The trap for their opponents had been set. Gabe smiled. Only an hour previously, the extremely concerned Speaker for the Way had contacted their liaison with the local Guard forces. His father had mentioned concern over the unusual course the Concord group was following, and had respectfully asked if the Guard had any contact or messages from the ships regarding their intent. To their own surprise and worry, the Guard had responded that they had not.
From what Gabe had heard from others, the Guard had then made repeated attempts to contact the Concord, but they had all been met with utter and complete silence. If the commander of that force had decided to move independent of the local authority, he obviously did not care to share the fact with anyone else.
Of course, the lack of contact with the fleet created quite a stir. The more unsuccessful attempts to contact the fleet, the more frantic the Guard commanders became. Their ships were not organized or concentrated enough to conduct a rescue mission for a carrier that size, and by the time they did gather their forces, it would be too late. Fortunately, there was another group of ships who just happened to be ready and assembled along the Concord’s course. The Speaker volunteered his ships, and the disgruntled, desperate Guard had no choice but to agree.
It had been very neatly done. Delacourt’s plan had unfolded almost exactly as she had hoped, and Gabe couldn’t argue with the results. The formation they needed to use was a little unfortunate; even with all their rigs deployed in advance, the cruisers and escorts seemed far too spread out for a possible engagement with the incoming Directorate forces. There was no way they could avoid it unless they wanted to give away the fact that they were not actually here to stop a runaway flotilla. Rescue operations always had to spread out, if only to maximize the ability to make contact with the vessels in distress.
“Prophet-Two to fleet, I have contacts coming in from the vector of the flotilla. Readings suggest our guests have almost arrived.”
The report came in from one of the RSRs deployed ahead the formation. Sensor contacts were quickly forwarded throughout the rest of the fleet, and Gabe watched as four indistinct blips appeared. Each glowed a non-threatening blue; the ships were not supposedly hostile. Gabe activated his communications. “Angel-One to all rigs. Remember, we’re on a search and rescue here. Use drives only, no weapons.”
A series of acknowledgements rolled back to him from the dozens of other rigs in the area, and he relaxed. As long as nobody fired ahead of time, the plan was foolproof. The hardest part would be keeping up the act. Everything had to appear as if the Wayfarers did not expect an enemy headed their way. So far, however, nothing had happened to tell the enemy they were onto them, and Gabe silently prayed that his fellow rig pilots wouldn’t slip up and ruin everything.
Delacourt’s voice was the next one on the net. “Command to all units, close with incoming ships and perform deceleration maneuvers. Ships will link up via gravitic net to anchor the formation, and Deliverance will provide the gravitic deceleration on the carrier. Harvest and Heritage will provide deceleration on each of the light cruisers, along with previously assigned escorts. Remaining escort craft will link up and decelerate Compass. Do it right—we want those ships brought to a halt before they run into something.”
With that signal, the fleet began to move. The six cruisers joined up in a rigid five-pointed star, with Deliverance positioned at the center. Gravitic tethers stretched between the ships as they anchored both themselves and Deliverance in place, preparing the formation to push against the incoming carrier as a whole. Deliverance, freed of the responsibility of positioning itself, would devote its entire tetherdrive to slowing the Concord to a halt.
To either side of the cruiser formation, three frigates and six escort craft formed a similar stance, with the assigned frigates taking up the position at the center. Above the three groups of larger craft, the last twelve Samar-class escorts formed a hollow circle, meaning to break the Compass’ momentum together as the small craft shot through the hoop. The web of supporting gravitic tethers between the ships helped to make the maneuver fluid and unified, but even without that extra support, Gabe wagered the crews would have done it beautifully. For all her faults, Delacourt had a flair for training, and the crews had learned fast.
As the incoming ships drew closer, more and more RSRs and other sensor platforms made contact and they became more distinct. The sheer size of the Concord nearly took Gabe’s breath away. No wonder the Guard had asked for help. By momentum alone, the ancient ship could have bulled right through most formations; under power he suddenly doubted the fleet’s ability to stop it.
Then the gravitic tethers from the fleet began to reach the Concord. It abruptly began to slow, as did the light cruisers on its flanks and the smaller ship racing above it. Gabe picked up a clear channel broadcast from the Deliverance. Once again Admiral Delacourt’s voice filled his head.
“Directorate ships, we have assumed that due to malfunction you have been unable to communicate with either the Eris Guard or our own ships. We further assume that the course you have set is likewise the result of equipment failure. We are going to perform an emergency deceleration in order to bring you to a halt and assist you with your repairs. Do not be alarmed.”
The Directorate ships continued to slow, their drives unable to counteract the influence of the entire Wayfarer fleet. Gabe refrained from adding his own small push to the forces being directed at the four ships. Though gravitic tethers were effective at slowing other ships and even had the potential to punch holes in other spacecraft, they also had a tendency to give away the position and speed of a craft that used them. Since that would cancel out a ship’s ability to conceal itself, or a rig’s ability to slip past enemy sensors, no one used tethers for anything other than propulsion or support for friendly vessels.
As a result, the Directorate ships would likely have a clear read on each of the Wayfarer ships, almost as if they had bounced a targeting laser off them. It would provide them with a pretty accurate initial volley, but Gabe assumed the cruisers could take the hits. Otherwise, Delacourt would never have endorsed a plan that started off using them.
Rigs, on the other hand, were more fragile, and he had no intention of ending up a clear target in some Directorate flunky’s sights. He and the other rigs remained spread out, supposedly to get ready to recover bodies or salvage if the ships broke up for some reason. There were more rigs assembled here than had ever been with the fleet before. Four squads, each one with eighteen CTRs, hovered alongside nearly fifty-six AWORS and twenty-four RSRs. Half the rig force had been launched from the Eris Defense Station, while the remaining half had been stationed on the cruisers, but all were more than ready for battle.
Gabe waited, along with the rest of the fleet, as the Directorate craft had their speed slowed by half. The ships were nearly to point-blank range, and Gabe found himself wondering if they actually had suffered some sort of malfunction. Perhaps the Lord had chosen to bless them, and there was no need for combat this day at all.
His hopes were dashed to pieces a moment later when rigs began pouring from the underside of the Concord, and plasma bolts fell on the ships of the Wayfarer fleet like rain.
Susan watched as the first salvo of plasma shots burst against the defensive screens of her ships. Deliverance rocked only slightly as the wave of shots expended itself, and she smiled as the screens held firm. It seemed that whoever was directing the barrage on the Directorate ships had failed to concentrate their fire. Even with the targeting advantage the enemy had enjoyed, their burst of fire had barely managed to scratch the assembled fleet.
Of course, the fleet now enjoyed that same advantage as well, but she did not intend to open fire and give the renegade Directorate forces an excuse they could use to wipe the Wayfarers from existence. Instead, she touched a control to open the broadcast frequency again. “This is the Wayfarer defense ship Deliverance. We were involved in a rescue operation for the DSS Concord and her escorts, and the ship has opened fire on us! They must have been taken by mutineers or worse. Contact nearby Directorate personnel immediately! Deliverance out.” She turned to where Captain Ndigwe was waiting. “Make sure that transmission reaches the Guard, along with records of our sensor readings and the shots we took. Keep transmitting for the duration of the engagement. I want all the evidence from this fight as public as we can make it.”
Ndigwe nodded and began to pass the orders to her communications and sensors officers. Susan turned her focus to other necessities. The Concord had launched rigs, which meant that the smaller but more lethal combat between the man-shaped spacecraft would begin. Captain Gabriel would be in the middle of that fight soon, and she felt a sense of distraction run through her. Dismissing it as anxiety over whether or not his pilots would be able to live up to their assignment, she touched her communications controls again. “Command to Angel-One. Do you have a read on the number and type of enemy rigs?”
There was a significant pause before the rig commander answered. His voice was sober and solemn. “Command, this is Angel-One. We have a read, and we may have a problem. The enemy rigs are not Triple S models or WGSs.” He paused, and she could almost picture him shaking his head. “From what I’m reading here, they’re MSSRs.”
The silence that followed his statement told Gabe volumes about what was going through Delacourt’s mind. MSSRs meant Outriders; Outriders meant that the ruse they had cooked up to stop the Directorate ships had suddenly become a reality. He didn’t bother trying to figure out how the enemy had managed to capture the Directorate ships. What worried him far more was how they were going to extract them without cutting the Concord open first in order to do it.
For the moment, the rigs launching from the Concord had stayed in formation with the larger craft. They were building their numbers as more rigs launched, and it would only be a matter of time before the whole mass of plasma-armed monsters would swarm out toward the fleet. Attacking them before that charge would mean fighting under the guns of the Concord and their companions. Whether or not the larger ships would cease firing into the Wayfarer ships to target rigs, it would mean each pilot would have to be careful not to be pinned by the crossfire while dueling with enemy rigs.
Waiting would probably be just as bad. The longer they watched, the more MSSRs would be in the mix, and the more Gabe and his fellow CTRs would have to shoot down. He had no idea how many of the rigs the enemy had managed to stuff into the Directorate hangers, and had very little desire to find out. Besides, any MSSRs that slipped by in the chaos would be free to target the ships beyond. The fleet was stuck between a rock and a hard place, and he was praying that the Lord would help Delacourt figure out how to get them out.
When her voice finally came over the communications net, he believed for one moment that the Lord had answered his pleas. “Command to Angel-One. Sensor readings confirm contacts as MSSRs. What will be your deployment plan?”
A sudden panic descended over Gabe. She was making him decide? This time was different from the asteroid assault; there was no simulation to work out the best setup for their units. If he made the wrong choice, people would die. People like Allen or Derek, people who depended on him, would die. He felt his breath come shorter.
Delacourt’s voice pierced the fog of fear that had shrouded his mind. “Angel-One, do you have a deployment plan?” The MSSRs ahead shifted in their formations; were they attacking, or just making room for more?
Her voice came again, needling him. “Command to Angel-One, please resp—”
He cut her off. “Angel-One to all CTR units. We’re heading in. Avoid shots on the ships, but hit the MSSRs hard. RSRs, scout the ships for entry points for boarding shuttles, or any surprises the Outriders may have set up on the hulls of the Directorate ships. AWORs, form up and prepare to screen boarding craft for the ships.” Gabe paused, trying to slow his heartbeat. “Command, sound good to you?”
There was a pause that felt like eternity before she answered. “Orders confirmed, Angel-One. Boarding craft will launch from the frigates in one minute. Engage as soon as possible.”
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“En route, Command.” Gabe accelerated toward the enemy. Wind stirred across his face, and the feeling soothed him somehow. The other seventeen CTRs in the Iron Angels squadron fell into formation around him. “Engaging.”
His response was given an unintended punctuation when the Concord and her escort opened fire again. This time, the plasma fire managed to knock down a few of the defensive screens on some of the Caravan-class cruisers. The crews onboard those ships demonstrated a remarkable level of self-control and held their fire, but Gabe knew that even the most courageous hearts would want to shoot back soon. Even the Lord only asked so much, after all.
Delacourt’s response, however, made it clear that she was finished weathering the Concord’s fire as well. Her voice came over on the broadcast frequency, and her words were filled with the kind of malice that he’d heard only during the last battle at the launch site. It did not promise much leniency to her targets this time, either. “This is the Deliverance to all nearby vessels. Concord and her escorts have been taken by pirates. Repeat, they have been taken by pirates, and are currently under foreign control. We will attempt to recover their crews and ships, and request any and all assistance from the Eris Guard. Deliverance out.”
Then her voice came again over the communications net. “Command to all units. We are going to engage the flotilla. We cannot destroy these ships, but we can board them. All ships, advance to close range and begin to use shuttles to ferry boarding troops.” Another pause, this time a hesitation no longer apparently caused by danger, but by discomfort. “May the Lord bless us all.”
Gabe heard the fragile hope in that voice and shook his head. The wind roared in his ears as he swept toward the clumps of enemy rigs, and he magnified his view of them to see if any presented a clear target yet. He settled his sights over the nearest MSSR and pulled the trigger.
As he fired, plasma bolts erupted from the MSSRs in response. At least three streams of fire raced toward him, but he dodged them rather easily as he came closer. There had to be about thirty-two MSSRs, as many as he had ever seen in one place at one time, but the fact was that they were entirely outmatched. His target came apart as three plasma bolts slammed into its torso, and all around, it other rigs exploded just as easily. Then his squadron was past, and in their wake the nineteen remaining MSSRs struggled along toward the next incoming squadron.
He activated his transmitter. “Angel-One to Iron Angels, continue evasive maneuvers and close with their hangers. We can nail them as they leave and keep any more MSSRs from joining the fight.” Gabe knew that it wasn’t exactly the most chivalrous tactic, but it would be incredibly effective. At the moment, that was all that mattered.
Behind him, the Holy Paladin squadron boiled into the stunned remnants of the MSSRs and blasted them out of the void. He heard Derek, Paladin-One-Five, whoop in victory as one went down under his fire. His smile was short-lived as he saw eight more rigs launch ahead of him. Gabe had just turned his plasma rifle on them when Concord’s plasma cannon blazed to life and rained chaos down on the Angels around him.
Susan jerked as the carrier opened fire on her rigs. Plasma cannon shots raced past the CTRs, and several signals blanked out. She could not tell if the rigs had been hit or if it was merely interference from the residual energy. She spun toward Captain Ndigwe. “Captain, does this ship have any electronic warfare capability? Something to keep them from shooting the rigs and shuttles?”
Ndigwe shook her head slowly. “Nothing that specialized, no. We could fire on their sensor stations. If we use low-powered bursts, the energy should still be enough to cloud their sensors, but not enough to punch through the shields and cause damage.”
She looked back at the projection. The light cruisers had joined in the attack on the rigs, firing at them as they dodged the still-launching MSSRs and the closer-ranged cannon on the Concord. Susan opened her mouth to order the barrage and stopped.
The thought of actually firing on Directorate ships froze her in place. Memories of her comrades flashed through her mind. How likely could it be that one of them was onboard those ships? Held hostage, but still in danger of a death caused by her orders? A pair of heartbeats passed, then another pair. Loyalty, ingrained and impossible to ignore, held her imprisoned as the Outriders continued to fire.
Reports from the rest of the crew buzzed on as she agonized, and then one broke through the haze. “Eyes-Four is requesting orders. Must have missed Captain Gabriel’s transmission.”
Susan blinked. “Captain Ndigwe, the RSRs have jamming capability, correct?” The captain nodded, and Susan made her decision. “Signal the RSR pilots to move in on the enemy ships. They are to jam their sensor stations at close range in order to foul their aim. If needed, we will support with plasma cannon fire.”
“As ordered, Admiral.” Captain Ndigwe turned to her duties, and Susan watched as the RSRs raced in. The little rigs began bombarding the sensor stations with wide-spectrum countermeasures, flooding them with erroneous signals and confusing information. Results were almost instant—the once-coordinated bursts grew even more erratic than before, and some cannon stopped firing altogether. Susan began to breathe a sigh of relief.
Then both of the light cruisers exploded violently, their hulls twisting and fragmenting as their annihilation reactors detonated. The Directorate ships were ripped apart in an instant, sending fragments spiraling out that clipped some of the RSRs buzzing like flies over their hulls. One moment, the two ships were whole; the next, there remained only clouds of debris.
Susan came out of her chair in shock. Her mind raced back to the self-detonation charges used at the launch site. If the goal of the Outriders had been to provoke an incident with the Directorate, then rigging a pair of cruisers to explode would have been an easy part of the task. Since the Outriders wouldn’t have wanted to be on board, they would have rigged them with detonators that would respond to specific triggers—triggers that the RSRs had obviously tripped by accident.
Which meant that the very crews she had been trying to save were dead, and she was the one responsible.
The thought staggered her, but she forced herself to ignore it. She had work to do, and both Concord and Compass were intact. Those crews could still be saved. “Command to all shuttles, close with Concord and Compass and board. Take care to avoid booby traps and self-destruct triggers. Take prisoners if possible.”
She had turned her gaze to those shuttles when both of the remaining ships swerved violently and accelerated. The gravitic tethers still pushing at the two ships resisted slightly, but with the need to maneuver and move, the fleet had not been focused on maintaining the ruse that had brought them here. Slowly, the two hijacked ships began to break free, leaving the wreckage of their former escorts behind.
Working quickly, she widened the field of view on her projection to take in the course the Concord had laid in. There was something about that sharp line that seemed hauntingly familiar. As she worked at her controls, the image shrank until the planet came into view, and it suddenly became brilliantly, horrifyingly clear what the Outriders intended to do with their captured prizes. The line extended out from their current position on a direct course for New Sonora. Having run out of asteroids, they were going to use a symbol of the Known Worlds itself to wipe the followers of the Way from the galaxy.
Her blood ran cold, and it showed in her voice as she opened a new transmission channel. “Command to all units. All frigates resume decleration efforts, targeting Concord. Escorts who are not already braking Compass are now ordered to do so. Avoid broad-spectrum broadcasts; the ships may be wired with explosives. Repeat, avoid broadcasts and resume deceleration protocols until the ships are under friendly control.”
The universe suddenly seemed drastically less complicated.
Gabe had somehow managed to survive the barrage which had engulfed the CTRs. He knew that not all of his fellow rig pilots could have been so lucky, but he did not know how many had died in the havoc. The rigs’ communications net was in chaos, with shouts, cries, and demands for information clogging the lines. It had gotten only moderately better when the light cruisers had suddenly and violently exploded.
He only understood the cause of that later, when Delacourt’s message reached him. Gabe growled when he heard reports of casualties among the RSRs as well, and wondered how much further the Outriders could sink. Or, for that matter, how much worse Delacourt would let the situation get. At the very least, the MSSRs had been more or less completely wiped out—the last sixteen or so had been shot to pieces as they launched. The remaining rigs, if any were left inside, had gotten the message to stay where they were.
Then the Concord’s guns fell silent. Gabe wondered for a moment why the carrier had stopped firing, and then he looked back toward the fleet and it became clear. He could see the shuttles grouping together for their boarding attempts. The plasma cannon on the carrier were shifting, the business end of their gun mounts already drawing a bead on the shuttles. If they began firing, the casualties would grow even worse, and Delacourt had not even considered that in her plans.
Fortunately, she had shown Gabe how to convince the murderers they were facing to see reason. They had to be left without recourse, without a way to escape. Perhaps he couldn’t figure out how to bring back the pilots already dead, but he could certainly put the fear of God into a bunch of mercenaries if it meant more people would live to see the end of this battle. He keyed his transmitter.
“Angel-One to all CTR and AWOR squads. It’s time to give cover for the shuttles. Brass, Pillars, Rams, make a run on the carrier. We need those shields down now. Be careful not to punch holes in her hull. Reapers, Grapes, strafe the Concord. Make sure to hit areas where the RSRs have tagged survival pods. If those Outriders have rigged the ship to explode, I don’t want them to think they have any way off. Paladin Squadron will remain on station outside the hangers. Derek, it’s your job to pick off any new arrivals.
“Angels, follow me topside; we’re going to tether the Compass and see if we can’t yank teeth off of the Keeper’s ship. Angel-One out.” He swung his rig up and around the rear of the giant ship, and a few rigs from his squadron followed in his wake. “Angels, keep up your evasive maneuvers. Their guns don’t seem to be firing right now, but that will change. Don’t let them catch you sleeping.”
Allen’s voice came back, reassuring him that his wingman was still alive. “Confirmed, Angel-One. Just lead the way.”
The other rigs began their runs, and he saw the AWORs rain a cloud of heavy plasma rifle shots against the Concord’s forward screens. Bursts of light sparkled against the shields, building into a fireworks show that danced over the forward third of the ship. Then the screens collapsed, and the CTRs swooped in. He saw them racing along the underside of the carrier, their plasma rifles firing up at the ship and leaving small scorch marks in their wake. Then he lost sight of them as he shot up past the stern of the Concord and the Compass came into view.
The ship of the famous Keeper was far from impressive from a military standpoint. It was a tiny craft, not much larger than the Samar-class escorts that were screening the shuttles. Unlike the Samar-class ships, the Compass had only a minor armament. A single Grade 5 plasma cannon made up the whole of the ship’s offensive weapons. The armor and hull looked fragile, and outside of the defensive screens, there would be nothing else separating the crew from vacuum. Had they been trying to destroy the ship rather than take it, he suspected that a single escort could have ripped it to shreds in one pass.
As it was, though the minimal weaponry would be laughable to a cruiser or escort, it would tear a rig into astonishingly small pieces with very little effort. Gabe kept that fact well in mind as he latched a tether onto the small craft and pulled, helping to check the ship’s forward momentum. Almost immediately, the cannon turned to fire back at him. He dodged to the side as the volley of plasma bursts streamed by, and he brought his plasma rifle around to return fire. The defensive screens might be more than enough to absorb his shots, but the energy bursts would baffle their already clumsy targeting until the rest of the squad arrived.
Gabe began to tighten his trigger finger. Then Susan’s voice came over his communications net. “Command to Angel-One, please respond!”
He grunted and fired; plasma bursts rained onto the Compass’ shields. Off to his side, he saw some of his pilots join in. “Angel-One to Command. What do you want?”
“Cease fire on the Directorate ships immediately. They still have hostages on board!” Anger and frustration laced her voice, and Gabe shook his head.
“They need to know they aren’t getting out of this one, Admiral. Otherwise they’ll just bail and blow the explosives on their way out.” Below him, the Concord had started to slow again. He saw more CTRs making their runs against the pods and shuttle hangers on the topside. “The hostages would end up dead either way. Without escape pods, they might surrender first.”
“Angel-One, either obey orders, or I will have you relieved of command!”
Gabe couldn’t resist the urge to laugh. First she forced him to take charge, and now she threatened to take it away? He jumped out to the other side as the Compass fired another burst at him. “That’s your call to make, Admiral, but I have more important things to worry about. Angel-One out.” With a click, he shut the transmission off. A foreboding silence followed, and he could picture the admiral fuming on the bridge of the Deliverance.
Before she could think up a good way to respond, another signal came across on an open channel. It was a gruff voice, one that seemed on the edge of desperation, though he spoke with exceedingly great care. “This is the DSS Concord. Cease fire; our ships are now under proper control. We will allow your shuttles to approach and enter the remaining hangers. Compass will respond likewise. Repeat, both ships are now under proper control. Concord out.”
The plasma cannon on Compass immediately stopped firing, and both ships stalled to a dead stop. Below him, the hangers on the Concord opened and the gun turrets turned away from the craft ahead of the ship. He opened a channel. “All rigs, cease strafing runs.” Gabe hesitated. “Set up by the pods just in case they’re bluffing.”
On the open channel, Delacourt’s voice came back. Gabe heard the anger still simmering in her words, but relief was almost as obvious. “This is Admiral Delacourt. We are relieved to hear that you are not going to ram the planet. All units will cease fire, and conduct docking procedures to ensure…proper control…of the ships continues. Delacourt out.”
Then she was on the fleet channel. “All rigs, begin recovery operations. Return wounded to the Healing and damaged to the cruisers. The rest will conduct a salvage operation for Defiance and Relentless. Look for survivors. Admiral Delacourt out.”
Gabe detached from the Compass and began to move in the direction of the wreckage. She had left no specific orders for him, but he had a feeling that the admiral had not forgotten him. The next day promised to be a painful one. By the measure of her voice, very painful indeed.