Battle of the Ring (14 page)

“Tryn, I cannot fight this thing,” she said, and paused a moment
as a bolt struck almost directly overhead. “They are trying to hit my
bridge, and they seem to have a fair idea where it is. And I cannot hurt them
in return. That entire ship is covered by quartzite panels backed by a very
firm shield.”

“Break off!” he told her.

“Not yet,” she said. “If nothing else. I have will work
against this thing, I am going to give it my coversion cannon. I have already
called back my packs to support me... damnation!”

“What?” Tryn asked, perplexed.

“Stingships! Wave upon wave of stingships. There must be a thousand in
all, with battleships and destroyers closing from every direction.
Val
traron,
have we wandered into a trap!”

Another explosion rocked the entire ship. Tryn glanced around
apprehensively, well aware that something major had been hit. “What was
that?”

“One of my forward engines,” Schayressa replied absently.
“Prepare for firing. Keldryn, stand ready to take the helm.”

Schayressa ceased firing as she readied her conversion cannon, opening
the armored portal in the flattened hexagonal tube beneath her shock bumper. In
the conversion chamber at the base of that tube, over half a kilometer back
from the Kalvyn’s tapered nose, hundreds of liters of distilled water
were being converted rapidly into energy, temporarily confined within heavy
containment fields. Special field-projecting antennas dropped down to either
side of the cannon’s muzzle, which glowed with the white-hot energy
contained at its core.

In the final seconds before firing, Schayressa centered the cannon by aiming
herself at her target. At the same time the Fortress ceased firing and cut all
acceleration as if calmly awaiting certain destruction. Then, even as the
Kalvyn fired, the Challenger merged the full power of all her generators into
the formation of a single defensive shield so powerful that it enveloped the
entire ship in a solid white sphere. That devastating blast of raw energy
from the conversion cannon struck the shield dead center... and was deflected
harmlessly.

From the Kalvyn’s point of view, that was not immediately apparent.
For three full seconds she poured the power of a star against that glowing
white shell. Seconds more passed as the glowing clouds of red, yellow, and blue
dissipated and nothing could be seen. Then the Fortress emerged from that fiery
mass, unharmed. The vast warship seemed to pause a moment to look around, then
turned every gun it could on the Starwolf carrier.

“Val traron de altrys caldarson!”
Schayressa muttered in
her surprise as bolts rang against her hull. After a moment she looked at her
Commander. “Tryn, I am beaten. I am getting out of here as fast as I
can.”

Engaging her star drive momentarily, she jumped past the Fortress and out of
range in a matter of seconds. Coasting at just sunlight, she made a slow
retreat out of the system to give her fighters a chance to overtake her, still
engaged with the hundreds of stingships that had already altered their course
to follow. It was humiliating for a Starwolf carrier, beaten and battered, to
turn and run, unprecedented in recent memory.

“All fighters close to five hundred kilometers and remain on defensive
alert,” she began her instructions. “Damage control and
engineering, begin immediately repairs. Engineering, take a look at that
damaged engine. All nonactive personnel will remain at standby until further
notice.”

“How bad is it?” Tryn asked.

Schayressa brought her camera pod back to the upper bridge. “Not so
bad, really. Aside from the wrecked engine, I have no mechanical damage. I just
need acres and acres of new plating.”

“So? Are you thinking about going back to fight that thing?”

“Oh, I can fight again,” she assured him. “But I am not
going to until I figure out how... Hello?”

Commander Tryn glanced up at her. “What is it?”

“A message coming in,” she explained, looking bemused.
“Sector Commander Donalt Trace wants to talk to us.”

“Oh?” The Commander sat back in his chair, pondering that.
“Surely he has more on his mind than just gloating.”

“It cannot hurt to listen to what he has to say,” Keldryn offered.
Like all good second-in commands, she was certain that the upper bridge needed
her advice to function best.

“Very well, put him on,” Tryn agreed. “Do you have a picture?”

“Audio only.”

“Good. I do not have to look at him.”

“Commander?” a voice asked over the static of an open channel.
The Union did not have good achronic communications.

“This is Commander Tryn of the Kalvyn.”

“Yes, this is Commander Donalt Trace on board the Fortress Marenna
Challenger. So, what do you think of my new ship?”

“Very impressive,” Tryn agreed, very noncommmital in his reply.
He meant to learn all he could while not giving away any information... not
even an opinion. “You are the Captain of this ship?”

“Me? No! I designed the Fortress; but Maeken Kea is the Captain of the
Challenger,” Trace continued. “You know, I was hoping that it would
be the Methryn that would come blundering into the trap you sprung. Still,
it might be better this way. I knew that the first ship to run up against my
Fortress would turn tail and run until it knew what it was fighting. The second
time around will be a fight to the death. Now you, of course, are thinking that
you are going to find a way to defeat my Fortress, while I know you cannot. We
shall see who is right.”

“I suppose we shall.”

“Better yet, why not send for Velmeran and the Methryn,” Trace
suggested. “He is the best you have. This is the best I have. Why not
just have it out, and settle that question once and for all?”

“This is the Kalvyn’s sector, not the Methryn’s,”
Tryn said to avoid a direct reply.

“Perhaps, but Velmeran has often fought where he is needed,”
Trace reminded him. “Still, whatever you think best. My Fortress has
already given you a minor mauling. I would just as well finish you off now and
deal with Velmeran next. He should come running in a hurry when he hears that
my Fortress destroyed one of his own carriers.”

“As you said earlier, we shall see,” Tryn replied.

“Yes, so we shall,” Commander Trace agreed. With that the
channel went abruptly dead.

Tryn looked up at Schayressa’s camera pod. “Well, what do you
make of that? He seems very sure of himself.”

“He might have reason to be,” the ship answered. “I have
been reviewing the scan of his ‘Fortress’... a very apt name, I
might add. It has a defense for everything we could throw against it. The only
way to beat it is by superior strategy.”

“Superior strategy?” Tryn sat for a moment, musing on that. He
looked up at Keldryn, waiting patiently at his side. “You go and take a
look at our damage and report back to me. Schayressa, park yourself
outside this system and do what you can with your damage. Send out two or three
drones to scout out what they can. I want to know where those warships and
stingships came from, and what else they might have in hiding. And warm up
the achronic.”

“The Methryn?”

Tryn shrugged. “If he wants Velmeran so badly, I suppose that we
should send him Velmeran.”

The weather at the port of Kallenes had turned bad during the night. A wet
mixture of hail and sleet was driven by a fitful gale, whipping down out of the
mountains now hidden behind a blank wall of mist and clouds. Dawn came late and
warmed only to a dim twilight. The port field was transformed into a glacial
expanse of damp, heavy snow that had gathered in crusty banks on the backs of
the black wolf fighters and transports huddled like langies against the
winter blast in the near corner of the field.

The Mall that morning was cold, damp, and dark, the skylights covered
over with snow so that the dim lighting gave the appearance of late night. To
add to that, no one was about the narrow streets that morning except those who
had no choice, and a few dozen Starwolves who had the place entirely to themselves.
One of the few travelers about the Mall that morning was Velmeran, waiting
impatiently for the tailor to open his shop so that he could collect his armor.

After two days in regular clothes, the heavy, restrictive suit was actually
a welcome comfort. He had never felt so vulnerable as he had these past
two days without it. It had been a confused, violent port leave, he reflected
as he untied his braids and brushed out his long, thick hair. Still, he did not
regret a moment of it.

The Feldennye tailor packaged up his new clothes and he left with the bundle
under one of his lower arms. Although he had not expected it, still he was not
surprised to find Lenna waiting for him outside, pacing against the cold. She
glanced up expectantly as he opened the door, and he could tell by her
astonishment that she did not recognize him.

“Sergei?” she asked hesitantly, drawing back a fearful step.

“Sure now, and you were expecting Pack Leader Velmeran?” he asked,
affecting the local dialect to reassure her teasingly. She still did not know
who he really was, assuming the name he had given her to be his own, and he
preferred matters that way. “You are out early this morning, considering
that you put away my complimentary drinks as well as your own last night. Come
to see me off?”

“You’ve been called away, then?” Lenna asked, frowning, as
she stared at the ground.

“There has been trouble, barely an hour past, and I must go,” he
explained simply. “The rest of the pilots will be recalled to the ship
before the morning is over. I must go back immediately.”

“And you are needed so badly that they could not spare you a few
minutes more?”

Now Velmeran frowned, wondering if he could spare her that much.
“Perhaps we could walk – slowly – to the port together. That
would be a few minutes.”

“And all I’m going to get, it seems,” Lenna muttered as
they started off together.

“If you were human, then I would love you,” Lenna mused quietly
as they walked. “And I do regret that you didn’t take me to bed
last night. Just between friends, and I had thought that we were friends enough
for that.”

“I have a mate, Consherra the Terrible, and I love only her,” he
reminded her. “But I will not forget my promise. I will find a ship for
you. Do you believe me?”

“Of course I believe you,” Lenna insisted, although that thought
no longer filled her with the excitement it once had. There was now only one
ship for her, and that was the Methryn. “You’ll be coming back?
I’ll see you again?”

Velmeran shook his head. “I doubt that we will ever meet again. You
will be gone long before I ever make it back to this place. Valthyrra Methryn
will be going home for her overhaul after this, and that means half a standard
year in airdock.”

“Well, I’ll miss you,” Lenna said. “Friends we may
be and nothing more, but you’re certainly the most interesting friend
I’ve ever had.”

“Thank you,” Velmeran replied, smiling. “You are a little
strange yourself.”

Lenna laughed. “I didn’t mean it quite that way, but you have it
right after all. At least now I know what we have in common. Is this it?”

The Starwolves had landed their ships in the corner of the field less than a
hundred meters from the door where they now stood. Velmeran pushed open the
door and stepped out into the dim light and swirling snow. Here, in the corner
of the building, the storm did not seem so bad. But they had not gone ten steps
when a violent blast of wind struck with hurricane force. Velmeran,
anchored by the weight of his armor and his great strength, hardly noticed, but
Lenna had to hold his arm to keep from being blown away.

“Perhaps you should stay here,” he told her. “You are not
dressed to go out in a storm like this, not all the way out to the fighters and
back.”

“This is good-bye, then?” she asked. “So, take care of
yourself, Mr. Rachmaninoff.”

“Vol lerrasson vyen de dras schyrrassalon,
” Velmeran
said, then turned and walked away into the storm. Lenna stood for a long moment
looking as if she might call to him or run after him. But his black form
disappeared quickly into the blowing snow, and he was gone.

After a moment more she turned and hurried back inside. Not because of the
cold, but because she had resolved to go through with her plan and time was of
the essence. Using the shelter of the Mall as much as she could, she cut
diagonally across its length to that section of town where she shared a
wood-frame house with her brother. He was not there, and she hurried to take
advantage of his absence.

Fortunately she had what she needed in her own meager wardrobe, one of the
three good sets of clothes she kept for special occasions. One suit was in most
ways identical to the one Velmeran had worn, the pants a dark brown with a
shirt of a somewhat lighter shade. The cape was a slightly darker brown, a size
too large to accommodate her length so that it hung too loose and full from the
shoulders. But that, she reflected, was all the better. The boots and belt were
leather dyed to match the cape.

Once dressed, Lenna looked at herself appraisingly in the mirror. She was
fortunate that she reflected her mother’s space-faring race rather than
her father’s pale, stocky folk. She was just a little taller than most
Starwolves, but she had the same wiry build, long of limb and small of body. Her
eyes were large, if not quite large enough, and her small nose was not quite
small enough. But proper use of makeup corrected most of her shortcomings, and
her artistic skills were equal to the task. At least her skin was the same
medium tan, her eyes dark, and her hair the same curious wood-brown.

She combed the front portion of her hair down over her face and carefully
cut and trimmed until she had the typical long, heavy bangs of a Kelvessa.
Satisfied that she had her hair right, she divided its length into two parts
and tied it into the thick, loose braids that Velmeran had worn.