Stephen Berry - The Battle for Terra Two

"Ahead flank," ordered L'Wrona. "Full evasive pattern. Prepare for hostile fire."

D'Trelna slammed down the commnet switch. "Gunnery! T'Laka! D'Trelna! Flanking Councilor seven to Ar-chon two. You open fire or I'll kick your teeth in!"

Both ships fired as one, thick red fusion beams lashing from squat, gray weapons blisters, tearing at each other's shields-shields that turned red as the moments dragged by. Five minutes into the battle, and the destroyer's shield began sliding into umbra, the new color lapping out in concentric circles from the beam points.

"We outgun him ten to one," said D'Trelna to Sutherland. "He can't outrun us. Even if he made jump point, he'd have to drop his shield to jump. We'd vaporize him with a missile." They watched as the umbra blazed into scarlet, obscuring the other ship.

"Why isn't he favoring us with one of their famous suicide runs, H'Nar?" asked the commodore. "He can't last much longer."

As he spoke, V'Tran's Glory ceased firing, its shield slowly changing back to umbra.

"He's diverting weapons energy to shield," said the captain, punching into a tactics readout.

"Buying time," said D'Trelna. "For what?" He checked his own instruments, then looked back at the screen, squinting.

"T'Lei, split screen. Give me base-plus-five magnification, grids one-seven by two-five. There's a color anomaly and he's headed right for it."

The screen split, the right still showingV'Tran's Glory, encased in the blazing cocoon of its shield, moving at flank, and a growing circle of something blacker than even the obsidian of space-something blotting out the stars as it expanded.

"Maximus," said Sutherland. "It's like the Maximus portal Guan-Sharick described, only bigger, spaceborne. That ship's headed for Terra Two."

"Gunnery," snapped L'Wrona. "Full missile salvo. Now!"

Missiles flashed from their launch blisters, long silver needles closing onV'Tran's Glory as she slipped through the portal.

Where the hole in space had been, stars shone again. The missiles continued on, straight for the Lesser Magellanic Clouds.

"Gone," said L'Wrona.

"Confirmed," said K'Raoda, checking the full battlescan.

"Gone to Terra Two." Sutherland sank into a vacant chair. "Why?"

D'Trelna shook his head, grim-faced. "Any number of unpleasant possibilities. With the excitement over, we'll have to…"

"Alert. Alert." It was computer. "Incoming ordnance. Incoming ordnance."

K'Raoda punched tacscan up on the big screen. Five arrows were converging on the central blip ofImplacable. "Our missiles are coming home."

"Run for jump point, T'Lei," said LWrona. "Gunnery, destruct those missiles."

There was a brief pause. "They don't respond, sir."

"The shield will have to take it," said L'Wrona.

"They're queuing," said K'Raoda, looking up from a telltale. The five arrows were now in a straight line, chasingImplacable as she fled outsystem. The XO typed a rapid series of commands to the hull sensors. "And they're shielded," he said, looking to L'Wrona.

"Try for jump point, H'Nar," said D'Trelna. "T'Ral," he said to the tactics officer, "change shield frequency- random setting."

"What the hell's going on?" asked Sutherland.

"Sabotage," said D'Trelna. "Someone-something-has gotten to our missiles. Only a shield can penetrate another shield-if they have the same shield frequency. But shield frequencies are changed daily-randomly programmed, manually implemented by Weapons. So all missiles are unshielded. One counts on fusion fire to weaken the enemy's enough for simultaneous missile hits to punch through. Someone's gone to the trouble of shielding those missiles- someone on this ship-smart money says those missiles and our main shield are now on the same frequency."

"Which you're changing," said Sutherland.

D'Trelna looked back at K'Raoda. The XO was reentering the same data command again, scowling. "Smart money also says whoever could infiltrate our physical and programming security could imbed a frequency-lock command."

Gripping the bridge railing, Sutherland looked at the screen. Implacable was speeding toward the glowing blue circle of the jump point, but the missiles were closing even faster.

"Shield programming's dead-trapped," said T'Ral. "Change shield frequency now and the shield fails."

"I sense a master's tentacle in this, H'Nar," said D'Trelna. "Are we going to make it?"

"Computer says almost," said L'Wrona with a tight smile.

D'Trelna shook his head. "I will not be killed by my own weapons. It's embarrassing." The commodore sat silent, brooding as the gap between ship and missiles grew slim.

The bridge was very quiet, all eyes hypnotized by the five needles of death now only a few heartbeats away.

"H'Nar!" said D'Trelna, coming out of his chair. "If the compensator programming's not tied into those missile shields…"

L'Wrona swore-a rarity. "Gunnery, on my order, hit the lead missile."

"Acknowledged."

"T'Ral, advise me the instant their shields drop. "T'Lei, drop our shield."

K'Raoda typed an authenticator, followed by a command. "Shield down, sir."

"Gunnery, fire!"

Touching the lead missile, the fusion beam triggered its warhead. A miniature sun blossomed where the missiles had been, vanishing as cheers swept the bridge.

"What happened?" asked Sutherland.

"Counter-programming in our missiles allows them to compensate for certain changes in target status," said D'Trelna. Sitting down again, he dialed up a cup of t'ata. "Target turns, missile turns, it speeds up, the missile speeds up, it jams, the missile counterjams. But shield-ing's not a category-those weapons aren't shield-bearing design. And, for complex but perfectly logical reasons, a shield would have to have been set through the counter-programming.

"We dropped our shield; the missiles dropped their shields." He sipped his t'ata. "And so, unlike the crew ofV'Tran's Glory, we live."

"You're looking better," said Sutherland.

"How was I looking?" John did a final chinup, then dropped to the mat. It was main watch-the two had the officer's Rec Area almost to themselves.

"Very dead," said Sutherland. Grabbing a horizontal bar, he did two chinups. "Medtechs were wheeling you from GWU Emergency to a shuttle, life support gear stuck into every vein. You were the color of the deck." He scuffed the gray battlesteel with his shoe. "I was rehearsing a speech for your wife."

Taking a running start, John cartwheeled to the end of the mat, then backflipped to his feet. "Nothing like a new heart."

"Very nice."

They walked to the beverager. John punched up a cup of water, holding it out to Sutherland. The CIA Director shook his head.

"Any rejection problems?"

"None." He gulped down the water. "It's my own tissue, vat grown and installed by Q'Nil and the med staff."

"Prime stuff. Remind me to check in here for my coronary.

"Heard from Zahava?"

"Just a postcard, shuttled up from the Embassy. I'll call her Saturday."

Sutherland frowned. "She doesn't know?"

"Her sister in the hospital, me with a nicked heart? She'd have freaked. I'll tell her when she gets home." He tossed the cup down a disposer.

"You must be getting restless, sitting up here, convalescing."

John's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you want, Bill?"

"You," he smiled. "You're needed back on Terra Two. The K'Ronarins found the S'Cotar portal and we've confirmed it. Time to raise some hell."

"No way." He stepped back a pace. "I almost got killed! If the K'Ronarins weren't here, I'd be dead meat!"

Sutherland held up his hands. "Easy, boy. All I ask is that you come with me to our leader's briefing."

"Is this leader short and round?"

"He is."

"When and where?" he sighed.