the fight would be a good idea, but he was moving toward the purple-robed wizard, who stood silently chanting another spell and apparently oblivious to this new, if diminutive, threat.

The slave handler strode boldly up to the gleaming knight and swung his axe in a mighty arc intended to cut him right in two.

The warrior stepped back, leaning away just enough to let the half-moon blades whistle harmlessly by.

He stepped forward again as it passed, the swing not even complete, and neatly plunged the point of his sword straight through the soft throat of the powerful, axe-wielding man. The location was exact, the motion precise. The axe, still carrying the momentum of the swing, was released by the mortification of the handler. It flew out through the wall of fire and into the roaring crowd. The handler stumbled forward and collapsed, writhing in agony that lasted several gushing heartbeats before he finally fell still.

The knight came running toward Orli’s cage. The metallic rattle of his armor grew louder with each stride, the hope in her heart beating with every clanking step.

A brilliant light flashed behind him where the magician in the purple robes vaporized the little auctioneer in a blast of summoned lightning. The glare of it nearly blinded her, making the figure of the warrior but a vague shape at her cage door, a silvery outline, statuesque and magnificent. He spent a moment examining the lock.

“Stand back, and look away,” came the still familiar voice. “The splinters will be sharp.”

She shuffled to the back of her cage, the corner farthest from the door, and turned her back.

In a few neat strikes, he’d cut through the thick bamboo. She heard the lock fall to the ground with a clang.

The wizard ran up behind him. “We’ve got to go,” he said. “The fire wall isn’t going to work for long.”

“Miss Pewter, are you ready?”

She couldn’t find a voice to speak, but she nodded. She saw the fire wall fall away as if someone had shut off the valve. The crowd surged again, rushing the stage and furious. More guards were coming out from the caves in the cliff, bringing another giant with them as they ran out.

“Hurry up, Annison,” hissed the warrior under his breath as he gripped Orli by the arm. “They’re really coming now.” He sounded more than marginally concerned.

A moment later Orli was fainting onto the plush carpet in someone’s sitting room.

Chapter 41

T
he eight Hostiles turned out to be little more than the shark’s fin. The eight in sensor range were just that, in sensor range. Upon approach they’d discovered nearly a hundred more, the body of the beast swimming just beneath the whitecaps. Some discussion had come about running, but they couldn’t do that. Several of the ships had stayed behind to help repair those in direst need. It wouldn’t do to lead the Hostiles back to them, or to leave them behind in hopes the Hostiles would pursue. And argument ensued, but in the end, they all understood they’d come to fight. Besides, this time they had the advantage of several teleporters spread amongst the fleet.

The conduit had ordered X-ranked Envette to the
Utah
to protect the admiral, and the powerful P-class Kindlemet to the
Livermore
given that it carried the bulk of the fleet’s ground troops and one of the extra entanglement arrays. The M-class, Mason, was sent to protect another of those units on the
Creed of Ganymede
, while Pingermash, a J, was left aboard the
Aspect
to help them, given they were short of crew. The conduit put himself and the other four sub-I-ranked teleporters on the
NTA II
at the suggestion of Captain Asad, who openly worried for the crew given what he saw as the cringing nature of Captain Eugene. “Go help them, Conduit,” he said. “Their captain has gotten old and soft, and they all need your confidence.” And he meant it.

Thankfully, the help of the teleporters did make a huge difference, though the
Aspect’s
bridge crew soon learned that working with a J-ranked teleporter was nothing like working with a Z. The memory of the destruction Altin had wrought taunted them all as the battle wore on, even Captain Asad. Still, the nervous middle-aged teleporter had done a good job merging Hostiles as they came in reach, although twice he’d nearly been knocked unconscious trying to grab hold of orbs with mass greater than his competency, and the third time did the trick, which sent him sprawling to the floor. Ensign Nguyen had rushed to where he lay, confirming that he was still alive, but speculating, accurately, that he would not be casting again right away. The teleporter had to be taken down to the care and treatment of Doctor Singh.

At first the loss of their teleporter hadn’t been too much of a problem because Altin’s Combat Hop spell was still in place. However, after the first forty or so passes the Hostiles made, that spell ran out. Nobody on the bridge recalled having been told there was a time limit or a fixed number of jumps, but there was. A call to the conduit on the
NTA II
confirmed it. “Fixed number of charges,” is what he’d said. Now the
Aspect
was just as vulnerable as the rest—and in the first twenty minutes of fighting, three ships had already been destroyed. This was a fight for their lives.

“On your six,” came the call from the
Lima
. “I got the push if you get the nukes.”

“Thank fucking god,” said Roberto. “Nukes are set.”

“Go,” called the
Lima’s
weapons officer.

Tap, tap, went Roberto’s fingers on his controls. Two rockets were on the way.

“Shit,” came the reply from the
Lima
just before the
Aspect
shuddered violently from the impact.

“You guys all right?” the
Lima
com officer asked. “Sorry, guys. We took the edge off at least.”

Roberto was reading sensors, as was Ensign Nguyen.

“We’re still here,” replied Captain Asad. “Stay focused.”

“Roger,
Aspect
.”

“Glancing blow, Captain,” reported Ensign Nguyen, as Roberto fired the ship’s lasers at two massive columns of stone heading like concrete mortar rounds toward the
Liberty
. “
Liberty
, got you,” he called even as the lasers had already done their job. “That was close.”

“Roger that,
Aspect
. Thanks.”

“Incoming,” Roberto said in reply. “Missiles, go!”

“Missiles,” came
Liberty’s
response.

Too late.

The Hostile jumped several hundred meters diagonally, a magically augmented move, and out came another of the giant stone rams, hurtling at the other ship. It was titanic, ninety-feet long and twenty thick, and coming from above at an angle that deprived Roberto of a shot. It pulverized the
Liberty
, striking it from above and crushing in several of the upper decks at roughly mid ship.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” came across the com. “We’re hit, we’re hit.” The man at the controls sounded hysterical. “Hull breach.”

Jets of white gas shot from the ruptures in the hull, growing wider as each second passed.

“Shut down your thrusters!” Roberto shouted into his com as he saw their engines fire. “What are you doing?” He gaped at the monitor. “
Liberty
—” He cut himself off, incredulous. To himself, more than anyone, he muttered, “What are they doing?”

“Panicking,” said Captain Asad grimly.

“They’re going to tear themselves apart,” Ensign Nguyen added, his eyes wide, his expression horrified.

The
Liberty
fired all its engines. The rockets burned, the aspect jets fired from all sides. The gravity engines glowed, making it look as if the stars in the distance beyond it were churning in a warped black cloud.

The crew of the
Aspect
could only watch, helpless as the broken ship bent at the area of the impact, the front and back halves folding together like a cramped-up creature arching its back until its spine snapped.

When the two halves, head and tail, came together, they collided heavily, rebounding back apart and sending bits of debris flying across the sky. The back half twisted with the distortion of the gravity engines and lingering chemical thrust. The ship began to spin.

“Get away from it,” ordered the captain, but Roberto was already tapping at the controls.

The crest of a gravity wave grazed across the
Aspect’s
bow and spun it several degrees before the computers could get it stopped. Roberto and the Ensign both looked like mad pianists so quickly were they at their work.

“Jesus,” Roberto gasped.

“Get above the plane of their rotation,” ordered the captain, calm but insistent.

“Too late,” Roberto said. “The whole damn ship is going to hit us.”

“So is
that
,” said Ensign Nguyen, pointing to his console monitor and the Hostile orb it showed was hurtling toward them.

“Target missiles on
Liberty
,” commanded the captain. “Take it out.”

“Captain?”

“Do it,” he demanded. “Now.”

The husk of the
Liberty
spun toward them, its engines still afire. Roberto couldn’t tell which was going to happen first, a gravity blast that would propel the
Aspect
so violently they’d all be crushed or a collision which promised an equally fatal outcome.

“The Hostile, sir?” said Ensign Nguyen.

“Lasers if we can,” said the captain. “We have bigger problems if we don’t destroy that ship.”

The Hostile streaked in even as Roberto sent the missiles at the oncoming starship. “I’m so sorry,” he muttered into the com once the rockets were away. No one was answering on the
Liberty
anymore.

The Hostile released the massive stone shaft. Roberto fired both lasers, anticipating the orb would hop up and left as they often did.

It did. The lasers did their job and the massive granite battering ram slid past, if only by a matter of inches.

The
Aspect’s
missiles struck the
Liberty
as it swung round on its last ever turn. The last thing Roberto saw of it was the blue-green ripple of its gravity drives before it blew up in a flash of blinding white.

Bits of the destroyed ship bounced off the
Aspect’s
shields for several moments after. Roberto had to bite back tears of frustrated rage. He had known at least a hundred people on that ship. Some of them well. He stared blankly at his monitor in shock at what he’d just done.

“Mourn them later, Lieutenant,” said the captain, his demeanor every ounce calm and in control. “
Lima
is in trouble again, and our Hostile problem will be back.”

It was true. The Hostile would be back. Roberto knew it. It would run down its projectile and be right back. And it would all continue. And they’d fight these Hostiles off, like the last. There were only forty orbs left. They still had as many ships. And the magicians were making easy work of them. They’d make it. Most likely. And then what? Go on? Again. How many more battles like this before they even got to the Hostile world?

He feared, even as he deflected the length of stone that would have struck the
Lima
a dooming blow, that this was all, ultimately, pointless. The Hostiles seemed to have no end of reinforcements. They didn’t seem to care if they died.