Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

“Not too damned likely,” Drakon grumbled. “All right, dammit. But get an escort set up to get President Iceni to the lift field. Make it strong. There’s going to be mass panic soon.”

Morgan was standing nearby, her posture strangely uncertain. Uncharacteristically, she didn’t seem able to decide what to do, just watching Drakon with a fixed stare.

“Go ahead, Colonel Morgan,” Drakon said. He looked over at Iceni, who herself was still standing, gazing across the command center, fists clenched at her sides. “You are to command the President’s escort and ensure she gets on a shuttle, help her commandeer a freighter in orbit, then remain with her and guard her wherever she goes. Get her out of here, get her to safety, whether she wants to go or not, and you get out safe, too.”

“No.” Morgan shook her head like someone coming out of a daze. “You—”

“M-Madam President?” the supervisor called out. “Th-there’s something happening.”

“ What is happening?” Iceni snapped, instantly focused on the situation again.

“Those six ships, Madam President. They’re… they’re doing something.”

“What are they doing?” Iceni repeated in an even more forceful tone. But as she looked at the display, the anger was replaced by incomprehension. “What are they doing?” she repeated, baffled.

Almost forgotten until now, the six mystery ships had been driving steadily inward toward the star. Now they were diving back toward the plane of the star system, accelerating at a very impressive rate, their vectors aimed at—

“It’s the bombardment,” the supervisor said in a disbelieving voice. “They’re aiming to intercept the bombardment.”

“Why?” Iceni asked the question of the entire command center. “What’s the point? What can they do?”

The supervisor, forced by his position to be the one to answer, faltered out a reply. “I… I don’t know, Madam President.”

Iceni spun to face Drakon. “Mobile forces cannot stop a bombardment. It’s too hard a problem for the fire control systems. What are those ships doing?”

Colonel Malin answered. “Those aren’t our ships. They’re not Alliance ships. They’re not human ships. Maybe they can do something ours can’t.”

Every eye stayed on the display as the six ships swooped down on the bombardment projectiles, sliding into position directly behind them in a maneuver that brought a gasp of admiration from Iceni and several others in the command center. The mystery ships began firing, somehow scoring hits, blows that did not destroy the solid metal bombardment projectiles but did divert their paths, sending them on courses that would never reach this planet.

Drakon watched, impressed even though he didn’t understand the magnitude of the achievement, as the bombardment was diverted projectile by projectile. But he did note that the rate of success kept dropping as the bombardment pulled away from the six ships.

Finally, only one projectile remained on course for this world. Shots from the six ships blasted toward it again and again, with no results. Drakon began trying to calculate how much damage that one object would do when it struck this planet. “Any guesses?” he asked Malin and Morgan, both of whom shook their heads.

“It depends too much on where it hits,” Malin explained.

The firing stopped. Drakon heard a vast sigh fill the command center as everyone at once seemed to let out disappointed breaths. To come so close to total success and not achieve it… But he couldn’t complain, not when a planet-killing bombardment had been reduced to one rock that might be devastating but not a total disaster. “If you two have decided to start following orders again, calculate the trajectory on that rock and try to get an estimate of where it will hit,” he ordered Morgan and Malin. “We need to—”

The six ships had fired again, a single volley.

Instead of reporting success, the supervisor sobbed with relief.

Iceni looked ready to reprimand him, then smiled and took a long, slow breath herself. “I don’t know where they came from, I don’t know what they are, but we are amazingly lucky that they were here.”

“Perhaps it wasn’t luck,” Malin said. He had a calculating expression on his face as he eyed the depictions of the six strange ships.

Drakon glanced at Morgan for her reaction and saw the exact same expression on her face. “What do you think?”

Morgan grinned, all of her usual cockiness back. “We need what they’ve got.”

“Don’t start planning a boarding operation.”

“And victory celebrations may be a bit premature,” Malin added. “A second group of enigmas has launched a bombardment.”

Drakon muttered a curse, swiveling to look at the display. Sure enough, the group headed for the gas giant had unleashed projectiles aimed at the mobile forces facility and the battleship still present there. “We need that thing to move.”

“We couldn’t send an order in time for it to be received,” Iceni corrected him. “Whatever has happened, has already happened. Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos has shown some remarkable abilities in the past. I am sure he will realize the need to move that battleship before the bombardment reaches it. Kommodor Marphissa could not reach those enigma ships in time to stop their launch, but she will prevent them from doing more damage.”

But, within moments, Iceni’s surface serenity cracked. “What is he doing?”

Drakon squinted at the display, trying to understand what was happening. “The battleship has lit off its main propulsion.”

“But it is still fastened to the mobile forces facility! It will rip the dock free and possibly damage the battleship as well to no purpose!” Iceni’s opinion of Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos appeared to have undergone a radical change.

But as minutes went past, Iceni’s expression shifted again, to incomprehension. “According to the data feed from the battleship, he’s got his main propulsion going at almost full, but he’s still tied to the facility. How is that possible?”

“The entire facility is moving,” the command center supervisor reported helpfully.

“I can see that!” Iceni seethed. “Why isn’t it coming apart under the strain? What the hell is Kontos doing?”

As if in answer to her, a transmission came in showing Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos on the bridge of the battleship Midway . As usual, the youthful Kontos showed an unruffled attitude despite the dire situation. “To President Iceni. When the alien force appeared in this star system, it occurred to me that there might be a need to protect this facility from the usual form of attack. Therefore, I ordered the shipyard workers to immediately begin reinforcing the battleship’s ties to the facility, using all available means. They have worked steadily, and are still working to bolster those areas as I seek to use Midway ’s propulsion to pull the facility out of the way of the incoming bombardment. I believe we have a reasonable chance of success. I have informed Kommodor Marphissa of my actions as well. If we are successful in avoiding the bombardment, I will report on the outcome. For the people, Kontos, out.”

“He’s crazy,” somebody whispered clearly enough to be heard in the hushed command center.

“It might work,” the supervisor suggested.

Iceni looked as if she might explode. “He’s risking the battleship… my battleship… on a harebrained scheme that can’t possibly—”

“Madam President?” a specialist asked with equal parts hesitancy and daring. “Projections are that the mobile forces facility will just clear the bombardment area.”

“What? Are you certain?”

“From the data feeds we are getting, the known mass of the facility, and the performance data on the battleship’s main propulsion, yes, Madam President.”