Stephen Berry - Final Assault

In pursuit of the corsair K'Tran and upon direct orders from FleetOps, I proceeded into Quadrant Blue Nine with a task force of five starcruisers. We were preceded by the L'Aal-class cruiser Implacable, under the command of Commodore DTrelna. Ours were the first ships to brave this reputed "Ghost Quadrant" since an ill-fated scientific survey ship, some 1,582 years ago.

To the undoubted detriment of our respective commands, and the possible salvation of the Confederation, we each found what we were looking for.

Admiral Second S'Gan Commanding Special Task Force 18 Excerpt from BattleOps Report 6389028

"Were at final jump point, Commodore," said L'Wrona from the navigation station.

DTrelna nodded, looking up at the data trail threading across the bottom of the main screen. "Last chance to turn back, H'Nar," he said to the captain.

"And do what?" said L'Wrona, his long fingers playing over the console, entering the jump coordinates. "Live like real corsairs? No, I'll take my chances with the v'org slime."

FleetOps would have been hard-pressed to cast two more-dissimilar figures as Implaca-ble's senior officers: DTrelna short, fat, well into middleage, with the sharp nose and piercing dark eyes of a S'Htarian trader, and

L'Wrona, younger, slender, with the aquiline good looks of the old aristocracy. Having fought and won across half the galaxy, they were headed home now to face their final battle.

DTrelna looked around, eyes going from empty station to empty station. The cruiser's big bridge usually had between twelve and twenty crew. She had four now: K'Lana, manning communications; N'Trol, chief engineer, hovering over the jump status board; L'Wrona, manning K'Raoda's old station; and himself, now seated at the captain's post, a post he'd manned for seven years, before they made him a flag officer.

"Commtorps ready, K'Lana?" the commodore said, looking at the petite brunette.

"Jump-tied, Commodore," she said.

DTrelna touched his chairarm's comm-link. "This is it," he said, voice echoing through the long, almost empty miles of Implacable. "We're jumping into home system now. Luck to us all." He switched off.

"Jump at will, Captain L'Wrona," said the commodore, clasping his hands over his belly, eyes on the screen.

"Jumping," said L'Wrona, touching the "Execute" switch.

A slight tugging at the stomach as the stars on main screen red-shifted to familiar constellations. The data trail winked out, then resumed with new figures. As DTrelna watched, three silver missiles streaked by, scattering toward distant targets.

"Commtorps launched," said K'Lana.

The screen rippled, changing from outside scan to a tactical view of the K'Ronarin home system. N'Trol whistled softly. "Look at that! They must have half the Home Fleet on picket duty."

"Impressive," said DTrelna, looking at the hundreds of points of light standing between Implacable and the innermost planet. Three of those lights began drifting toward the green blip denoting Implacable.

"Unknown cruiser, identify," came a brusque voice over the deck speakers.

"Unknown, my ass," said the commodore, swiveling toward K'Lana. "We're putting out standard id on standard id frequency."

"Yes, sir."

"Just a brief show for FleetOps records," said L'Wrona. "'Suspected corsair detected and destroyed.'" Glancing at the data trail, he walked to the tactics station and stood touching the gunnery-tie controls to ship's computer. "Their shields are at battleforce, they're closing at flank with gunnery scans locking on. They won't be firing salutes as they pass."

"So? Are you going to shoot it out with our own ships, H'Nar?" asked DTrelna, swiveling to look at L'Wrona. "Outnumbered fifty to one, their ships crewed, ours on automatic? Absurd." His voice lowered. "Remember why we're here."

"I know," said the captain, taking his hands from the console, clasping them behind his back. "One's first instinct is to fight, though."

"Unknown cruiser, identify," repeated the challenge. "Identify or we open fire."

"Plenty of fighting ahead, I'm afraid," said DTrelna, touching his chair's commlink.

"L'Aal-class cruiser Implacable, returning from Quadrant Blue-Nine. You will advise FleetOps that we have launched commtorps tied to all civilian frequencies. If we don't reach Prime Base, our mission debriefing will be transmitted to every receiver in home quadrant, open band, loud and clear." He said it fast, spurred by a vivid image of gunnery consoles flashing red as Mark 88 turrets swung toward Implacable, then leaned back, watching the tacscan.

Two of the picket ships were within range now-heavy destroyers, together more than a match for one L'Aal-class cruiser. The silence lengthened.

"Someone down in FleetOps is making a Decision," said DTrelna, thick fingers drumming a soft tattoo on the padded chair arm.

"FleetOps to Implacable," said a different voice, smooth, neutral. "You are cleared for Prime Base. Line is so advised." A series of coordinates followed.

As DTrelna acknowledged, the commlink ended with a sharp burst of static.

"Welcome home," muttered the commodore.

"Coordinates laid in," said L'Wrona. "Ship proceeding on course."

"Not steering us toward a minefield, are they?" said N'Trol. The engineer walked to the flag station and stood staring at the screen. He was about L'Wrona's age and height, not as thin, though, and with features deep-tanned from long hours spent hullside.

DTrelna shook his head. "They can't afford crudity as long as those commtorps are flitting about home system." He pointed to the screen. "See, our friends are pulling back."

Up on the big board the lights marking the pickets were withdrawing to their original positions as Implacable headed toward K'Ronar.

As they approached the planet, the tacscan changed, snowing first K'Ronar with Prime Base neatly marked in a winking green, then a line of red between ship and planet: Line.

"Hello, Commodore," said a soft, cultured voice over the commlink.

"Hello, Line," said DTrelna.

Ten thousand years before, at the K'Rona-rin Empire's technological height, a series of Twelfth Dynasty Emperors had, at enormous expense, constructed Line. The name came from the two-dimensional image of it projected by the tacscan of approaching vessels. Line was actually a great shield-sphere surrounding K'Ronar, a never-breached wall comprised of tens of thousands of satellite-based shield generators, approached through ever-varying minefields, missile and gun platforms, all controlled from ten miles of rock that sat in geostationary orbit over K'Ronar's north pole.

"Did you have an interesting mission, Commodore?" continued the voice.

"Saved humanity again," said DTrelna lightly, watching as the screen shifted to exterior scan, showing them approaching an endless sweep of silver set against the obsidian of space. He punched up a steaming cup of t'ata from his chairarm. "Been battling any alien hordes, Line?"

Part of the shield wall disappeared as Implacable reached it. Moving on n-gravs now, the cruiser slipped through the Line.

"Alas!" sighed the voice. "We've had no fun since the S'Cotar fleet tried that foolishness at the start of the last war.

"Welcome home, Commodore," it added as the shield closed behind the ship.

"Thank you, Line," said DTrelna, looking at the brown-green world ahead. "Wish everyone felt that way."

"That computer's friendlier than FleetOps," said NTrol.

"Do you really think it's a computer, Engineer?" said the captain, joining the other two at D'Trelna's station.

"It's certainly not a human," said N'Trol. "No one'd be crazy enough to entrust the defense of K'Ronar to any man or group of men."

"Whatever it is, is irrelevant, gentlemen," said DTrelna, holding out a hand. "We're through-we're home."