instinct to open the outer hatch, go round the lifeboat and attack the flight deck from the outside, Joel had kept the XCs’ helmets in the cabin.
‘Do we land?’ Boon Round said. The Rustie had come forward and was looking out at the Dead World with interest.
‘No need at the moment,’ said Joel. ‘We’re way ahead of any of their ships. We’ll sit in orbit and wait for rescue.’
‘And these two?’
‘We’ll cross that one when we come to it.’
And who
needs XCs anyway? he added silently, bitterly, as the world came closer and filled his vision. The surface was obscured by roiling, dirty masses of clouds; not the fluffy white things he mentally associated with a sunny summer’s day but masses of debris and dust thrown up from the surface. The planet had been subjected to a concentrated nuclear bombardment that had thrown it into a nuclear winter. Even before the attack, pictures showed it had been nothing to write home about; a cold, barren, rocky place. Yet there had been enough to support life, even a civilization of sorts. But now . . .
For just a moment, Joel felt very ill disposed towards the XC race in general. Then he winced as pain stabbed suddenly into the middle of his head and it felt like there was grit behind his eyeballs. He had been on the stay-awakes too long. The feeling passed after only a second and he could concentrate again.
Then the alarm sounded.
‘
Caution: target lock on. Caution: target lock on.
Caution: target . . .
’
Joel leapt for the nav computer. Locked on? Who was out here to . . .? An option was already flashing on the display.
Evasive manoeuvres recommended
.
‘So do them!’ Joel shouted. Next to the recommendation, the world ‘enable’ flashed in a little box; Joel thumped it and in the viewports the Dead World swung suddenly away as the lifeboat went into its pre-programmed shake-off procedure.
‘Explain,’ he ordered.
‘
Analysing situation
,’ said the voice of the lifeboat. The planet outside swung suddenly past again as the lifeboat went into another spin. ‘
Evading lock-on
,’ it said in a slightly different tone. Then it was back to the first: ‘
Tactical suggests planetary shield of armed
satellites
.’ A schematic appeared on the main display to make the point: the smooth curve of the planet’s surface, speckled with an ever-increasing number of dots showing the location of satellites.
‘What the hell is that doing here?’ Joel shouted. What was the point of guarding a dead world? He could almost believe the XCs had done it purely to spite him, to foil his latest plan, just as things finally seemed to be working.
‘
Evading lock
—’ The lifeboat shuddered. ‘
Direct hit on
power compartment. Redirecting severed power and
command feeds. Defence fields activated, starboard field
nodes severely compromised. Recommend implementation of
combat
. . . (
evading lock-on
) . . .
status. Evading lock-on
.’
‘Do it!’ The lifeboat was swinging all over the heavens and every course it took just seemed to take it into the line of fire of another satellite. ‘Why didn’t you identify the satellites earlier?’
‘
Satellites were identified. Level of threat was not
assessed due to insu ficient pilot information
.’
Joel swore. Earth had a network of satellites in orbit, the Roving likewise. The lifeboat saw nothing intrinsically wrong with a planet being orbited by satellites and expected its pilot to tell it different. Had SkySpy never noticed? Probably not, because it only looked where the XCs went, and they never came here. The XCs said it was a dead world, the explorers from the Roving who had actually landed there had concurred, and so the Dead World was of no interest to anyone.
‘Get us into a higher orbit,’ he said.
‘
Higher orbit
. . . (
evading lock-on
) . . .
not recommended. Tactical analysis suggests this course will put us
in line of fire of a greater number of satellites
.’ A graphical display underlined the
‘Do we land?’ Boon Round said. The Rustie had come forward and was looking out at the Dead World with interest.
‘No need at the moment,’ said Joel. ‘We’re way ahead of any of their ships. We’ll sit in orbit and wait for rescue.’
‘And these two?’
‘We’ll cross that one when we come to it.’
And who
needs XCs anyway? he added silently, bitterly, as the world came closer and filled his vision. The surface was obscured by roiling, dirty masses of clouds; not the fluffy white things he mentally associated with a sunny summer’s day but masses of debris and dust thrown up from the surface. The planet had been subjected to a concentrated nuclear bombardment that had thrown it into a nuclear winter. Even before the attack, pictures showed it had been nothing to write home about; a cold, barren, rocky place. Yet there had been enough to support life, even a civilization of sorts. But now . . .
For just a moment, Joel felt very ill disposed towards the XC race in general. Then he winced as pain stabbed suddenly into the middle of his head and it felt like there was grit behind his eyeballs. He had been on the stay-awakes too long. The feeling passed after only a second and he could concentrate again.
Then the alarm sounded.
‘
Caution: target lock on. Caution: target lock on.
Caution: target . . .
’
Joel leapt for the nav computer. Locked on? Who was out here to . . .? An option was already flashing on the display.
Evasive manoeuvres recommended
.
‘So do them!’ Joel shouted. Next to the recommendation, the world ‘enable’ flashed in a little box; Joel thumped it and in the viewports the Dead World swung suddenly away as the lifeboat went into its pre-programmed shake-off procedure.
‘Explain,’ he ordered.
‘
Analysing situation
,’ said the voice of the lifeboat. The planet outside swung suddenly past again as the lifeboat went into another spin. ‘
Evading lock-on
,’ it said in a slightly different tone. Then it was back to the first: ‘
Tactical suggests planetary shield of armed
satellites
.’ A schematic appeared on the main display to make the point: the smooth curve of the planet’s surface, speckled with an ever-increasing number of dots showing the location of satellites.
‘What the hell is that doing here?’ Joel shouted. What was the point of guarding a dead world? He could almost believe the XCs had done it purely to spite him, to foil his latest plan, just as things finally seemed to be working.
‘
Evading lock
—’ The lifeboat shuddered. ‘
Direct hit on
power compartment. Redirecting severed power and
command feeds. Defence fields activated, starboard field
nodes severely compromised. Recommend implementation of
combat
. . . (
evading lock-on
) . . .
status. Evading lock-on
.’
‘Do it!’ The lifeboat was swinging all over the heavens and every course it took just seemed to take it into the line of fire of another satellite. ‘Why didn’t you identify the satellites earlier?’
‘
Satellites were identified. Level of threat was not
assessed due to insu ficient pilot information
.’
Joel swore. Earth had a network of satellites in orbit, the Roving likewise. The lifeboat saw nothing intrinsically wrong with a planet being orbited by satellites and expected its pilot to tell it different. Had SkySpy never noticed? Probably not, because it only looked where the XCs went, and they never came here. The XCs said it was a dead world, the explorers from the Roving who had actually landed there had concurred, and so the Dead World was of no interest to anyone.
‘Get us into a higher orbit,’ he said.
‘
Higher orbit
. . . (
evading lock-on
) . . .
not recommended. Tactical analysis suggests this course will put us
in line of fire of a greater number of satellites
.’ A graphical display underlined the
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