“We’re IC too, remember?” Grady said.
“Technically, it’s not your struggle. You’ve got your own dimension to return to, and your own mission to complete.”
“True enough. But we couldn’t just stand idly on the sidelines or leave and do nothing, not when we had the means to help.”
“I appreciate that,” Phil said. “The Jack Grady I knew would have done the same thing. Now, what’s this I hear about a devious plan?”
With a silent spurt from its thrusters, the tiny, invisible stealth craft angled closer to the enormous starcarrier at the heart of the imperial fleet.
Alone in the cramped, equipment strewn cockpit, Grady’s heart pounded against his chest as he gripped the vessel’s flight stick and eyed the floating display above the console. Ganymede loomed large, ominous, and imposing. Was he really going to take it on, all by himself?
He eyed the instruments, checking that everything was in order as he neared the target, and shifted position on the seat, reaching down to massage his leg. Hawthorne had given him a shot to deaden the pain before he boarded the stealth vessel, along with a fresh infusion of healing nanites. “I usually prescribe a period of rest without physical exertion for all my patients who have been wounded,” the doctor told him. “But in your case, Captain, I fear I would be wasting my breath.”
“Well, look at it this way, Doc,” Grady replied with a rueful grin. “At least I’ll be sitting down all the time while on board the insertion craft. That counts as a kind of recuperation, right?”
Hawthorne’s response was to finger his mustache and mutter, “Hmph,” before stomping back to the medbay.
Grady was relieved to find that the cockpit of the cyborg’s ship, while offering a limited amount of space, was comfortable enough, including the pilot’s chair. He gazed around the interior, noting that it showed little sign of wear and tear, suggesting the vessel hadn’t been in service for long. He suspected it was indeed a prototype, like the larger stealth ship that attacked Adventurer while he and Chalmers were on Yerconam.
That incident was what gave Grady the idea of a surprise attack on the imperial fleet’s flagship. “Disable the Gany, take her out of the fight, and we’ll neutralize the enemy’s most powerful asset,” he’d earlier told Phil. He then proceeded to brief the rebel commander on the details of his strategy.
The starcarrier filled the entire primary viewscreen wrapped across the front of the stealth ship’s cockpit. Grady sucked in a deep breath as he gazed at the ship he once served on, memories flooding his mind. He still found it difficult to accept that he was about to attack, and, with any luck, cripple that same vessel.
Except it wasn’t the same, was it? Much about this dimension was different, and he had to put aside any qualms he might feel about damaging his former ship, and perhaps wounding or killing comrades he served with.
There I go again, he berated himself. These are not my former crewmates. Heck, for all I know, the old crew rotated out after the failed mutiny. Even if not, just like the vessel itself, these are not the same people I served with. Those crewmates are far away, in another parallel universe.
As a stark reminder, he spotted the large Earth Galactic emblem on the starcarrier’s hull, the design dissimilar to the one he had known in his own reality. No doubt that’ll change to an imperial motif as soon as she returns to her home station for her next round of maintenance. Grady gave a small grin at this thought, and murmured, “Though that won’t be anytime soon, if I can help it.”
He glanced at the glowing green digits of the chronometer in the upper right corner of the main screen. “Time to get busy.” After scrutinizing a dialog box on a side display showing the status of the stealth engine, he goosed the thrusters and manipulated the controls, matching the enormous vessel’s trajectory.
The starcarrier was holding position behind a screen of smaller craft—destroyers, cruisers, and support vessels—while its fighters clashed with the leading edge of the rebel force. As expected, its shields were down so that fighters could be launched and recovered. No doubt Cavill believed the flagship was safe, well-protected by its escorts and its own impressive point defense system, which would automatically activate if a threat emerged that the other ships failed to interdict.
Grady reviewed the plan of engagement in his mind. Before departing New Heb, Kotov had assured him that additional rebel ships—all except a handful being kept in reserve to defend the station—would be dispatched to the battle once the main hangar was repaired.
He suspected the imperials—either Cavill himself, or whichever admiral was in command of the task force—had also summoned additional reinforcements. He was certain the enemy’s intention was to deliver a knockout blow to the insurgency and annihilate its fleet in this sector in a single, climactic engagement.
“The imperials will be distracted by the arrival of the additional rebel vessels,” Grady had told Phil. “That’s when I want your squadron to launch a bombing run aimed at the Gany. Cavill will be forced to maneuver to avoid damage to the flagship, and when the main sublights fire, that’s when I’ll trigger the mines. The resulting detonation should be quite impressive.”
“Bit dicey, isn’t it?” Phil said. “You’ll be all on your own in the middle of a hostile fleet.”
“If the stealth craft does its job, in the confusion, they’ll never even know I was there. The engine damage will probably be blamed on ordnance deployed by your bombers.”
An alarm chimed and a red icon flashed on the pilot’s holo as a battle-scarred enemy fighter, streaming plasma, zoomed close to his position. Grady clenched his jaw, waiting to see if he had been detected. But the pilot was evidently oblivious to his presence and carried on toward the waiting maw of Ganymede’s main fighter bay in the ship’s belly.
He spied the familiar green shimmer of a localized forcefield strung across the entrance to the hangar. Reinforced blast doors were also available to seal the opening if a serious threat to the ship materialized, though the cumbersome physical barrier took time to close and was only used in an emergency.
Grady was now coming up on the ship’s stern, and her bank of enormous engines. The stealth craft was dwarfed by the breathtaking girth of the rounded exhaust nozzles. This close, he could only marvel at their vast bulk, and the stupendous thrust he recalled each was able to deliver. If all went well, that very power would soon be turned against them, the explosive force of the mines magnified by the release of the engines’ own energy.
His hands cupping the joystick, he positioned himself above the row of engines then, one-by-one, ejected a dozen miniature pre-programed space mines from a multi-purpose weapons pod in the underside.
He cracked a wry grin and murmured, “Cavill, I’m betting you’re responsible for sending that cyborg assassin to burn my ass. Consider this as payback! Bet you never thought your own advanced prototype would be used against you.”
With a slight jink, he sent the vessel skimming above Ganymede’s hull and heading toward open space. The twelve mines were the entire complement loaded onto Adventurer thanks to Rosie’s orders to resupply the ship while the fusion drive was being repaired. Though each mine was small, they packed a deadly punch of concentrated high explosives.
Still, for maximum destructive effect, he would have to time the detonation to coincide with when the starcarrier fired up her engines. For that to happen, he needed the remaining rebel reinforcements to arrive and threaten the Gany. Soon, he hoped. “Don’t want to hang about in the midst of an enemy fleet for longer than necessary,” he muttered.
A shrill alarm drew his attention to an info box that popped up on the viewscreen. A sleek, dark gray destroyer—one of the starcarrier’s escort screen—was turning in his direction.
Had he been detected? The mines’ presence should be obscured by the residual wash of fusion particles from the Ganymede’s main engines and thrusters.
The destroyer continued to turn, its bow now pointing more-or-less toward him. Grady cursed and eased back on the joystick, using the attitude jets to assume a steady hover. The stealth engine’s status was optimal—he remained cloaked and, hopefully, unseen.
He contemplated coming about and hiding right below the starcarrier. But if he, or more likely the mines, had somehow been spotted, he’d have more room to maneuver by remaining in the open space between the enemy vessels.
Grady watched the zoomed-in display as the destroyer completed its maneuver. He furiously tapped on the tactical screen attached to the console and heaved a sigh of relief. The destroyer’s new heading would cause it to pass several hundred meters astern of the starcarrier and the adjacent stealth craft. “Must be rotating the escorts,” he told himself as he filled his lungs, having held his breath while the much larger enemy vessel altered course.
The incident reminded him how vulnerable he was, hunkered in a tiny vessel—stealth or not—equipped with minimal weapons, surrounded by much larger and more powerful enemy ships. The insertion craft was capable of a decent turn of speed at sublight but hadn’t been built for interstellar travel and lacked the ability to jump to FTL. If it came to a dash for safety, the imperial ships would outpace him without breaking a sweat. His chief weapon was secrecy, remaining undetected.
After another glance at the clock, Grady checked the weapons readout to make sure the mines were primed. All he needed to do was transmit the activation code at the right moment.
Everything was set in readiness to spark the blast as soon as Ganymede’s primary propulsion ignited. Everything, that is, except the now overdue appearance of the extra rebel ships.
He drummed his fingers on the console. “Maybe it took longer than anticipated to repair the hangar bay and launch the remainder of the rebel attack craft,” he mused, tension oozing into his voice.
The longer he stayed close to the starcarrier, the greater the risk the mines or the insertion ship—or both—would be discovered. Yet, he dared not travel far from his target, warned earlier by Mal that the triggering device had a limited range.
Eyes on the chronometer, Grady resolved to blow the mines soon, even if the rebel assault on the starcarrier didn’t kick off as planned. The explosion would still cause significant harm to the imperial flagship, though not as much as first hoped. Would it be sufficient to incapacitate her and remove her from the battle?
