one just outside of orbit.”
“What the hell do they want?” Tarrel asked quietly. The Starwolves would never wantonly take out a tactically unimportant station, just for the sake of destruction. “Take us out of this system as fast as this ship will move. Our destination is Sector Headquarters.”
“Still maneuvering for room to run, Captain,” the helm responded. “The local traffic is rather heavy.”
“Make it quick. And give me the station centered on the main viewscreen.”
There was no indication of attack at first, until a small freighter pulling away from the far side of the station suddenly flashed like ball lightning for a prolonged moment before it exploded. At least the little ship’s destruction was relatively feeble, since her generators had not yet been brought up to power to feed her drives. A second freighter exploded, then one of the ships of the system fleet and a freighter still at dock. The explosions continued to intensify, until Tarrel was certain that they had come under multiple simultaneous attack. That had not happened during the earlier attack. The ships had been taken out one by one. Beneath her awareness of this change in tactics and demonstration of new abilities, she realized that it meant they had probably just lost their only chance of escape.
“Get us under way if you have to go through something,” she snapped.
Carthaginian began to move forward rapidly, still swinging around her nose in the process. But the viewscreen remained fixed on the station, and Tarrel could see clearly the moment the assault was turned upon the station itself. Great arcs and branches of lightning began to leap over the far end of the station, as small portions of its components began to explode in a series of sustained blasts. Tarrel thought the effect was much the same as if the beams of some powerful weapon were being played across the surface of the immense structure, pouring in raw energy until metal exploded, white-hot, nibbling away at the five mile long station. In spite of that concentrated barrage, ships still fleeing the station were still being taken out at regular intervals. If this attack came from a single ship, then it could divide its attention and, firepower among many targets.
Moments later, the members of the bridge crew were pressed into their seats as the Carthaginian began to accelerate rapidly toward her transition into starflight.
The Carthaginian arrived at the military complex of Vinthra five days later, the best speed that the rather abused battleship could manage. At least the time allowed her crew to make what repairs they could, so that she did not limp into port nearly a derelict. Captain Tarrel did not know until later, but her proud ship was in fact severely scorched from the discharge of energy that had nearly destroyed her. At least the active scanners were mostly back into the grid by the time they arrived, and the hull shields were fully operational after extensive rewiring. Carthaginian was an old ship, her frame and most of her hull over two hundred years old, although she had seen no less than five complete refittings in her life. After switching out some damaged components, the old battlewagon could easily go out for another two hundred years, assuming that Starwolves and other mysterious things bumping about the stars did not make short work of her.
Carthaginian was a lucky ship. She had fought Starwolves, minor encounters to be true, twenty-one times in her long career, five of those encounters resulting in her unscheduled refittings. Once she had even been captured and sold back, that being one method Starwolves had for earning their living. Now she had survived two brushes with this new, devastating weapon. Captain Tarrel considered that to be nothing short of a miracle, failing to credit that this matter was largely due to her own cleverness and her uncanny ability to know when it was time to run.
A meeting of the Sector’s senior coordinating officers was scheduled as soon as Carthaginian came into the system, the data she carried and the personal observations of her captain very much in demand. Although Janus Tarrel was young, she did possess a gift of listening to, understanding and remembering everything she heard, and that gave her a wealth of experience to call upon that was not necessarily her own. She knew what to expect from this meeting, so she was not taken by surprise. The minds of armchair admirals with policies cast in stone followed predictable paths. They accused her first of fabricating the whole affair to excuse her incompetence in losing the entire convoy. They questioned her resourcefulness in failing to find a way to protect her convoy against this new weapon, although they could think of none themselves. Finally, having failed to discredit her, they politely asked her advice. Which they largely ignored.
Her one, curious ally through all of this was Victor Lake, the young Sector Commander. They had served together in their earliest days as junior officers, including that first assignment aboard the Carthaginian, and at one time they had been quite close. Lake had come from what was now a rather obscure branch of the ruling Sector Family, unimportant enough to think that the only favors his connections would gain him had already been granted in his commission in the Sector Fleet. But he was clever, earning for himself first a ship, then the post of System Commander, and finally the unexpected title of Sector Commander.
He was not loved by his senior commanders. Coming from the Sector Family, he did not believe the propaganda and hollow beliefs that his seniors worshiped, but he was more capable for his more realistic views, and so respected for his abilities. He was very well-liked by his commanders and captains in the field, largely because he was no more cruel to the colonies than policies he could not control forced him to be, and also because he did not expect heroic, futile gestures in facing the Starwolves.
Captain Tarrel had actually not seen him in the two years since his sudden and unforeseen promotion to Sector Commander. His new duties had brought him to Vinthra, and she had immediately been given command of the Carthaginian by his order. She often wondered if that had been compensation for a relationship that was no longer expedient, both excuse and reward for making herself scarce.
Commander Lake had remained largely silent during those times when the mood of the council had turned hostile toward her. They had both recognized the importance of allowing the matter to blow over by itself, although that did not help to sweeten her opinion of him. When all was said and done, he had decided upon the course of action, although his decisions were in certain respects surprising. The council had recommended attempting contact with the unknown attackers, using a small fleet of drone cruisers as bait. Tarrel did not expect to be given command of that mission herself.
She hurried out into the corridor the moment the meeting adjourned, hoping to demand some word from Commander Lake on several subjects. She was almost surprised to find that he had waited for her; in her own philosophies, she had believed that he had been trying to shun her company since his promotion.
“You wanted to talk?” he asked casually, almost daring her to be angry.
“I want to talk business at least,” she responded. “If nothing else, I would like a better idea of what you expect of me. ”
“That is not unreasonable,” he agreed. “We can speak privately in my station office. Will you accompany me?”
“Is that an order?”
“If this is business, then it is an order.”
They walked together, for his offices were only a short distance down the corridor on that same level. Tarrel refused to be intimidated by any man she had taught to be half-way good in bed; she had never kept his company for the sake of his sexual abilities, but because they were like minds. While his response so far seemed to argue otherwise, she was satisfied that he was not going to pull rank on her simply as a ploy to keep her silent. They could still talk. Once she felt certain of that, she found that she was no longer so anxious or annoyed over the matter.
Despite his words, Lake took her not into his office, but into his private quarters. The Carthaginian’s shuttle bays were no larger than this suite of apartments, its decor rich but understated. He watched her as she looked about. When she saw him staring, he smiled wryly as if sharing some subtle jest.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not while I’m working. You know me better than that.”
“Are you working?”
“I’m thinking about business. You pay me to think, remember?”
“I suppose I do,” he agreed. “So, what are you thinking?” “First of all, I’m thinking that you might be using me as bait.”
Lake considered that briefly, and decided that he should pour himself a drink. “Do you know, the trouble with my new job is that I often have to think like a mercenary. I wish that there was no need of mercenary thinking in the military, but there it is.” “You propose to send me out to face that thing again, and you expect me to be
