Tactical Error (20 page)

Tossing aside the handcuffs, Lenna rose quickly and slipped into the seat.
She could not immediately determine whether the tram was being directed
remotely or was simply out of control. At least the major portion of the
tram’s operating controls had been spared from Bill’s rather
indiscriminate attack. The com station, where she had been seated only moments
before the attack, was a complete ruin. Just thinking about it made her a
little nervous, although she was certain that Bill knew his business with the
precision of a machine and would not have hit her.

All the same, the wreck of that half of the control panel assured her of one
thing. This tram could not have been under remote control even if they had
wanted. The internal control indicator light was clearly lit, but certain other
readings were contradictory. The tram was supposedly locked into predetermined
settings, but other indicators insisted that it could not possibly be in
motion. For not being in motion, however, it was already doing a very healthy,
if not hair-raising, 140 kilometers per hour, and all efforts to disable or
slow the machine on her part proved hopeless.

Well, when travel became inevitable, one could always attempt to determine the
course. She called up the map for the freight tunnels on the main monitor, and
saw a clear junction coming up in a matter of seconds. When she selected the
alternate course, the tram very obligingly turned off the original track onto
that new heading. Encouraged by her success, Lenna bent closer to the map and
chose a destination. For the sake of speed and simplicity, she decided to make
a quick loop and go back to where she had started. She began selecting
junctions that would take her back, reasonably certain that the main routing
computers would not switch her down a tunnel that was previously occupied.
Theoretically, she knew that the traffic was invariably one way. She was less
certain that even the computers could slow this monster if it was about to
overtake another tram.

“Bill, do you hear me?” she asked, speaking into her com link.

“Yes, Mistress Lenna?” he responded, his voice thin and weak
through the minute speaker.

“I’m on my way back. You go back to bay twelve and get the
overhead doors open as soon as you get there. I should have my diversion ready
at just about the same time.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Damned fool robot,” she muttered as she guided the tram through
the next junction, not particularly caring if he heard her.

The next problem was getting herself safely off the tram. Under the
circumstances, she was actually rather proud, and relieved, that she thought of
that particular item before she reached the end of the line. There was an
emergency braking system that, she discovered, did work. Its only problems were
that it could not bring the tram to a complete stop, and it worked only as long
as she was there to hold down the button. Considering what she had in mind, she
decided that it was just as well that it did work that way.

Coming up on the junction to landing bay twenty-eight, she held the brake
until the tram slowed as much as it was able, easing the heavy machine around
the rather tight turn into the tunnel that dead-ended beside the loading deck
of the bay. As soon as the tram was locked onto this one-way path, Lenna
released the brake and sprinted for the door, getting herself out of the tram
as quickly as she could. The leap down was not very far, but it was made more
difficult by the speed of the tram. She hit the ground in a roll and came up
running, determined to get herself well away from that side tunnel while she
still had time. If her plan was successful, she was likely to get herself
killed.

As soon as the drag of the brakes was released, the tram began to accelerate
furiously. It was moving at about two-thirds of its full speed when it reached
the end of the tunnel, emerging like a shot into the vast landing bay. It came
to the end of the track and hit the low rail bumper, which had only been
intended to stop a freight tram that was moving at barely a crawl, and which
had the effect of lifting this small but heavy unit completely off the ground.
Carried by the momentum of its tremendous mass, its trajectory arced well out
into the middle of the landing bay. It might well have stayed airborne for the
better part of a hundred meters or more, except that it suddenly connected with
the munitions freighter sitting across the full length of the bay, plunging
right through the middle of the small ship.

An instant later, the explosion of the entire cargo of munitions provided
all the distraction that the Starwolves could have wanted.

“All pilots to their fighters,” Valthyrra’s voice echoed
from the main speakers across the bay. “Stand by to launch fighters
immediately.”

Velmeran had been looking up toward the ceiling as he listened to that brief
message. He hurried to his fighter, ascended the boarding platform, and climbed
into the open cockpit. Benthoran, the bay crew chief, assisted him with the
straps of his seat, then slipped Velmeran’s helmet over his head and
fastened the clips at the collar.

“What is it?” Velmeran asked, now that he had a private com
link.

“Lenna just arranged her little diversion,” Valthyrra explained.
“In fact, she just diverted a major portion of that base right out of
existence. Bill says that we are to look for the open freight bay.”

“What about Lenna?”

“I have heard nothing from Lenna, and she is not presently with
Bill,” the ship explained.

Velmeran frowned within the privacy of his helmet as he waited for the cover
of his cockpit to close and lock down. Once they started down, their time was
going to be very limited. He could not wait for Lenna to make herself known,
and he could only hope that she would be there by the time they arrived.

The important things were never simple.

“All fighters are ready,” Valthyrra reported. “The Number
Two transport bay is open, and both ships are standing by.”

“Launch the transport,” Velmeran said. “Order the fighters
to power up.”

On the bay deck, the three fighters brought their powerful conversion
generators on line, a faint, low-pitched humming surrounding each of the sleek
machines as they cycled their power back into their generators. Black as space
itself, the fighters were resting in their racks, massive metal frameworks that
were locked down on the deck, their landing gear up and ready for flight. There
were only three in the group rather than the usual nine, the three that
represented the core of Velmeran’s special tactics team. This time only
his two most trusted pilots, Baress and Pack Leader Baressa, would be going
with him.

At that same time, a pair of small ships moved out of the second of the
Methryn’s four transport bays. The first was the transport adapted for
use by the special tactics team, a dark rectangular hull somewhat larger than a
fighter, but without wings or fins. Following that was the larger form of Venn
Keflyn’s Valtrytian interceptor, gleaming white rather than the dull
black of the Starwolf ships, in form a flattened flying wing like some deep-sea
skate or ray. The two small ships moved slowly away from the carrier’s
dark hull and the bay doors began to close, slowly cutting off the bright
interior lights.

As soon as the two ships were clear, Valthyrra counted down the launch for
the fighters. In the bay, a series of flashing lights above the forward bay
door converged on the single, large green light in the center. Engines flaring,
the three fighters leaped from their racks and thundered out the forward door.
Instead of moving boldly into flight formation, the fighters cut thrust as soon
as they cleared their racks, drifting out from beneath the Methryn’s
vast nose as they waited for the other two ships to come in close beside their
tight formation. Gathered close, the small group of ships engaged thrust and
turned slowly until they were moving toward the planet, not yet even visible
except as a minute point of light in the distance. They moved under low power,
staying within the shadow of the Methryn’s hull as the carrier herself
now came around, moving slowly over them. The larger ship’s cloaking
shields would hide their approach until they were within low orbit, ready to
make their final run into the atmosphere.

“Any word?” Velmeran asked.

“Nothing yet,” Valthyrra answered immediately. “No word or
indication from Lenna at all. Bill says that we are not to worry. When I asked
him why, he simply explained that Lenna has never failed to come through before
and so statistics bear out that she would come through again. It worries me
that my brain and his are essentially just alike.”

“On a vastly different scale,” he was quick to assure her,
grateful that sentient computers were not telepathic. He had always found
Bill’s dull ramblings to be disquietingly similar to Valthyrra’s
complex eccentricities, if on a vastly different scale all its own.

“Personally, I have thought that Lenna has been overdue to screw one
up really badly for a long time,” the ship continued. “The luck of
the Irish is one thing, but it could hardly have bred true over five hundred
centuries. Strictly speaking, Lenna Makayen is theoretically a Scot. And even
so, the Irish were historically never that lucky.... “

“Val, you are babbling.”

“Great Spirit of Space, I am!” Valthyrra declared in a stricken
voice, and paused for a moment of deep reflection. “Do you suppose that
means that I have a soul?”

“I suppose it means that you have a problem.”

The planet grew in size quickly and the Methryn began to brake cautiously,
careful to avoid engaging too much power all at once that would give away her
approach on scan. The carrier made a rapid pass at a very close orbit, arcing
around the curve of the planet before moving away into open space. At her
closest approach, the five smaller ships shot out from beneath her hull,
rolling as they dropped down toward the planet.

Encased in shells of thin flame as their atmospheric shields pierced the
thin, upper atmosphere, the small group of ships plummeted toward a landscape
that grew rapidly beneath them. They were coming down at a steep angle on a path
that would bring them directly over the Union installation, rather than a
remote approach, then a long, low-level run toward their destination. Time was
the only factor in their favor, and they were able to cross the three hundred
kilometers between the shadow of the Methryn’s hull to the hidden base in
just under five minutes. That strained the abilities of the transport’s
shields to the limit, subjecting the little ship’s hull to some rather
extreme temperatures. At least those very few minutes of heat were no real
danger to the sturdy little transport.

“Does Bill have that bay open?” Velmeran asked.

The ships were braking sharply now, closing the final few kilometers in a
hurry. They were almost certain to have been detected on either scanners or conventional
radar by now, and perhaps even visually. They needed to have that bay standing
open so that they could land immediately, or the installation’s remote
defenses would be opening fire on them.

“Bill says that the bay is standing open,” Valthyrra told him.
“He also says that Lenna Makayen has yet to make herself known.”

“Thank you for anticipating my questions,” he responded.
“Maybe you do have a soul.”

“At least a sense of humor.”

“We should not push it.”

Then Velmeran paused, seeing the state of the Union base as it became
visible below and just ahead. Lenna’s little distraction must have been
one of her best efforts, if a little overdone. Thick black smoke rose from
several points clustered along one section of the installation; it looked as if
fully an eighth of the place, as massive as it was, was on fire. Then he looked
closer, and he realized something that made him very apprehensive. With
Lenna’s fire threatening to get completely out of control, the base
personnel had opened all the landing bay doors over a large area to vent the
smoke.

“Val, let me try something on that remarkable sense of humor of
yours,” he said after a moment, wondering how long he had before
automatic weapons began to make a mess of his little invasion. “Ah, we
have no way to tell which of the three dozen or so bays standing open could
possible be the right one.”

Valthyrra must have afforded the place a quick, detailed scan of the
immediate area, for she treated them to an intense barrage of invectives in at
least five major languages. Had she a soul, it was surely damned.

“Spare our ears!” Velmeran exclaimed, interrupting her.
“Can you identify which of those landing bays contains Bill?”

“I can trace his achronic transmissions, yes.”

“Then come around and put a low-power bolt right down the middle of
that bay,” he instructed. “I hardly care how much, just so long as
we can see it. Tell Bill to stay under cover, and we will hold back just a
bit.”

“I am in position now. Are you ready?”

“Standing by.”

A pale blue beam shot down from above, striking through the center of the
open doors of one of the nearer bays. It lasted only an instant and resulted in
no explosions or smoke from within the bay, but it was enough.

“Got it!” Velmeran declared, then addressed his pilots.
“Follow me now, fighters first to clear the way. Perhaps we can get
ourselves under cover before they begin shooting at us.”

The three fighters rolled over and dove within the opening of the bay, a
move copied by Venn Keflyn’s corvette. The transport followed somewhat
more cautiously. Once they were within the bay, the ships dropped their landing
gear and dropped quickly to the floor of the immense bay. Velmeran left his
fighter idling, ready for immediate flight, as he opened his canopy and began
unstrapping from his seat. He was still pulling himself from his cockpit when
he saw a sentry hurrying toward him across the bay floor. Since it had not
opened fire, he assumed that it must be Bill.