Kantian’s seatbelt prevents his attempts to stand.
He wants to redraw his entire battle plan. Not knowing the cruiser actually was built around a rail gun changes the attack completely.
“Ensign, bring us to point-blank range.”
“Captain, our shields won’t hold.”
The Ensign’s protests fall on deaf ears.
The Mokarran craft fires. A small asteroid only about the size of a saltbox house smashes into the Deliverance’s hull. Since the device uses kinetic energy, the shields—designed to prevent energy penetration—are nonexistent. Even the heavily armored launch bay was no match against the first weapon used by so many creatures of intelligent design—a rock.
Gravity shifts all over the Deliverance. The hull’s bucking forces the ship off its trajectory. Kantian’s armrest digs into his side for the two seconds it takes for all systems to correctly adjust to the impact.
Fire alerts sound as other klaxons warn oxygen suppression systems have failed.
“Order all fire teams into the impact zone.” Kantian’s demeanor will reflect in the crew. “Ensign, bring us alongside.”
“We won’t last long against her plasma cannons.”
“We won’t last against mass driver.”
Even at the short distance between the two battle cruisers, the plasma beams flash before the view port like shooting stars. The beautiful sight clouds the fact each flash of light at the end of blue plasma is the ending of a life.
The Deliverance rattles from the impacts of plasma cannons on her shields. The swift returning concussion of her own cannons shakes the bridge.
None of his crew are shiny and untouched now. They have seen the face of death from battle and have withstood. Now they must survive.
“Captain, I’ve detected a power surge in what could be the mass driver’s engines. It took four minutes to cycle.”
“They would compromise their advantage maneuvering to face us if they are planning to shoot,” the Lieutenant offers.
More blasts rock the Deliverance. The white dots on the battle computer representing his fighters are outnumbering the red dots representing the Mokarran.
“It could be an automated cycling system. Until they attempt to fire, press our attack.” Kantian calculates his next order. “Have the fighters break formation and—”
“Captain, from the parlor orbit! A second Mokarran cruiser was hidden by the planet’s magnetic field.”
Kantian has no time to complete his order.
The second saltbox-house-sized boulder threads through the Deliverance’s hull above the weaker skeletal framed launch bays. Decompression klaxons wail. Bodies lacking environmental suits float past in some sick menagerie of humanoids, some still gasping for those last seconds of air.
Bulkhead seal.
The minable breathable atmosphere loss is negligible. The lost to morale is devastating. Kantian couldn’t help but count crew floating past. Twenty-five bodies he saw. There could be seven or eight times as many. So many deaths will turn his virgin crew into panic whelps.
“Damage report,” Kantian demands, remaining professional.
“Decks fifteen and sixteen are fully exposed to vacuum. Shield emitters have ceased function in…”
“Ceased. They’re gone, Captain. A single plasma bolt in that region...”
None of his intelligence suggested the possibility of a second plasma bolt. Retreat remains an option, but the consequences do not. His entire fighter squads and marine units would be lost, and he would have a crippled flagship and a prison term. Better to die one of the valiant in the attempt to protect the innocent than in retreat.
“Move us portside and directly under the first battle cruiser.”
“Sir, we won’t be able to fire the main guns at it.”
“Nor will they, and the second cruiser won’t be able to fire the mass driver for three minutes,” Kantian snaps.
“Sir, a third ship just dropped from hyperspace near the edge of the system. ETA three minutes.”
A third battle cruiser fully capable of firing now. The Mokarran are determined to keep Summersun, even if they scorch much of the crops they win by destroying such a necessary food supply to dozens of planetary systems, and I will lose my crew.
HIS BODY REFUSES to move. Reynard must move to survive after being backhanded through the glass wall by Ki-Ton. Seconds. The passing time has to be just seconds unless the impact blacked him out. Possible, considering the force sent him through something as hard as durasteel and designed to protect an object for ten thousand years.
His mind seeks a solution in the first seconds of denial. More remelted stone like in the tiger rider’s throne chamber. Remelting the rock somehow reinforced it against intense heat of a comet impact. They sent Ki-Ton off-world. So they had limited space flight. Why would shape-shifters need a spacecraft? Amye could tell me all about this rock.
No movement from his body keeps his thoughts racing. Some kind of giant telepath’s developed on this planet after the catastrophe. How long did evolution take? How long has Ki-Ton been alive? Shape-shifting hurts him.
Body, move!
Spring-loaded, Reynard leaps to his feet, gun in hand.
Seven.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten durasteel shells slam into Ki-Ton’s frame, and luckily none strike Michelle.
Mushroom clouds of goopy flesh explode from the impact points. No blood spatters as the flesh gropes to catch the fragments. Each tear melts Ki-Ton’s control over his body. Reynard spots his physical structure breaking down into the liquid state. With each step, Ki-Ton’s legs become a wobbling mass.
The mesomorph doesn’t use Michelle as a shield until JC scoops up a cylindrical container from inside the protected room. She activates controls on the side as if she knows the ancient device’s purpose.
Ki-Ton warns, “Don’t unleash the Sandman!”
JC flicks the final lock before
