It was a desolate region of space, they discovered, upon their arrival at the designated coordinates. Even as Remi ordered ‘All Stop’, Slavko and Xuilan were already hard at work scanning the region for other vessels. They painstakingly examined every trace until they could rule it out as a potential threat, until finally, Slavko breathed a sigh of relief.
“All clear, Cap’n,” he informed him. “There’s no one else within range.”
“That’s welcome news,” Remi smiled as he activated the ship’s intercom. “All hands, this is the captain. We have arrived on station, and the scope is clear. We don’t know how much time we have before the Troika wanders through this sector, so you are to begin your preparations for Cortés and commence shutdown of designated systems. That is all.”
As he shut off the intercom, Slavko turned in his seat. “Why did you call the plan ‘Cortés’, Cap’n?” he asked. “I mean… what is a Cortés?”
“Not what, who,” he corrected. “He was an ancient war leader back on old Terra. When he arrived at his destination, the land he intended to conquer, he ordered his men to burn their ships.” A calculating smile played across his lips. “It was his message to them there would be no turning back.”
“Yeah, I guess that fits,” the gunner shrugged, as he began gearing up for the job ahead.
“Let me know when you’re set up here, so we can start shifting our flag back to Gyrfalcon,” he ordered. “I need to check in with the others and see where we stand.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” the pair echoed, as he exited the bridge.
He spotted Isi hauling supplies to the airlock. “Only a couple more loads,” the purser apprised him.
“Good work,” he commended, clapping him on the shoulder. “When you’re finished, check in with Mairead. She’s got her hands full.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” he nodded, resuming the transfer as Remi made his way aft.
Deeper into the bowels of the ship, he found Samara hard at work rigging the demo charges. Mairead’s heart really hadn’t been in it, and… perhaps unsurprisingly… it turned out the Protean had some skills in that area. Given her history with Wetworks, the “Never officially acknowledged, yet known by all” organization of assassins, not to mention her bloody campaign of terror against the Troika, she was happy to volunteer.
Maybe a little too happy, upon reflection.
Neither Tyr nor Gyrfalcon had much in the way of explosives, other than the grenades they used for boarding actions. Once upon a time Terran Navy ships had come equipped with scuttling charges in case the worst happened, but after the destruction of Earth ships were far too precious to destroy on a whim. Any demolition charges they once carried had long since been removed and repurposed. Instead, they were forced to make do with the torpedoes. Removing the explosive charge from the torpedo casing was delicate but straightforward work, and within a couple of days, they had all the demolitions they needed.
She was carrying a charge to one of the locations Mairead had pre-selected; the container resting easily on her shoulder as she lugged it down the corridor. She smiled and gave him a wave as he approached.
“Samara… those weigh three hundred kilograms,” he said carefully.
Hefting the container on her shoulder, she somehow managed a shrug. “Sounds about right,” she agreed.
Shaking his head., Remi forced himself to remember she wasn’t the same woman he’d met on the mission to Earth, though this particular “upgrade” of hers was more than a little off-putting. “I have to keep reminding myself you’re always the most dangerous person in the room,” he sighed, “no easy feat, considering how much you try to blend in.”
“I don’t like to advertise,” she grinned, setting down her load with a metallic clunk. Despite his best efforts, the Corsair still winced.
“You know I haven’t inserted the detonators yet, right?” she teased him.
“I realize that, but if you could show the explosives you’re carrying just a bit more respect, it would be much appreciated,” he scolded her.
“Spoilsport,” she teased, sticking out her tongue.
He managed another sigh. “Samara, I don’t know how you ran things in your terrorist cell, but we Corsairs have learned to treat things that go ‘boom’ with caution. Our ships don’t do very well if things inside them explode.” Remi paused for a moment, then shook his head. “Granted, we’ll be doing that soon anyway, but my point still stands.”
Folding her arms across her chest, the Protean returned his gaze. “Believe it or not, I am fully cognizant of the safety protocols regarding this sort of thing,” she chided him. “And besides, even if I wanted to drop a charge, Guardian would take over before I could relax my grip. So stop worrying.”
“Sorry. Comes with the job description,” he pointed out, though he smiled as he said it. “How much longer, do you think?”
“Hmm… an hour or two to finish emplacing the charges, about twice that to rig the detonators,” she informed him, pausing briefly while she inclined her head. “Guardian agrees with my estimate,” she said after a moment.
“You know, to lesser mortals, you’d come off as seriously disturbing,” he observed.
“Aww, you say the sweetest things,” she grinned. “Now shove off, swabbie. I’ve got work to do.”
“Aye aye, ma’am,” he told her, sketching a brief salute, before turning on his heel and heading for engineering. As he approached the compartment, Remi felt the familiar thrum of the power plant that reverberated through every bulkhead and deck plate, throttling back, a necessary step prior to shutdown. The overhead lights dimmed as energy was reduced and redirected, clear signs Mairead was already hard at work prepping the ship for its new role as a gunnery target.
He found her bent over one of the consoles, monitoring the power output, her focus so intent she failed to notice his presence until he cleared his throat. Looking up with a start, she tucked an errant curl back behind her ear as she pulled up her checklist.
“I’ll need at least another twenty minutes to finish shutting her down,” she told him. “I can’t push it any faster than that.”
“That’s fine,” he assured her. “Where do we stand with the rest of it?”
“I’ve isolated the plasma conduits as best I can,” she shrugged. “Hopefully, it’ll be enough to prevent a cascade failure when we set off the fireworks.”
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Remi raised an eyebrow. “Hopefully?”
“This isn’t an exact science,” she reminded him. “No matter how careful I am with the calculations, there’s gonna be some things I can’t account for. You’ll get my best effort, but there’s always a chance shit could go sideways.”
“I’ve always trusted your judgment,” he told her. “Your word’s always been good enough for me. And if something goes wrong, we’ll handle it.” Somehow, he thought to himself. “Oh, and I told Isi to come help you when he finishes the cargo transfer,” he said, almost as an afterthought.
“I could use an extra pair of hands,” she agreed. “Any word from Samara about that extra something she’s supposed to be throwing together?”
“She’s still working on the demo charges,” Remi explained. “I don’t want to joggle her elbow until that’s been completed.”
“Fair enough,” she nodded. “Give me a couple more hours to finish taking the critical systems offline, and we should be good to go down here.”
“When you’re ready, meet us back on Gyrfalcon,” he reminded her. “The sooner we get this done, the happier I’ll be.”
Mairead looked over the engineering compartment and grimaced. “It just feels like sacrilege,” she said unhappily. “Tyr’s a damn legend amongst the clans, and after finally finding it after all these years, we blow it up.” She shook her head in disgust. “It’s just wrong, like going to some holy temple and pissing on the altar.”
The captain tried not to roll his eyes. “You’ve spent too much time around Maggie,” he accused her, before gracing her with a gentle smile. “I get it, Mairead, but this is important. Maybe the most important thing mankind has ever done.”
“I know,” she sighed. “Just sticks in my craw is all.”
“When we get to New Terra, I’ll make sure you get the finest ship we can build,” he promised her. “Until then, don’t let me interrupt you.” She gave him a weary nod as he exited the compartment, going back to her checklist as he headed for the airlock, arriving on Gyrfalcon’s bridge minutes later.
The ship was in standby mode, its engines almost cold. One learned early on not to waste energy, or anything else, for that matter. Taking his seat and activating the monitor, he pulled up the engineering subroutines and initiated start-up procedures, warming up the power plant. The computer supervised the operation automatically, and with Mairead’s hands already full, it was one task he could take care of himself.
While that was being dealt with, he turned his attention to the bridge stations, bringing each of them online as well, taking a moment to run yet another sensor sweep of the area. The scope was still clear, thank Mother Terra, but there were no guarantees it would stay that way. The sooner they finished this and hid Gyrfalcon somewhere safe, the happier he’d be.
Xuilan and Slavko both appeared on the bridge, giving him a nod as they took their seats. “Do we have any idea about the volume of traffic between Erii U’ut and New Terra?” he asked his pilot. “How much time do we have before someone comes heading this way?”
“There’s no way to say for certain. From what I can tell, traffic is sporadic between those two systems, but exactly how infrequent is a mystery, I’m afraid,” Xuilan replied, as she took over for Remi and started bringing the secondary systems online.
“And Fata Morgana?” he pressed her. “What’s the story there?”
“We’ve been working to modify it,” she informed him. “They originally designed it to fire as a pulse, like we did when Freya was attacked, but what we’ve come up with is a way to operate it at a much lower setting, emitting a steady stream of electromagnetic radiation. As long as the Troika doesn’t look too hard in our direction, it should hopefully mask our signature.”
“And if they take a harder look at us?” he asked her.
“Then we’re screwed,” she sighed. “We’re pulling out everything but the kitchen sink here, Cap’n, but you have to know the Troika has better and more advanced tech than we do. All I can say is that it’s the best option we’ve got.”
“That’s all I can ask,” he nodded, before turning his attention to Slavko. “So walk me through it,” the captain ordered. “What’s the plan to make Tyr look enticing to the Troika?”
“I’ve been going back and forth on whether to kick things off with the torpedoes or the demo charges,” the gunner explained. “There're pros and cons both ways, but I finally decided to start with the explosives already on board.”
“What’s your reasoning?” Remi asked him.
“Mostly I’m concerned if we start with the torpedoes, there’s a chance it could interfere with setting the charges off remotely. If that happens, it means going back aboard and tracking down the problem on a ship that’s likely already leaking atmosphere and plasma, surrounded by a couple tons of finicky explosives just waiting to blow.” He shuddered and shook his head. “Hard pass on that one. I’ll remote-fire them first, then switch to the torps. Safer all around.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” the captain said in approval. Slavko was right, doing it the other way was too great a risk. “Now, what about the railguns?”
“I don’t think we should use those,” he protested, “mainly because the Yīqún don’t mount them. If you want to preserve the illusion they attacked Tyr, then I gotta vote no.”
“Fair enough,” Remi agreed, settling back in his chair. “We have a couple hours before the others finish up, so I suggest we use that time to double-check everything. When we clear hard dock, I want this thing to go down fast and clean. Questions?”
The other two shook their heads.
“Then let’s get to work.”
----------------------------------------
The others eventually returned to the ship, one by one, until all six of them were in position and buckled in. Isi and Samara had both joined them on the bridge, though Mairead had politely declined.
“Everyone accounted for, the ship is sealed and hot,” Remi observed, checking his display. “Xuilan, take us out.”
“Aye aye, Cap’n,” she confirmed, flipping the switch that released the docking clamps. “Detaching seal, we are clear of hard dock,” she informed them. “Thrusters are online,” she continued, a slight jolt nudging them away from Tyr. Xuilan gradually increased power, taking them further and further from the old battleship, until they were finally at the selected coordinates.
Remi tapped the intercom. “Last chance to join us, Mairead,” he told the Tinker.
“I’ll pass,” she answered. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t watch that.” She clicked off without another word.
Shaking his head, he gave his gunner the nod. “All right, it’s your show, Slavko.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” he swallowed, taking a deep breath before sending the signal to Tyr.
The results were immediate. Remi spotted half a dozen explosions at least, rippling up and down the old girl, blowing out hull panels, and destroying one of the railgun emplacements in a series of silent flashes. Bright magenta jets of plasma arced out into space, mixing with the escaping atmosphere and slowly expanding debris field as Tyr buckled under the strain.
“How are we looking?” Remi asked.
Slavko checked his display. “We’re still good, captain,” he answered. “That’s about what we expected.”
“Told you,” Samara purred beside him. He shot her a look, then refocused his attention on the job at hand.
“Phase Two,” he ordered.
“Aye, Cap’n, bringing torpedo launchers online now,” the gunner confirmed. “Firing.”
Gyrfalcon spat out a full spread of missiles, each pre-programmed for a specific target. Tyr lay defenseless before them, and a part of him couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt for what they were doing to the old girl. She deserved better, especially after all these years, but weighed against what Threshold offered, and considering just how great their need truly was, there was simply no other choice.
The torpedoes flew straight and true, impacting the hull in another string of explosions, bright flashes detonating in the black, and now Tyr was listing hard. Maybe she could still maneuver, but there was an equally good chance she’d need months of work before ever flying again.
Like most humans, Remi gave at least token reverence to Mother Terra, the faith that had sprung up after Earth’s destruction, but truth be told, he’d never held much in the way of faith, with one exception. When faced with a situation that was out of one’s control, one that held out the possibilities of life and death, many found coping mechanisms in order to deal with the existential fear. Superstition, many called it, and that was true enough, but if it helped you sleep better and didn’t hurt anybody, who cared? Everyone had one, whether or not they admitted it, and most were relatively harmless. A token, a ritual, something to focus on when the Fates wove and spun and cut their threads.
For him, it was an ancient Titan known as Asteria, the Goddess of Falling Stars. Something about the image spoke to him, that their ancient ancestors would worship a deity of meteors, hunks of rock and iron that roared with flame as they entered the planet’s atmosphere, flaring bright, and then disappearing forever. Perhaps it was the transience of it, some twisted parallel with the fate of Terra’s surviving children. Was it possible that destiny had preserved the old battleship for just this moment, knowing how important her part would be? Kept in a special hiding place, marked with a tag that says, “Do not open until saving humanity?”
Perhaps he and Tyr had that in common.
Better to burn out than just fade away.