Jack McDevitt - A Talent for War

"I’d rather outrun it," I said.

We lifted out of orbit within the hour, and, with our prow turned toward the enemy—for that was certainly how we both thought about the other ship—we accelerated. Almost immediately, Chase reported that the other vessel had begun to change course. "To get closer," she said.

"Veer off. Try to keep that ten-thousand-kilometer range at closest approach."

"I’ll do what I can." She looked grim. "But I wish to hell one or the other of us knew what we’re doing."

Chase was right: the pressure of constant acceleration wore us down. She looked exhausted after an hour, and I became acutely conscious of my heartbeat. We increased oxygen content, and that helped for a while.

Meantime the distance between the two ships narrowed. "Coming fast," Chase said.

"They won’t shoot. The only reason they’re here is to salvage the Corsarius."

But I wasn’t really all that confident, and Chase knew it. So we waited, while the computers counted down the time.

The alien’s components seemed to be moving within themselves: whirling lights and orbiting topological shapes. It looked ghostly, insubstantial. "Closest point of approach," said Chase. "Mark."

The computer announced in a burgundy female voice: "They are tracking us for laser fire."

"Hang on, Chase."

"Goddam it, Alex, we forgot something—"

She was interrupted by a blast. The ship lurched violently: metal tore, and something exploded. Klaxons howled and warning lights blinked on. Chase unleashed a series of expletives. "The magnets," she said. "They just wiped us out, first punch." She looked gloomily at me, and at the image of the alien as it reached maximum size, and began to diminish. Red lights across the status boards were switching to purple. "The ship’s sealing itself, but we’ve got problems." She shut the alarms down.

"What happened?" I asked. The pressure of acceleration had eased. Considerably.

"That’s not my doing," she explained. "They cut a hole in our propulsion system. And unless you’re an expert at repairing magnetic drive units, we’re going to be down to a slow walk."

"Well, we’ll keep moving at our current velocity, right?"

"Actually, we’ll do a little better than that. But that isn’t very good, when the other guy keeps accelerating. What will happen now is that they’ll continue on, loop around the planet and come get us. Pretty much at their leisure. And what really irritates me is that it needn’t have happened!"

"Why? What do you mean?"

"The problem is neither of us knows anything about combat. We’ve got a shield. But we never activated it!"

"Son of a bitch."

"Now you know why Gabe was bringing John Khyber along. The old naval systems expert. He damned well wouldn’t have overlooked anything so obvious!" Her eyes filled with tears. All we’d been through, and it was the first time I’d seen her so discouraged.

"What about the stardrive? Any damage to that?"

She took a deep breath and flicked switches. "Stardrive ignition is still no less than twenty-three hours away. But I’m damned if I can imagine what’s going to ignite. Son of a bitch, we had plenty of time. You know what we had up? Standard navigational meteor screens! We’re lucky we didn’t get nuked. Dumb!"

"No point worrying about that now. How much time do we have before they catch us?"

Chase tapped the computer. "About fourteen hours." She slumped in her seat. "I think," she said, "it’s time to run up a white flag."

She was right. The giant vessel swung round the world that had been Sim’s prison, and hurtled after us.

We went into the after section and looked at the magnetics. Three of the series were fused. "It’s a wonder we’ve got any acceleration at all," Chase said. "But it’s not going to be enough to make a difference."

We used our remaining time as prudently as we could. First thing we did was get an explanation from the computer on the ship’s system of shields. I would have liked to run a test, but I decided it might be a better idea not to let the mutes see it. Maybe they assumed it was no longer operational. After all, what other explanation could there be for not using it in a situation which so clearly called for defenses? Then, having assured ourselves, perhaps too late, that we would not stand completely naked to the bastards, we started to look to our firepower.

While we watched them come, we studied schematics, and talked to computers. We learned details about a bewildering tangle of weapons systems, which were operated from four different consoles. And I began to understand why the frigates required an eight-man crew. "We couldn’t hope to fire more than one or two of these damned things," complained Chase. "If we had more people, people who knew what they were doing, and everything worked, I think even now we could put up a decent fight."

"Computer," I said, "can the mute detect our power build-up?"

"Unknown."

"Can we read power levels on board their ship?"

"Negative. We can detect external radiation only, and I can draw inferences from mass and maneuvering characteristics. But they would be estimates whose only real use would be to provide absolute minimum values."

"Then they can’t read ours?"

"Unknown. We lack data on their technology."

"Alex, what are you getting at?"

"I’m not sure. But I’d prefer they think we’re helpless."

"What’s the difference?" asked Chase. "Their screens are up. They’re assuming we’re dangerous."

"Computer, what can you tell us about enemy capabilities?"

"Corsarius was struck by an enhanced laser of extremely narrow concentration. The energy required to produce the effect we witnessed, at their extreme range, implies power which exceeds ours by a multiple of at least six point five. Analysis of ECM and physical structure suggests the generation of a quasi-magnetic energy field for defensive, and perhaps offensive, purposes. Probably an amplified version of our own shields. We would be wise to assume considerable difficulty in penetrating defensive systems.

"Propulsion appears to be standard. Armstrong symmetries are detectable in radiation pattern, as is a magnetic track of the type one would expect for a linear drive system—"

And so on.

For several hours, we continued to widen our lead over the mutes. But they were accelerating at a much higher rate than we were. And eventually, Chase informed me quietly that they had exceeded our speed, and were now beginning to close.

Its blue-green lights grew brighter on the screens. And, as it drew near, it began to slow down, presumably to match our course and speed.

We were both chilled by the precision of the long-range laser shot which had destroyed the engines, and neither of us held any illusions about the outcome should we be forced to fight.

Nevertheless, we concentrated on our own weapons. We had nukes and accelerated particle beams and proton rams, and half a dozen other devices I’d never heard of. The most promising (which is to say the easiest to aim and fire) seemed to be a weapon that Chase referred to as the scattershot: a wide-band energy beam consisting of gantner photons, hot electrons, and a kind of "particle soup." Its effect, according to the computers, was to destabilize matter at short range. "But you have to get in close," the computer warned. "And you have to knock out the defensive systems first. It won’t give you any penetration at all of the shields."

"How do we do that?" asked Chase.

The computer replied with a complex strategy requiring quick maneuvering and operators at three of the weapons consoles.

"One console," I said. "We can only man one. Or two if we dispense with the pilot."

"Why don’t we just give them the ship?" said Chase. I could see fear in her eyes, and I doubt that I was doing a good job hiding my own emotions. "That’s what they want, and it’s our best chance to get away from here with our heads."