Land of the Dead by Thomas Harlan

Author:Thomas Harlan [Harlan, Thomas]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781429994323
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2009-01-02T05:00:00+00:00

THE NANIWA

Once the battle-cruiser had entered the Pinhole proper, Koshō was tempted to put on more speed. Unfortunately, only a thousand kilometers into the aperture the topology of the threads grew more complex, and she was forced to cut speed to three-quarters. This ended the brief respite from Khaiden bombardment. Fusion detonations began to flare around them, scattering the clouds of chaff which Konev and his crews had been liberally ejecting to mask their position. The scavenged remotes had been expended on their approach, so the Naniwa was back to her own resources.

The space-frame shook, rattling the consoles in Command, as a series of bomb-pods blew apart off their ventral quarter. The Khaid battleships were refining their firing solutions. Compartment alarms sounded, but Susan had no attention to spare for them.

“Chu-sa, we’ve about three hundred sixty sprint-class contacts incoming,” Konev warned.

“Understood,” Koshō gritted out through clenched teeth. She cast about in the topology rushing towards her, looking for a pocket she could lay the battle-cruiser into. Nothing sprang into view.…

“Chu-sa! We have to try and rescue the Prince!” Holloway had muted the comm channel, but his voice was near panic at the thought of abandoning the most superior officer he’d ever come into contact with.

“Sixty-five seconds to missile storm impact,” Konev announced, his voice flat. The weapons officer’s fingers were flying across his control surface. “All point-defense engaged.”

“Weapons, rolling aspect in thirty-five seconds.” That’ll bring the dorsal batteries into play.

“Hai, kyo!”

Susan spared a glance for Holloway. “I won’t lift a finger for the Prince, not if it places my crew and ship in danger—he won’t be the first great lord of the Méxica to die gloriously in battle.” Koshō managed a tight, wintry grin as her fingers danced lightly on the control console. The threatwell was now fairly choked with gleaming strands of Barrier threads, yet the “passageway” had not completely closed. A fresh plume of the invisible razors now emerged from the chaotic storm on the sensors. The constant detonations of Khaid missiles were fouling the ship’s perceptions, and the Naniwa had lost enough shipskin to seriously degrade her capabilities in the best of circumstances.

“Incoming!” The ship rolled aspect, jets of propellant erupting along her flanks. A second later the decking vibrated violently as the dorsal point-defense erupted—clouds of counter-missiles erupting from the launch racks; beam nacelles discharging, the smaller gun-pits hammering away with ballistic munitions. The Khaid missile cloud staggered, nearly two-thirds of the incoming birds shattered or knocked aside. Konev’s spoofing pods and emitters whined into high-output, sending another sixth of the sprint missiles into electronic catatonia, or off into the void, chasing phantoms.

The dorsal armor took the rest head-on. Koshō felt the ship lurch, hammered by nearly a hundred impacts. Huge swathes of shipskin went dark, ruptured, and the damage control board—just visible off to her left—flared red along a jagged S-curve. The ship crabbed behind the plume of threads she’d picked out.

“Chu-sa, we’re down to minimal load on the external batteries,” Konev reported. “I’ve no shipkillers left on the rails and resupply is backed up.

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