Melissa Scott - Allegiance

“Forward shields at twenty-five percent,” Franklin reported.

Chandler was already looping away, turning to present their aft shields to the hive. The railguns flashed again as they turned, but the hits were minimal, caught by the hive’s remaining shields.

“The hive’s lost hyperdrive,” Franklin said. He bent closer over his console. “They’re venting atmosphere aft — no, that’s sealed now.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Our rear shields are at fifty percent.”

“Anything from Daedalus ?” Sam asked.

“No, ma’am. She’s still not underway.”

And if Steven could do anything to help, he would, Sam thought. Darts flashed past, a 302 in pursuit: Hocken’s wing doing what she could in support, and the Hammond shivered again as a shot struck a failing shield.

“Ventral shield at twenty-five percent,” Franklin said.

Chandler pitched the ship into a tight corkscrew, trying to keep the good shields toward the hive. He was gaining ground, too, putting a little distance between the ships, attenuating the hive’s fire — buying time, Sam thought. The Hammond wouldn’t win a straight slugfest, was already getting close to the point where she’d need to break and run — but the hive was still vulnerable. If they could get a decent shot at the unshielded stern —

“Get us one more good shot, lieutenant,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and Hammond turned on its axis, trying again for the stern shot. The ship shuddered, the ventral shields taking fire as they rolled past, and red lights flashed on Sam’s console, warning of damage in the empty 302 bays. Harmless for now, she thought, and concentrated on the hive as it dodged and turned. Chandler matched it, but the hive’s guns were striking home, the shield warnings flashing.

“Forward shield at ten percent,” Franklin said. “Ventral shields at minimum.”

“One good shot,” Sam said.

The railguns were still firing, groping for the target, and Ellefson launched another missile salvo for good measure. For an instant the hive loomed in the screen, and then Chandler broke away, rolling to catch the return fire on the dorsal shield.

“The hive’s shields are down,” Franklin said. “We’ve lost ventral shields, forward shields holding at eight percent. Rear shields at twenty percent.”

They needed to get clear, Sam thought — well, they needed Daedalus’s support, but that wasn’t happening. But they couldn’t let the hive get close enough to see that Atlantis was undefended. And they couldn’t afford to lose the Hammond , either. The hive was turning, a little faster now that the shields were down, all its power channeled to the engines, and Chandler drove past its nose, turning again to put the dorsal shields between it and them. The railguns were firing, shots solid on the hive’s leading edge, but the hive’s guns were still intact. The Hammond rocked as a blast hit somewhere aft, and an alarm shrilled for an instant before the duty engineer slapped it to silence.

“Hull breach in compartment C14. I’m rerouting shields.”

“Good,” Sam said. She looked at her screen again, looking for another way out. “The cruiser,” she said. “Lieutenant, put the cruiser between us and the hive.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chandler said, and pitched Hammond into a tight turn. The hive followed, wallowing, and Franklin looked over his shoulder.

Sam forced a smile she didn’t entirely feel. “Let’s play dodge’em.”

Caldwell watched the Hammond drawing the hive ship away from Daedalus , getting a little more maneuvering room every time she broke away in a tight turn the hive ship apparently couldn’t quite follow. It bought him some breathing room, but it also meant he couldn’t bring Daedalus’s weapons to bear on anything but Darts that unwarily ventured under his guns.

“Sub-light engines are still not on line,” Meyers said, as if he had any doubt about why she wasn’t closing the distance.

“I can see that,” Caldwell said. He resisted the urge to tell Meyers to take evasive action, since she was obviously already doing that to the extent that she could. Two Darts streaked across the forward viewscreen, with 302s in pursuit. Marks’s hand twitched on the weapons controls, but he held his fire, his shot fouled by the 302s.

“Dr. Novak, we need those sub-light engines,” Caldwell said, raising his voice to carry over the comm system. “Can you give me anything?”

“I’m trying!” Novak said from down in Engineering. “They’re just not responding. We’re trying to re-route power around damaged components, but I think the ignition system itself may be shot. I’m just not sure I can get this back online without doing major repairs.”

“Do what you can,” Caldwell said. “Right now pretty much all we can do up here is watch.”

“I know,” Novak said unhappily. He suspected she was wishing Hermiod was here muttering to himself in Asgard and coming up with some improbably fast fix for their problems. At the moment, so was he.

He could see Sam maneuvering to keep Hammond behind the derelict cruiser, getting off shots from her railguns whenever she could bring them to bear. The last thing she probably wanted at this point was a full-on exchange of fire, but the hive kept maneuvering for one, trying to get clear of the cruiser’s bulk.

At least its shields were down. He hadn’t even had time to think about that yet, except as an immediate tactical problem, but he was aware that the bigger problem was looming. The main advantage they had over the Wraith was that ships equipped with Asgard or Ancient shield generators could take more punishment than the fragile hives. If they’d lost that advantage…

Two more Darts streaked into view, arrowing straight toward the viewscreen, apparently on a kamikaze run for the bridge.

“I’ve got them,” Marks said. Meyers’ hands were moving swiftly over her console, playing with the maneuvering thrusters to get them a slightly better angle. Caldwell’s hands tightened on the arms of his chair, but he resisted the urge to backseat drive.

“Fire at will,” Caldwell said, and Marks waited another endless few seconds, then fired, two bursts from the forward rail guns that splintered both Darts well clear of the Daedalus’s hull.

“Forward shields at seventy-five percent,” Marks reported. “Rear shields back up at twenty-five percent.”

“We’re in better shape than they are,” Caldwell said. He hated to leave himself even more of a sitting duck, but the Hammond was clearly having trouble extricating herself from her standoff with the hive ship. “Blue Leader, Hammond could use some help.”

“Copy that, Daedalus ,” Hocken said crisply, and then, startled, “ Daedalus , I have multiple Wraith Darts breaking away in formation.”

“Confirmed,” Meyers said.

Either they were pulling back to support the hive ship, or, worse, planning to make an exploratory run on Atlantis. The first would be bad news; the second, a disaster.

“We’re in pursuit,” Hocken said.

“Copy that, Blue Leader,” Caldwell said, wishing grimly there were anything he could do besides sit and wait.

John stretched out in the control chair, feeling it come alive under him as he leaned back, lighting up and warming up under his hands. As always, it felt easy to sink into its enhanced perceptions, the world lighting up around him, showing him the airspace around Atlantis, the bright spots of jumpers launching and then dimming as they cloaked. There was more information there when he thought about it, wind speed and direction as much a feeling as a visual display, the wider sweep of the solar system sharpening as he reached for a broader view.