Thorarinn Gunnarsson - Tactical Error

“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.