I thought of Jake, at that instant, with what was quite possibly seven minutes left to live. I thought of the day I took him out to play ball for the first time. He’d only been about four years old, and I’d bought him one of those plastic training sets with a spring-loaded red stand that popped the ball up into air. After a few swings, he had managed to hit one. He’d been very serious, very focused. When he finally hit one, his broad, toothy grin had made me smile in return. I don’t know why I thought of that particular memory at that moment, I just did.
The memory made the hope-monkey rise up in me again. I told myself I’d play a baseball game with Jake again, back home, after we won this battle somehow. I lied to myself, and I liked the lie. I didn’t really believe it, but it was a nice lie. Right then, I knew the hope-monkey had me. I was helpless in its grasp. I was hooked.
I shook my head and tried to get back to that cold, focused place in my mind. I needed to forget about the kids and any other distractions. For the next seven minutes, at least.
“Kyle?” asked Sandra, pointing to the corner and leaning as far forward as the restraining little arms would let her. “What’s that?”
A small red glint had left the big, red ship-thing. It was traveling toward us. It was no bigger than a penny, but it made my heart pound.
“Enemy in range in six minutes,” said the ship.
“Identify that new enemy contact, Alamo.”
“The contact is incoming enemy fire.”
Before it got half-way to us, another something left the big, rust-red ship.
“They are firing missiles at us, Kyle,” said Sandra. “Will you do something, please?”
“Alamo, change the color of our ship. Make it green or orange or something.”
One of the ships-one that was not on the front line, thankfully-turned a coppery orange.
Sandra sucked in her breath as the first tiny red dot made it to a ship out on the edge of our formation, at the top of the forward wall. The missile, if that’s what it was, vanished. The golden ship it had struck vanished with it. There was no doubt in my mind what had happened. Our side had taken a hit.
“Alamo, draw a predictive line to show me where the next incoming fire will hit.”
A rippling, vein-like line, crudely drawn, appeared on the wall. It was rust-red. It straightened out as we watched into a direct line that ran to the opposite side of the formation. The second missile was headed downward. It was going to hit the last ship in our line at the bottom of the wall, while the first missile had targeted a ship at the top of the wall.
“They are shooting for our farthest outlying ships,” I said. “Why?”
“So we don’t shoot the missile down?” suggested Sandra.
“That’s it,” I said nodding. “Alamo, open the ship-to-ship channel, please.”
A wave of chatter came in. I realized I would never get a word in over it. People were trying to figure out who had died. Others were talking about how to get their ships to turn tail and run, which I realized by now wasn’t going to happen. If it was possible, someone in the group would have managed to give the order by now. The ships had picked us up and brought us along for this little jaunt into space. They wanted us to command them through it. Maybe the AI was smart enough to know it wasn’t a tactical genius.
Much of this entire situation made more sense to me right then, as if I’d been hit by a bolt of clarity. Why had they chosen us for our survival skills? Because if you wanted advice on surviving, you asked an expert. These ships had weeded us out ruthlessly, looking for the tough-minded people. They had kidnapped us to help them beat this enemy.
What, thought a distant part of my brain, are they going to do with us once they no longer need us? Unbidden, the image of the centaurs I’d slaughtered to gain command of this vessel came to mind.
“Enemy in range in five minutes,” said the ship.
The forward motion of the enemy ship had stopped. Why get closer, they must have been thinking, if they were already in range? They could just shoot us all out of the sky, one by one.
“Alamo, get me a private channel with the Snapper.”
Hesitation. “Established.”
“What is it, Riggs? I don’t have much time.”
“Have you figured out what to do then?”
“No dammit. Talk to me.”
“The big bastard is shooting for our outlying ships. I think it is trying to kill ships that are off on their own, separated from the rest.”
“I can see that, talk faster.”
As we spoke, the second weapon reached its target. Another tin-colored beetle representing one of our ships vanished. Two more missiles were incoming. I figured at this rate half our number would be gone before we got into range.
“Have your ship draw a line between the incoming missile and the target ship. What I suggest is we group around the guy who is targeted. Then all our auto-defense fire might stop the incoming weapon. Just maybe, we can shoot it down.”
“That’s the best you have?” demanded Crow.
“Yes.”
“The ships won’t fly where we want them to, we’ve all tried that.”
“They won’t let you run off and hide. Maneuvering to defend one ship is a different matter.”
“How do we figure out who is targeted?”
I told him about telling the ship to color your own vessel. “The one being targeted should tell everyone else. That way, we will have the target ship’s name. The rest of us can tell our ships to move toward the targeted ship and cover them.”
“Good plan, mate!” Crow laughed again. Some of the harshness and confidence was gone from the laugh, however. He sounded a little nervous. I didn’t blame him. Who wasn’t nervous at this point?
I heard him shout for quiet on the public channel. He gave them the instructions, telling them to sing out if their ship was the one under fire. Before we managed all this, a third ship blew up. Finally, the red lines were on everyone’s wall.
“Right!” shouted Crow. “Talk to me people, don’t be shy. Who is next on the death list?”
No one answered.
“Enemy in range in four minutes,” said the Alamo.
“Dammit, talk to me before it blows us all up!” screamed Crow.
“Jack?” I said.
“What now, Riggs?”
“Did you color your ship yet?”
“No, I’ve been too damned busy with your cocked-up plan to-”
“Jack, it’s you. If no one else can see it’s targeting them, then it must be the one who hasn’t done it yet.”
One second of silence, then: “Everyone, order your ships to cluster around the Snapper. Do it now.”
“Alamo, move close to the Snapper,” I said. “Do it as fast as you can.”
The fourth little red contact had almost reached us. I watched as, sluggishly, a dozen or so ships moved to cover what must have been the Snapper. Sandra and I watched with our teeth clenched. I hoped I’d guessed right. What if our ships couldn’t shoot down these incoming weapons? What if instead Jack’s ship took us all out in the resulting explosion because we were too close?
We didn’t have long to wait. Our ship began to shudder. I knew the sensation, it had happened every time the ship fired its beams.
“Is that our ship shooting? Or are we being hit?” asked Sandra.
“I think if we were hit, we’d be toast. Our ship is automatically firing at the incoming weapon.”
The red dot grew very close. It was pointless, but I clenched every muscle in my body. I couldn’t help it.
Suddenly, the sensation of firing stopped, and the red weapon contact was gone. I couldn’t tell with the intermingling of ships if there was one missing or not.
“Jack? Jack Crow, are you still there?”
“Yeah. I’m here. Who’s next? Talk to me.”
