it, though I know we're going to change course in a minute and start searching for wreckage.
When he's done, I tell him, "Notify Lt. Summerlin, my orders, proceed maximum speed to station Beta." Ayala looks at me.
"We're about to follow, lieutenant commander, we're just waiting for RISTA to confirm they're gone.
I get another stare.
"Have your team plot the intercept course for Beta and keep it updated, maximum acceleration, all available engines."
I motion to Shelby and we push hard for engineering. McAdams, dry now, passes us in the corridor, Samuel must have called her confirming silently what my butt knew half way through Shelby's update. Bass shows his head before we get to the engineering hatch.
Lt. Powell has number three on line, fairly confident it will work, but suggesting we start slow. Not going to happen. She's also got her crew working with their 3D printer trying to build a work around for the other two. The First and I return to the bridge.
It's a wake. We only spent a few hours with them, but they were our responsibility. I look at McAdams.
"Debris and radiation fields in orbit around Beta consistent with the destruction of a class one corvette. High energy streams of unknown nature in the area, we'll have to get closer to get into more detail." She says it like it's her fault. It's mine.
"Mr. Ayala, I have the con." He disengages himself from the command couch, floats over to the Second's station. "Mr. Marcos, set course for Beta, your mark, maximum acceleration."
"Aye, sir, my mark, maximum gee." Acceleration warnings echo through the ship. Five minutes.
I hang there in my couch, trying to make Yorktown accelerate with my mind. We're three, maybe two and a half, days away. If anyone survived the attack they'll be out of air and water long before then. If they'd have gotten into their evac balloon we'd have seen it on visual by now. Anybody alive is in a suit, praying for salvation not likely to come.
The clock gets to one minute, and I have a bizarre thought.
"Hold countdown."
"Countdown hold." Marcos has a puzzled voice.
"Can we shoot three missiles into orbit around Gamma Omicron 1?"
I get no response. I start again.
"I want us to leave three missiles in orbit, in stealth mode, in orbit around GO 1. Can we do it from here? Two air to air nukes and the mine layer."
It's Ensign McAdams who answers, anger still there in her voice. "Leave it to me, sir."
She, Marcos, and her boys get it done in record time. Seventeen minutes later we've altered Yorktown 's trajectory slightly, reprogrammed the launchers, and watched 80 megatons sail away from the ship. They are painted the same black as a warship, coated in the same quasi reflective material that makes it harder to burn with a laser, shielded from any energy escaping to give them away. Unless they transit something light, they are seriously hard to detect. And, we can activate engines and warheads from anywhere in the system.
A couple thousand meters and they are no longer distinguishable from the surrounding space.
"Mr. Marcos, course to Beta, maximum acceleration, your mark."
"My mark, maximum gee." The five minute horns sound, then the one minute.
Just before the engines light, Marcos realizes something.
‘Skipper, how long should we program the maximum burn?"
I take a deep breath. "Until the engines blow up or we do, ensign, and maybe after that."
Two engines, max thrust, we stabilize at just over four gees, my butt not liking the vibration pattern it's feeling. We'll need a day outbound, then a day flying backwards, reversing. I stay in my couch, rereading every report, looking at every piece of data, going back into the construction reports on the ship, mission planning, there are literally millions of documents and I get through a couple hundred before I give up. Somewhere in there is a bad man (or woman) I need to find.
Ten hours into the acceleration the automatic warnings on my panels light, the engine gauges are creeping
When he's done, I tell him, "Notify Lt. Summerlin, my orders, proceed maximum speed to station Beta." Ayala looks at me.
"We're about to follow, lieutenant commander, we're just waiting for RISTA to confirm they're gone.
I get another stare.
"Have your team plot the intercept course for Beta and keep it updated, maximum acceleration, all available engines."
I motion to Shelby and we push hard for engineering. McAdams, dry now, passes us in the corridor, Samuel must have called her confirming silently what my butt knew half way through Shelby's update. Bass shows his head before we get to the engineering hatch.
Lt. Powell has number three on line, fairly confident it will work, but suggesting we start slow. Not going to happen. She's also got her crew working with their 3D printer trying to build a work around for the other two. The First and I return to the bridge.
It's a wake. We only spent a few hours with them, but they were our responsibility. I look at McAdams.
"Debris and radiation fields in orbit around Beta consistent with the destruction of a class one corvette. High energy streams of unknown nature in the area, we'll have to get closer to get into more detail." She says it like it's her fault. It's mine.
"Mr. Ayala, I have the con." He disengages himself from the command couch, floats over to the Second's station. "Mr. Marcos, set course for Beta, your mark, maximum acceleration."
"Aye, sir, my mark, maximum gee." Acceleration warnings echo through the ship. Five minutes.
I hang there in my couch, trying to make Yorktown accelerate with my mind. We're three, maybe two and a half, days away. If anyone survived the attack they'll be out of air and water long before then. If they'd have gotten into their evac balloon we'd have seen it on visual by now. Anybody alive is in a suit, praying for salvation not likely to come.
The clock gets to one minute, and I have a bizarre thought.
"Hold countdown."
"Countdown hold." Marcos has a puzzled voice.
"Can we shoot three missiles into orbit around Gamma Omicron 1?"
I get no response. I start again.
"I want us to leave three missiles in orbit, in stealth mode, in orbit around GO 1. Can we do it from here? Two air to air nukes and the mine layer."
It's Ensign McAdams who answers, anger still there in her voice. "Leave it to me, sir."
She, Marcos, and her boys get it done in record time. Seventeen minutes later we've altered Yorktown 's trajectory slightly, reprogrammed the launchers, and watched 80 megatons sail away from the ship. They are painted the same black as a warship, coated in the same quasi reflective material that makes it harder to burn with a laser, shielded from any energy escaping to give them away. Unless they transit something light, they are seriously hard to detect. And, we can activate engines and warheads from anywhere in the system.
A couple thousand meters and they are no longer distinguishable from the surrounding space.
"Mr. Marcos, course to Beta, maximum acceleration, your mark."
"My mark, maximum gee." The five minute horns sound, then the one minute.
Just before the engines light, Marcos realizes something.
‘Skipper, how long should we program the maximum burn?"
I take a deep breath. "Until the engines blow up or we do, ensign, and maybe after that."
Two engines, max thrust, we stabilize at just over four gees, my butt not liking the vibration pattern it's feeling. We'll need a day outbound, then a day flying backwards, reversing. I stay in my couch, rereading every report, looking at every piece of data, going back into the construction reports on the ship, mission planning, there are literally millions of documents and I get through a couple hundred before I give up. Somewhere in there is a bad man (or woman) I need to find.
Ten hours into the acceleration the automatic warnings on my panels light, the engine gauges are creeping
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