The Depths of Time by Roger MacBride Allen Page A

officer hadn ’ t noticed yet. Ship Five, the last ship of the convoy, wasn ’ t just sliding into a parking orbit. She was still accelerating at maximum, thrusting away from the singularity. She was, in plain fact, getting the hell out, escaping the chaos and destruction that swirled about the Circum Central Timeshaft. Koffield could not blame her. No matter what the outcome, there would be precious little reason for Ship Five to remain anywhere near the wormhole.
    “ Ship Five on emergency departure track, ” Koffield announced, and then forgot about her. Another piece swept off the chessboard. Later, if he survived, would be time enough to think about her, and about all else that had been lost and destroyed this day.
    “ Confirmed, ” the detection officer replied.
    “ Coming up on firing pass, ” the weapons officer called. “ Stand by. Firing in twenty seconds. ”
    “ I ’ ve been tracking some sort of erratic venting from previous secondary target, and her tumble is getting worse, ” the detection officer said. “ I think she ’ s out of the game!
    Koffield checked his repeaters and pulled up the full navigation data on Intruder Five—^the Intruder they hadn ’ t shot at yet. Even if their last blast of railgun fire took out Intruder Three, Five would still be there, barreling down toward the wormhole.
    “ Firing in ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three.Two. One. Zero. ” Once again, and for the last time, the fabric of the Upholder thrummed and thrilled with the rush of the railgun ’ s fire. “ Firing complete. All railgun pellets expended. Time-on-target, mark, thirty-two seconds. ”
    Projecting their courses forward, Three would reach the wormhole portal in ten minutes, twenty-five seconds, and Five in twenty-three minutes, eighteen seconds. If they got lucky on this firing pass— nexus control system receives and accepts instruction to deactivate portal nexus “d” permanently, please confirm command.
    Koffield was sufficiently surprised to see the Artlnt ’ s response that he nearly forgot to act on it. But then he blinked, nodded, and typed in the first confirmation command.
    ANTON KOFFIELD COMMANDING UPHOLDER SENDS CONFIRMATION OF INSTRUCTION TO NEXUS CONTROL SYSTEM TO DEACTIVATE PORTAL NEXUS “ d ” PERMANENTLY.
    “ Sir! I ’ m tracking on the debris cloud from the interceptor. Some of it is going to catch us—estimate about twenty seconds. ”
    “ Howbad? ”
    “ Not very. Just small stuff, which is why it took so long to detect. ”
    But even that small stuff could kill them if it hit just right. Koffield checked his displays. “ Conn, all engines, full stop and emergency reorient. Ship to attitude three-two-zero, one-one-zero. ” That ship ’ s attitude would point the nose of the craft straight at the debris cloud, presenting the smallest possible cross section to the oncoming shrapnel. Normal doctrine would be to aim the better-shielded aft end, rather than the bow, at the debris, but the Upholder’s main engines had absorbed a great deal of punishment already, and it had taken all they had to patch them up. Another round of hits on the propulsion system could wreck the engines for good and leave them stranded in orbit of the wormhole. Better to risk the weapons and detection gear in the nose. They had nothing left to shoot with anyway, and, for that matter, there was not that much left to see.
    The ship heeled over hard to her new heading, and Koffield watched the symbol-logic displays of the debris rushing toward them, and of their own weapons fire heading out. He looked to the two countdowns. The seconds remaining until debris cloud impact, and railgun time-on-target, clicked down almost in lockstep with each other.
    Ten seconds. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.
    “ Multiple hits on target— ” the detection officer began, but with a crash and a thud, the lights died on the bridge.
    Pitch-blackness blanketed the bridge.