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

He contemplated how to take on two heavily armed Hegemonics at the same time. Somehow there must be a member of his own squadron without an adversary. Or had the Hegemonics adopted some complex chess-like formation in which their ships all covered one another?

A hint of a shudder passed through his mind at the thought that he might be seeing the first stage of a large, relentlessly unfolding Hegemonic plan.

He was about to speak to Sergeant Quelle again when a sudden movement on the scope screen attracted his attention. Among the wavering lines by which the screen represented the strat an indistinct shape was expanding swiftly.

A moment later the screen itself went blank and at the same time a horrifying explosion tore through the Smasher of Enemies. The destroyer shuddered for a second time. The nose tipped sharply downwards and the bridge caved in.

Before he deserted his desk Captain Aton verified that all com lines to the bridge were dead. Amid a hail of collapsing metal he fled from the room with the rest of his staff, helping them through the disintegrating door and leaving himself last of all.

He knew without any doubt what had happened. The flitting shape on the scope screen had been a strat torpedo which by a hundred-to-one chance had struck home. It was the sort of bad luck no chronman liked to think about.

By the look of things the torp could have hit the destroyer close to the impact point of the earlier Hegemonic energy beam. At any rate it appeared to have exploded inside the inner armour – within the ship herself – and had caused severe structural damage.

In short, the Smasher of Enemies was breaking up.

A frightening, tortured creaking sound came from all directions. Aton glanced around him at the twisted, heaving corridors. He grabbed the arm of his lieutenant.

‘Get to the com room. If the beta transmitters are still functioning try to raise the fleet and request help.’

The lieutenant went off at a lope. Behind him, what was left of the bridge folded up like a tin can in response to the pressures of the ship’s shifting girder frame. Its erstwhile crew moved closer to Aton as if for comfort. Up the corridor came the sound of shouting and a distant, pained groan.

Another, worse danger had occurred to Aton. It was possible that the Smasher of Enemies was now helpless; if so, one or both of the Hegemonic destroyers could move in close enough to fire more torpedoes at point-blank range. He seized another officer.

‘See if you can get to the torp section. Tell them to fire on the standard pattern, once every two minutes.’

For the moment there was no knowing, of course, if the torp section had even survived the explosion. There was no knowing if any system in the stricken ship was still operational – except that there was obviously still some power flowing: the lights still burned.

Comforter Fegele was on his knees, praying for the survival of the ship – and, Aton thought cynically, of himself. Irreligiously he yanked the priest to his feet.

‘The Lord’s vengeance has fallen on our vessel,’ Fegele babbled. ‘This is the price of heresy.’

Aton pushed him away and pointed to a white-faced young ensign. ‘Vuger, you come with me. The rest of you – get some rescue work organised.’ He spoke harshly, aware that morale was dropping. ‘There are bound to be a number of wounded. I want the situation stabilised for when we’re ready to move.’ With a last glance at Fegele he added, ‘The souls of the dying need your ministrations, Comforter.’

He went scrambling down the twisted ladder towards the drive-room, with Ensign Vuger stepping down hastily above his head. As they went deep into the ship the evidence of the destroyer’s own destruction became even more evident: walls that had bulged, then broken open like paper bags, lines and conduits that spewed everywhere like ravelled string.

But as they reached the bottom of the ladder and picked their way through the wreckage the lights dimmed momentarily and then burned more brightly than before. At the same time a nearby com speaker crackled. Aton mentally congratulated the repair crews; they had lost no time.

He paused by a speaker and managed to get through to gunnery. The voice that answered was not Quelle’s or the gunnery officer’s, but that of an ordinary crewman.

‘We’re blind, sir. And three of our beamers gone.’

‘Where’s Sergeant Quelle?’ Aton demanded.

There was silence. Then, in a strangled voice, the crewman said, ‘Deserted his post, sir.’

Aton left the com and pressed forward, motioning Ensign Vuger to follow.