targeting system, the first shot missed its target by 100 meters. The proton beam shot past the solar collectors, flashed over the rest of the spinning station and speared at Mercury. There the beam churned the already molten surface.
Shuttle pilots and pod-crew near the beam stared at it in dread fascination. Highborn command officers swore. In seconds, alarms rang everywhere.
Then the beam shifted, as it had been shifted 1.7 minutes ago aboard the
Thus six seconds after the harsh proton beam flashed past the Sun Works Factory and hit Mercury, it readjusted and smashed into the solar collectors that protected the outer skin of the station. They had never been built to take such punishment. An old-style military laser would have destroyed it and little more. For a laser beam didn’t stay on target, on the same spot, for more than a nanosecond. But this was the improved proton beam, Social Unity’s single ace card against the Highborn. It punched through the solar collector and through the heavy shielding behind it. It stabbed into the Sun Works Factory itself, into the orbital fighter construction yard that had been built in this part of the Factory.
The proton beam touched welder equipment and ignited engines. Blasts added to the destruction, awful, fierce annihilation. For six seconds the proton beam wreaked the needed orbital construction yard. It punched through that part of the ring-factory, slicing it like a gigantic knife. Gouts of purple plasma erupted into space. Burned bodies floated into the vacuum, some of those crisped corpses were Highborn. Titanic ammunition blasts combined with the beam and ruptured the Sun Works, a devastating first strike. In nearby areas, the blasts ruptured hatches and ignited more fires. Shocked technicians, pilots and service personal died by fire, by vacuum and sometimes by toxic fumes.
Then the proton beam shifted again.
The first attack lasted three minutes, the beam shifting every six seconds. It was three minutes of hellish terror for everyone on the nearest side of the Sun Works Factory. In the hit locations, it was three minutes of incredible destruction. It was three minutes of brutal death. Maybe for the first time in the war, the Highborn knew they could be hurt.
Aboard the
“Power low,” the Power Chief said.
Admiral Sioux watched the seconds tick by in her VR-monocle.
“Proton beam shutting down,” said the First Gunner.
“Engage engines,” ordered the Admiral.
Everyone abandoned the modules and floated to the acceleration couches in the center of the capsule, buckling in. Soon the mighty engines burned. The
In another half-hour, they would fire again. For the next several days, they were going to pound the Sun Works Factory and see if they could teach the Highborn a thing or two about space warfare.
Admiral Rica Sioux loved it.
16.
Nadia Pravda nervously paced before a Plexiglas bubble dome that hissed from a crack four meters up. She was a fool. She should phone Hansen and explain that none of this was her fault. She was sick of hiding in crawl spaces, wondering if Marten could build a spacecraft to take her out of here.
She laughed at the impossibility of the idea. Yet she recalled his performance at the Pleasure Palace. He had taken out the two monitors and then everyone in the drug room. Stunning. She shivered as she remembered the tumbling bodies and that dead monitor shot through the eye by the thickly muscled Korean. Omi had checked each person, shooting several just to make sure they were soundly asleep. He’d seemed ruthless. But Marten, he seemed to be more than ruthless. Something drove him.
She made a face. The smart thing would be to call in and tell her foreman she’d been sick, so sick that she hadn’t even been able to reach the com system. He would know she was lying. That’s why she might need a call from Hansen. Then she should have her job back. Yes, and then she would owe Hansen two favors, one for not killing her and another for getting her job back.
Why had the sump exploded that day?
Nadia eyed the hissing crack and checked her watch. Marten was late. Fear twisted her resolve. What if he didn’t show? What if he had been caught? What if even now monitors raced here to, to—Nadia hugged herself. Would they really shove her naked out an airlock? That’s what they’d threatened to do if she double-crossed them.
Nadia began to pace. Being alone for days, hiding in that crawl space was driving her mad. Why—
Her head snapped up. Her eyes grew round and she couldn’t breath.
A valve turned. A door creaked. Someone was coming.
Please, please let it be Marten.
A man turned the corner, a white-faced, sweating man who stumbled toward her. He looked exhausted and sick. Then Nadia breathed again as she realized it was Marten. And despite her resolve over the past several days not to, she felt a stirring within her.
9.
The attack came as a dreadful shock to the Highborn. It two places, space and molten debris floated where once had been the solid ring-factory. In other places, torn skin and blasted wreckage told of the fierce annihilating power of the proton beam. More than one Highborn swore awful oaths. Many premen sat at screens, studying the orange plasma clouds, the tumbling bodies and the gaping holes in the station. Maybe for the first time, they doubted an automatic Highborn victory. The superiors could be hurt.
Repair pods flew to the scene of the worst destruction, as well as damage control teams in Zero-G Worksuits. All over the Sun Works Factory, hanger doors opened and working orbitals zoomed out to emergency zones. Meanwhile, behind Mercury, the
The Praetor of the Sun Works Factory ordered all premen to barracks. This would be the perfect moment for SU sympathizers to strike, or so suggested several Highborn in charge of various security areas. Debates raged on what to do next. Vectors and velocities of all known Social Unity spacecraft were carefully computed.
“I want to know when each of them can reach Mercury!” the Praetor shouted.
“Do you believe this a prelude to a mass premen space attack?” Lycon asked.
“What do you call this?” snarled the Praetor, before striding out to collect the latest damage reports.
“They will attack again,” messaged the Grand Admiral from the
Several minutes after receiving it, a communications officer handed the memo to the Praetor. He scanned it. Then he asked his staff, “What does he think we’ve been doing?”
“You’re one step ahead of him, sir,” said a staff member.
The Praetor grunted.
Unlike the lower species, the Highborn prided themselves on quick reactions. Shock often produced confused
