“There doesn’t have to be a senior officer on the bridge when the ship is secure at station,” she told him. “And like I said, you’re not a command officer anyway. Have you ever been on board a ship before?”
“Yes, of course!” he insisted in injured tones. “I’ve traveled on the couriers many times.”
“Couriers? That’s like tourist class,” Tarrel exclaimed. “Did Commander Lake choose you for this mission personally?” “Yes, I believe so.”
Tarrel shook her head slowly. “You know, I’ve just become aware of a plot to assassinate the Sector Commander. Assuming that I survive to come back for him. Chagin, has anyone sent down word about where they expect us to find this monstrosity?” “Captain, that information was given to me to relay to you,” Pesca offered hopefully, seeming more sure of himself once he was discussing business. “The Dreadnought has been following a predictable path along projected patterns that have been shunted down to your computers. Given the anticipated travel time for the convoy, we should be able to intercept the Dreadnought in the Standon System in eight days. Orders have already been relayed ahead to have the local traffic cleared and the station abandoned.”
“Dreadnought?” Tarrel asked.
“It’s a very old word for the largest class of battleship.” “Yes, I know that. It just seems to suggest a very great certainty that the Starwolves are not behind this.”
“That does seem to be the suspicion, although I suppose that you know more about that than I do,” Pesca said. “The term Dreadnought is one that is not used for any of our ships and it also differentiates this ship from the known Starwolf carriers. Assuming, of course, that it isn’t a modified carrier.”
“That’s what they’re paying us to find out,” Tarrel commented. “Find yourself a cabin near the bridge where I can find you in a hurry.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Pesca said, and withdrew.
“Well, what do you think of Wally?” she asked.
“He seems competent enough, once his brain comes on-line,” Chagin remarked dubiously. “They have to paint portions of the hull before they can hang all the missile racks, but everything should be done in time.”
“Good. I want those missiles rigged to fire without going through the main weapons computer or targeting scanners. We should be able to do that ourselves without upsetting the station crews.”
“They find us strange enough already over the missile racks,” he agreed.
“Good. Then tell them that I want every drone in the convoy rigged to explode from full generator overload on a signal from here.”
Chagin looked vaguely impressed. “Would that really destroy this thing?”
“No, I doubt that,” Tarrel said. “I was just thinking about something. When I was very young, I believed that little monsters danced in my room at night. I thought that if I could turn on the light quickly enough, then I might catch them by surprise before they could hide. I was thinking about doing something like that with our Dreadnought.”
Chagin had to think about that for a moment before he realized what she had in mind.
2
Carthaginian led the convoy into the system, dropping abruptly out of starflight well out on the fringes and maintaining nearlight speed as they hurtled directly in. This was, as far as anyone could know, the best guess of where they could expect to find the Dreadnought. The Standon system, their original destination, had already been attacked while the convoy was in flight. The small commercial station and base for the System Fleet was gone, although every ship that could move or be moved had fled. They found this system in much the same condition, indicating that the mysterious enemy ship had been here, too. They could not know yet whether it had gone on again, seeking other prey.
In spite of the best efforts of the computer grid to maintain the convoy in perfect formation, the ships running in that widely spaced configuration were of various sizes, types and stages of disrepair. Some were so decrepit that their engines and generators surged and faded, some constantly and others at unpredictable intervals. As far as Captain Tarrel was concerned, that was just as well. The Dreadnought appeared to respond to high- energy emissions, and this sad lot was making all manner of tempting noise.
“Disperse the convoy to wide formation,” she ordered as soon as the group of ships had settled in from their transition from starflight. “Arm all self-destructs except our own. Wally, stand by with your communication.”
Lt. Commander Pesca had learned to bear his nickname with good grace, assuming it to be a compliment or term of affection.
He remained blissfully unaware that the Captain simply found it difficult to afford him the dignity of a military title.
“Communication standing by,” he responded. “Do you still wish to send on the light-speed bands as well?”
“Let’s not leave any stones unturned,” Tarrel answered. “Broadcast your communication now.”
Pesca had put together a rather competent first-contact communication, repeated in every major language he knew, including some that were entirely mathematical in nature and transmitted on both achronic and standard radio bands, as many as the ship could handle. They did not expect an actual dialogue with the Dreadnought, but any response might give them a fix on its location and possibly reveal something about its nature. At least they would know where to look.
“We already have a response,” Pesca announced only a few seconds after the transition began. “One brief message on a single achronic band. Less powerful than a Starwolf achronic carrier, but more distinct.”
“What about the message?” Tarrel asked impatiently.
“The computer can’t identify anything familiar about it.” “Any guesses?”
Pesca considered that briefly. “It is a machine code and very brief. I suspect that we have just been hailed with a recognition code. If we respond properly, we get to talk. If not, we get blown away. That suggests to me that the Dreadnought is entirely machine-driven.”
“Clever boy,” Tarrel remarked to herself, thinking that Wally might just win back his rank at this rate. “Do you have a direction on that signal?”
“I’m putting it up on the navigational grid now, Captain.” Tarrel glanced at the navigational monitor, a large screen between the helm and navigator’s stations just before her. To her alarm, the source Of that signal was nearly directly behind and slightly above their own flight path. It was probably moving in to intercept. Carthaginian was following the convoy. At this point, they were the most tempting target.
“Move us quickly up through the convoy until we are leading,” she ordered frantically. “I want a safe lead on those ships as quickly as we can get it. Stand by the self-destructs.”
“We can’t detonate those ships while we’re anywhere within the convoy,” Chagin reminded her.
“Yes, I know that. I just hope that we can get through before that thing takes out too many of our ships.”
She did not add that, with the Carthaginian accelerating quickly through the convoy, her powerful main drives would be giving out some very appealing emissions. She considered the risk to be worthwhile. Indeed, they were almost through the convoy before the first of the ships suddenly exploded.
“Are we clear?” she asked.
“Give me thirty seconds more and we should be able to ride out the shock wave without damage,” Chagin reported.
“Make that forty seconds more,” the surveillance officer added. “We might not get a reading if we’re too close, and we need the lead time to make a good identification.”
“I’ll give you every second I can. Just stand ready.”
A second ship was taken out before the minimum time to safely detonate the convoy. Captain Tarrel counted the seconds to herself, but the loss of a third ship just short of the surveillance officer’s mark convinced her that it was time to go. The delay in executing the order would take care of the rest, with some to spare. If she lost too many ships, the plan would not work.
Every ship in the convoy exploded its generators from a forced overload at the same moment, the combined
