space. Finally, highly specialized nano flowed through the ship’s interior nervous system, programming AI components, plating out and completing electrical connections, and hardwiring the control circuitry. Weapons, except for the largest and most massive systems like spinal mount PPCs that were part of a ship’s overall design, were added later, dropped into hardpoints and wired into the control network by specially programmed nano.
From the embrace of his slot aboard Eagle, Dev surveyed the assault force’s prize with growing excitement.
Through the crisscross of girders, Dev could make out long, black ships moored between gantries and docking access tubes on the facility’s third level, eighteen military vessels of various types, ranging in size from cutters and corvettes to three small destroyers. All appeared to be brand-new, their gleaming, durasheath hulls night-hued, unmarred by dust impacts or wear. They hadn’t even been painted yet with unit markings or the insignia of Imperium or Hegemony. More ships were visible in the fitting and drawing yards close by, still resting in their nanovat cradles or newly emerged from their armoring flux and awaiting only the finishing details of drive controls or weapons or AI installations to make them fully operational.
All that most of those ships needed were crews and full loads of cryo-H in their tanks. Several more—a close inspection would tell them how many—were ready save for weapons. Even unarmed, they would be valuable additions to the Confederation fleet, and something could be done about arming them back at New America.
As for the rest, Dev studied each with a small pang of regret. They included the monster frame of a half-assembled Kako-class cruiser and two Naka-class light cruisers, as well as twelve smaller vessels; if only they could be made operational!
Unfortunately, there was no time. Imperial or Hegemony ships could arrive at any moment, and it was critical that Dev both get the captured ships back to New America and preserve the original members of his squadron. All he could do was order the destruction of the unfinished ships.
After the shipyard was secured. According to the boarding party, most of the base’s complement of Imperial Marines were either on the ground or still in their barracks, a duralloy cylinder attached to the control center by a long access way, already sealed off as though they were expecting a siege. A handful of marines in the station proper resisted; the firefight—the fire fights, actually, since the skirmishing was widely scattered and completely uncoordinated—were over in minutes.
“We’ve got ’em,” Lieutenant Gary Langley reported over the net. “Control center secure!”
“On my way.” Dev broke contact.
Minutes later, he made his way through the zero-G tangle of corridors toward the orbital base’s control section. With him were several members of his shipboard staff, including Simone Dagousset, a Confed computer expert with her command team. Bodies floated there, broken and bloody, though mercifully few. More of the Imperials had chosen to surrender than to fight, it seemed.
A door dissolved open, and he pulled himself hand over hand onto the main control deck, a large, circular room cluttered with electronic consoles, the gray bulk of a dozen full-linkage couches, a projection dome over all set to view surrounding space. Eagle hung there beyond the fragile barrier, a most convincing inducement to surrender.
Langley met him. He carried an unholstered blast pistol, and there was a blackened, half-melted slash across his armored plastron. “This was the control crew, sir,” he said. “The Nihonjin were linked when we came in. The others weren’t.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Uh, if you’ll excuse me? Some of my boys are busy with the Impie Marines.”
“Go ahead, Gary. I’ve got the watch.”
The prisoners watched him narrowly as he moved closer. They’d segregated themselves into
From the embrace of his slot aboard Eagle, Dev surveyed the assault force’s prize with growing excitement.
Through the crisscross of girders, Dev could make out long, black ships moored between gantries and docking access tubes on the facility’s third level, eighteen military vessels of various types, ranging in size from cutters and corvettes to three small destroyers. All appeared to be brand-new, their gleaming, durasheath hulls night-hued, unmarred by dust impacts or wear. They hadn’t even been painted yet with unit markings or the insignia of Imperium or Hegemony. More ships were visible in the fitting and drawing yards close by, still resting in their nanovat cradles or newly emerged from their armoring flux and awaiting only the finishing details of drive controls or weapons or AI installations to make them fully operational.
All that most of those ships needed were crews and full loads of cryo-H in their tanks. Several more—a close inspection would tell them how many—were ready save for weapons. Even unarmed, they would be valuable additions to the Confederation fleet, and something could be done about arming them back at New America.
As for the rest, Dev studied each with a small pang of regret. They included the monster frame of a half-assembled Kako-class cruiser and two Naka-class light cruisers, as well as twelve smaller vessels; if only they could be made operational!
Unfortunately, there was no time. Imperial or Hegemony ships could arrive at any moment, and it was critical that Dev both get the captured ships back to New America and preserve the original members of his squadron. All he could do was order the destruction of the unfinished ships.
After the shipyard was secured. According to the boarding party, most of the base’s complement of Imperial Marines were either on the ground or still in their barracks, a duralloy cylinder attached to the control center by a long access way, already sealed off as though they were expecting a siege. A handful of marines in the station proper resisted; the firefight—the fire fights, actually, since the skirmishing was widely scattered and completely uncoordinated—were over in minutes.
“We’ve got ’em,” Lieutenant Gary Langley reported over the net. “Control center secure!”
“On my way.” Dev broke contact.
Minutes later, he made his way through the zero-G tangle of corridors toward the orbital base’s control section. With him were several members of his shipboard staff, including Simone Dagousset, a Confed computer expert with her command team. Bodies floated there, broken and bloody, though mercifully few. More of the Imperials had chosen to surrender than to fight, it seemed.
A door dissolved open, and he pulled himself hand over hand onto the main control deck, a large, circular room cluttered with electronic consoles, the gray bulk of a dozen full-linkage couches, a projection dome over all set to view surrounding space. Eagle hung there beyond the fragile barrier, a most convincing inducement to surrender.
Langley met him. He carried an unholstered blast pistol, and there was a blackened, half-melted slash across his armored plastron. “This was the control crew, sir,” he said. “The Nihonjin were linked when we came in. The others weren’t.”
“Thank you, Lieutenant.”
“Uh, if you’ll excuse me? Some of my boys are busy with the Impie Marines.”
“Go ahead, Gary. I’ve got the watch.”
The prisoners watched him narrowly as he moved closer. They’d segregated themselves into
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