Chosen (HMCS Borealis Book 2) (34 page)

As if knowing his thoughts, she spoke over her shoulder to him.
 
"How you doing?" she asked.

"It's complicated," he said, pushing buttons more quickly.
 
With each press, a new screen was displayed, which he quickly examined, then pressed a new button at random.
 
He was starting to think the ship's computer was broken, displaying random characters, when he came across a display that seemed useful.
 
"Oh.
 
Ship status," he said aloud.

"Great," came Heather's voice.
 
"What's it say?"

Elan went down the column of abbreviations on the screen, touching each in order and reading the brief description that popped up.
 
He began to feel a thrill of accomplishment as he uncovered useful information.
 
"Communications offline," he said.
 
"Transponder database offline.
 
Sublight engines online.
 
FTL drive online.
 
Life support offline."
 
He paused, his heart sinking.
 
"Oh."

"Uh," said Heather, "we're going to need that."

"We can't stay here," he said.
 
"We need to get to Palani Yaal La before the air runs out."
 
He tapped at the button marked NAV, and was pleased to see that it led to a navigation screen as he'd hoped, instead of more gibberish.

Once again, their current location was shown at the centre of the screen, with concentric circles around it.
 
Small dots appeared elsewhere on the screen, each with the attached name of a star system.
 
All but the nearest few dots were darkened on the display, as he began to drag his finger along the screen.
 
The display of star systems began to pan and tilt and slide, showing the simulated three-dimensional arrangement of stars.
 
As he moved his finger, more distant systems became visible.
 

A red stripe appeared at the top of the screen, then another.
 
An angry beeping began to fill the cockpit.

Heather's voice was sharp.
 
"What the fuck is that?
 
Something up here says 'Missile Warning'.
 
Was that you?"

"No," said Elan.
 
He had dragged the display until Palani Yaal La was visible.
 
He glanced up at the red stripes on the screen, and felt his stomach lurch again.
 
"Divines," he whispered.
 
"It says someone has fired a missile at us."

A countdown timer appeared in the red stripe on the display, as the beeping became more urgent.
 
The timer's number was already very small.

"Jesus fuck, Elan!" cried Heather.
 
She started to yank wildly at the control stick, making the ship twist and gyrate furiously as it hurtled through space.
 
"Can we evade it?
 
Get us to light speed, Elan!"

He heard the fear in her voice, and he felt it rising in him as well.
 
Adrenalin flooded his system, and his chest began to tighten up.
 
The urge to panic was unbearably strong; he struggled to force the feelings down inside, to keep his mind focused.
 

Tapping at the screen over the darkened dot that represented Palani Yaal La, it gave him an angry chirp, and a small box appeared on the screen.
 
"Insufficient life support," he read aloud.
 
Hearing himself say it seemed to fix the idea in his mind, to help him maintain his concentration.

Scrolling the display to one side, he tapped another, nearer, planet.
 
Its circle was darkened as well, and the same box appeared on the screen: 'Insufficient life support'.

"Elan!" yelled Heather, her voice loud above the increasingly shrill beeping.
 
He glanced at the countdown timer at the top of the screen.
 
Less than fifteen seconds remained.
 

"I'm trying," he said, rapidly scrolling the display back toward their current location.
 
Three circles were lit up, the three star systems nearest to where they were.
 
Earth was one of them; his finger hovered over its dot for a moment.
 
There might be friends there.
 
There might be enemies, too.
 
If they could find the Tassali before they were killed, they might someday get back to Palani Yaal La.
 
He heard Heather's rapid breathing, as she violently manoeuvred the ship.
 
It was futile, he expected, trying to out-manoeuvre a missile.
 
But he wasn't about to tell her to sit there and do nothing.

No, he decided.
 
She needed to get to Palani Yaal La.
 
Their child needed Palani doctors if it was to have a chance.
 
They could travel to another system, refresh their air, then travel again until they got home.
 
Picking one of the other two lit-up dots at random, he tapped the screen, then tapped again at the confirmation window that popped up.

As the final few seconds ticked away on the countdown timer, Elan heard the frantic beeping being overtaken by the increasingly loud whine of the FTL drive engaging.

The ride back to
Borealis
on the battered shuttle had been an adventure all its own.
 
In the strange silence of the airless rear compartment, Dillon had spent the time with his helmet's visor against the door's small window, watching the dozen other ships moving away from the station behind them.
 
The station's hull had a new collection of scars; a scattering of small darkened holes punched into its outer skin by the debris of the exploding Bezod ship.

Light caught his eye, and in the gap between the bent door and the shuttle's hull, he could see the gleaming white of
Borealis's
engines glowing ahead of them.
 
As the shuttle's deceleration pulled him toward the front, the stars outside were replaced by the interior walls of the shuttle bay.

The shuttle had barely stopped moving before Amoroso and Lee were fighting with the door, trying to get it to open.

Dillon thumbed a button on his wrist console, opening a channel.
 
"Economy Class to…" he swore under his breath.
 
"What's your damn call sign today?
 
Cormorant?"

"It's Albatross, sir," came the shuttle pilot's voice.
 
"We're landed and intact.
 
Hangar bay is re-pressurising."

"Albatross?
 
Right now, I don't give a shit if you're a blue-footed booby.
 
You're a goddamned legend, pilot.
 
No one's ever landed a shuttle on a cruiser while underway, not at this speed."

With an ear-splitting screech, the shuttle's door shuddered partway open.
 
Amoroso and Lee pounded on the edge of the door to open it farther, as Dillon slid through the opening, jumping down to the hangar deck.
 

"Glad to be of service, sir," said the shuttle pilot, the voice lost amid the hiss of air as Dillon unfastened his helmet.
 

"I'm headed to the bridge," said Dillon, tossing the helmet at a passing crewmember.
 
While Amba, Lee and Amoroso were still climbing out of the shuttle, Dillon sprinted from the hangar bay, his armoured boots pounding in the passageway as he headed for the bridge.

*
   
*
   
*

"I heard someone say 'missile'," said Dillon as he entered the bridge.
 
"XO, status please."

All eyes turned toward him as he halted next to the captain's chair.
 
Lieutenant Kalla quickly climbed down from the seat, giving him a brief salute.
 
"Sir.
 
We're tracking two small ships.
 
Target 'Tango One' is flying erratically.
 
'Tango Two' is pursuing it, and has just locked on a 'Snipe' targeting system at extreme range.
 
We're following, but they both have a sublight speed advantage."

"Understood," said Dillon, shrugging off the bulky overcoat.
 
"Hails?"

Kalla shook her head.
 
"We've hailed both ships, sir.
 
No response.
 
Sensors say Tango One's comms are offline."

Chief Black appeared next to Dillon, taking his overcoat from him and folding it over her forearm.
 
"Welcome back, sir.
 
The ship being pursued — Tango One — is a
Juliett
-class scout vessel.
 
Judging by sensor readings, I'd say their life support is offline."

Dillon started pulling at the clasp on his shoulder armour, cursing when it failed to release.
 
"So no way to catch up?"

"No, sir," said Kalla.
 
She glanced at the display on the bridge windows.
 
"Currently ninety thousand kilometres and counting.
 
We—"

"Missile launched!" came a cry from the supervisory console.
 
Sub-Lieutenant Tremblay was holding the console with both hands, his wide eyes fixed on the display.
 
"'Snipe'-class anti-ship missile launched from Tango Two.
 
It's rapidly closing with the
Juliett
-class.
 
Time to impact is thirty-four seconds and counting."

"We're too far away to do anything," said Kalla.

"And unarmed," said the Chief.

Dillon pulled angrily at the clasp on his shoulder armour, but it refused to let go.
 
"For fuck's sake… Wait, we have our anti-missile countermeasures, right?
 
Decoys, chaff, spinners…"

"Sir, said the Chief, "We're too far away.
 
And the missile isn't targeting
us
, so they wouldn't fire."

"Fifteen seconds," said Tremblay.

Dillon reached above his head, taking his pen from its holder next to the comms console on the ceiling.
 
He jammed it into the clasp on his armour and started to pry, then stopped.
 
"That's it," he said.

He pointed at Tremblay with the pen.
 
"Mister Tremblay, go to FTL.
 
Put us between the missile and the
Juliett
-class.
 
Just pop the clutch, get us ahead of it."

"Without," said Kalla dryly, "smashing into the
Juliett
."

"Yeah," said Dillon.
 
"That too.
 
Do it.
 
Go."

The young officer had leaned in towards his console, fingers hammering furiously at the display.

"Ten seconds," said the Chief.

Tremblay didn't look up.
 
"No gravity wells nearby.
 
FTL ready.
 
Everything's good, sir.
 
Helm," he said, glancing momentary at the crewmember next to him, "Co-ordinates sent.
 
Go."

Pakinova nodded.
 
"Aye aye, sir.
 
Laid in."
 
She gave her console a final poke.
 
"Underway."

A high-pitched whine quickly intensified, before abruptly dropping as a brilliant burst of white light flashed outside the bridge windows.
 
Displays across the bridge abruptly lit up with angry red symbols and warnings, and shrill alarms pierced the air.
 
Out the windows, several jets of flame soared away from the
Borealis
, each trailing a stream of white smoke.

"Jump complete," said Tremblay, his voice getting louder.
 
"Incoming missile detected.
 
Countermeasures launched, sir!"

As a flurry of information streamed on the display in front of him, Dillon kept his gaze out the bridge windows at the trails of flickering smoke and flame that arced away from the ship.
 
A growing point of light began to curve toward the decoys, its trail of smoke bisecting Dillon's field of view until it neared the glittering tip of one of the decoys.
 
The two met in a silent puff of smoke and flame, a flash of light belying the violent explosion mere kilometres from the ship.

"Missile destroyed," said Tremblay.
 
"Navigational lasers are available; we're safe from debris."

"Well done," said Dillon, unfastening the clasp on his other shoulder.
 
"Hail those two ships again, and—"

"Sir," said the sensors tech.
 
"Tango One, the
Juliett
-class, is gone.
 
Not there, no debris."

Dillon stopped what he was doing, and turned to stare at the technician.
 
"Gone?" he asked.

"There's a radiation spike from their last known location, sir," said the crewmember.
 
"It's consistent with a small ship going to FTL."

"Ah," said Chief Black, "they've buggered off.
 
Scarpered."
 
Still carrying the heavy overcoat over her arm, she walked toward Tremblay at the supervisory console.

Dillon sighed, rubbing his face with one gloved hand.
 
Fuck
.
 
"Well," he said.
 
"We don't know where they went.
 
That narrows down our search to half the galaxy.
 
Wonderful."

As Kalla began to poke at her datapad, Dillon finished removing his armour.
 
One step forward, he thought, and one step back.
 
These kids were leaving a hell of a mess in their wake.
 
As frustrating as it was, he couldn't stop thinking about how frightened they must be.
 
Would they have started straight for Palani Yaal La?
 
There's no way a ship that size could make it that far in one go.
 
They wouldn't have enough air.
 
So where would they go?
 
"If I was a terrified kid," he muttered to himself, "or
two
terrified kids…"