Barrington Bayley SF Gateway Omnibus: The Soul of the Robot, The Knights of the Limits, The Fall of Chronopolis

He glanced over the faces of the other prisoners and pointed to two others he recognised as also belonging to the gunnery crew. ‘Release Sergeant Quelle and those two. They are to be rearrested once the invaders have been dealt with.’

Closely followed by Comforter Fegele, Aton turned from the scene and ascended the ladder to the bridge. The Hegemonic ships were already showing on the scope screen, relayed from the flagship’s powerful beta scanners.

‘We’re closing, sir,’ the scanman informed him.

It would not be long now.

But for the time being a lull fell over the proceedings, a lull during which the flagship was frantically busy assessing the situation, but in which the periphery ships, consisting in the main of destroyers like the Smasher of Enemies, were passive.

Aton waited for his orders, trying to fight down the feelings of shame that assaulted him. This was no time for emotion, but nevertheless that emotion was there.

Standing across the desk from him was Comforter Fegele (it was Church policy for the ship’s priest to be present on the bridge during an action, ever ready to give moral support). The priest looked into the brooding face of the young officer. ‘You are troubled,’ he murmured.

Aton had been gazing at his own reflection in the metal of his desk. His even features, with their clear grey eyes and straight, finely chiselled nose, were distorted by the metal and seemed to stare back at him across tortured aeons.

‘How long has this been going on aboard my ship?’ he wondered quietly. ‘Had you an intimation of it?’

‘No. The Traumatic sect is notoriously good at keeping its presence secret. It disturbs you, no doubt, to discover such perversions.’

‘I do find it hard to understand,’ Aton admitted. ‘Every man on board has sworn the same oath I have sworn. And that oath is to defend not only the empire but also the true faith. How can such men turn heretic?’

‘The ways of religious delusion are indeed strange.’

‘I confess, Comforter, that I am questioning my own judgment in permitting Sergeant Quelle and his co-conspirators to take part in this action. How can one trust heretics and traitors?’

‘The odd thing is,’ said the priest slowly, ‘that their perversion is probably of a spiritual character only. It has been found that heretic chronmen are nevertheless loyal to the Time Service. That part of their oath remains sacred to them.’

A signal sounded on Aton’s desk. A burry voice spoke from the annunciator.

‘The following vessels will break off and engage the enemy. Exorcist, Smasher of Enemies, Emperor’s Fist, Incalculable …’ Aton counted twelve names in all, the same number that made up the enemy’s squadron. This was necessary, probably, if the Hegemonics were to be persuaded to stand and fight rather than to flee home without accomplishing their mission.

The Smasher of Enemies swung away from formation. The Hegemonics disappeared from the scope screen, then came back after a brief interval, even more blurrily, as the destroyer picked them up on her own less powerful radar.

The established procedures of attack swung into action. One of the bridge controllers was getting in touch with the rest of the attack squadron. At the same time beta contact beams sped ahead of their flight path, seeking out the enemy and offering negotiation.

Comforter Fegele retreated to one side and was heard muttering prayers and blessings, dipping his hand into his chalice occasionally and sprinkling a token amount of wine on to the deck.

As soon as they became aware of their pursuers the Hegemonics put on speed and went into evasion manoeuvres. The wedge-shaped ships, five times taller than they were broad or long, multiplied into a series of fading prismatic images, like a multiple exposure, as they changed direction. The pilot of the Smasher of Enemies, snuggled into the nose of the bridge, also put on a surge of velocity, taking them close to the maximum. Before Aton’s eyes the forward end of the bridge diminished in size; the pilot became a midget, a boy-like figure, then a puppet no more than six inches high.

The flight of the Hegemonics failed to outdistance the ships of the Chronotic Empire, each of which was now picking out an adversary. The Smasher of Enemies vectored in on a dancing wedge. It was difficult, sometimes, to sort out the flickering images from the wavering curves of the strat as they also showed up on the scope screen, but Aton never lost sight of it entirely. He issued a clipped order to the pilot.

The destroyer plunged forward in a new burst of speed until she overtook the Hegemonic craft and swung around to place herself directly in its path. The pilot rushed the ship back and forth, veering in close to the enemy and setting up a wash of discomfiting strat waves. In answer the Hegemonic darted away and tried to weave a path past the obstacle, but the pilot stuck close.