Ragnarok: Colonization, intrigue and betrayal. by Andrew Claymore (best book reader .txt) 📕

away from the hatch. “There’s a Human downthere! It just killed Melchior!”

“Shit!” sheblurted in English, turning immediately to race forward down thetunnel. A perfectly good suit this time and I still can’ttake it! Why can’t the goddamned Universe pick on someone else fora change?

As if in answer, acombat alert blared, buzzing the cable trays above her head as sheran. The ship was going into battle. A hissing noise began aspowerful pumps began collecting the ship’s precious atmosphere forstorage.

And here she was,wearing nothing but a t-shirt and a pair of shorts that weren’trated for zero-atmo work, as far as Gabriella knew.

The engineering team,now knowing about the tunnels and that there was an enemy in them,must have re-coded them for atmo-evac. They had a fight to prep for,so they were opting for the simplest way of dealing with her.

She called up acode-snippet and opened a hole in the wall between the tunnel and oneof the offices in the security division. She stepped through in timeto see an officer run out the door to the ship’s main central ramp.

The place was deserted.There were no suits in sight. Sighing, she closed the hole behind herand moved out to the main processing room where they held prisoners,or would have if Memnon didn’t just kill whoever pissed him off.

In the middle was acircular hatch. She traced her hand around a glowing line ofcuneiform and the hatch dropped down a hands-breadth before jerkingout of the way.

She opened a ship’sinterface window and linked to it with her implant. She activated thelines that would give the central engine’s systems priority for thegravity feedback loop. If Memnon won the initial battle for controlof the orbitals, he’d put the ship in orbit.

And her work wouldcause it to crash into the surface.

With a last lookaround, she slid down into the escape pod and closed it up.

The Battle for Irth?

Sol System

“Normalizing,” thenavigator said, his voice gratingly professional.

Gleb bit back an angryretort and focused on the empty tactical holo, waiting anxiously forthe data to populate. A layer of noise appeared and a voice hailedthem.

A voice from OrbitalControl, Irth.

The trace populated,showing only the defensive forces Gleb had left here. Gleb’sinitial relief was knocked smartly over the head by the probabilityof Ragnarok’s demise.

He looked at his wife.She was staring at the trace, hands clenched. Did they pick the wrongplanet?

By now, Orbital Controlwas aware of who had arrived and John McAdam, commanding the localdefenses, was on the channel.

His condolenceson the loss of the Lady Adelina only heightened their urgency. “Eth.”Glebturned to the holographic version of his old friend. “I’mtransferring my sigil to the Cutlass.I need you to return to the Mouse.John, Eth…” Hestopped as John held up a hand.

“I understand,” heassured Gleb. “Eth has had a lot more experience at this than Ihave. I have no problems serving under his command.”

Gleb nodded.“Thank-you, John. I’m leaving our forces here, just in case Irthis stillin danger. I’ll takethe Cutlassto Ragnarok.”

“Just the Cutlass?”John exclaimed but then he composed his features. “If the enemy haswon, they’ll probably be finished with the colonists by the timeyou get there.”

“And if Bill hasdefeated them,” Luna added, “they won’t need help from us.”

“And if they’restill fighting some running battle through the system?” John asked.

“Not prepared to riskIrth on a slim chance like that,” Gleb said firmly.

John sighed, lookingleft when a low voice caught his attention. He nodded. “Thecalculus of combat…” He looked back at Gleb. “Godspeed, Lord.”He turned fractionally. “Lady.”

Gleb looked at Luna,the desire to protest sensibly strangled before it could reach histongue. Her niece may still be alive… Our niece. He felt astirring of something in his chest at the thought of… family...

Sandbagged

Ragnarok

Hennessystopped walking. He’d been heading for the bridge but analarm klaxon started sounding. He stepped to the side of the hallwayand opened a holo.

“What’s thestory, Fen?” he asked his executive officer.

“Incoming pathalert,” Fen told him. “Sending out the Diceto intercept.”

“Very well,”Hennessy acknowledged. “I’ll take the Gamblers out to cover thefleet, just in case.” He hit a button on his holo, alerting hissquadron to suit up.

“Sir,” Fen’svoice sounded in his ear as Bill ran. “Looks like trouble. We’vegot three frigates and eight freighters inbound. Gods only know whatthe freighters represent but you sure as hells can’t take them forgranted. Both our corvettes are at fullalert. I’ve alerted thecolony. They’re going into the lockdown shelter. Also,I’ve sent the wake-up call for the Hooligans but they’ll be a fewminutes getting suited up.”

“Good. Staysharp. This looks a little too easy. Noanswer to hails?” Hetied into the bridge channel, chiding himself for having to ask sucha basic question.

“Not a peep.”

The deck shudderedunder his feet as the Loaded Dice squadron ejected from the sides ofthe Kuphar. He could hear the slightly tinny voice of thecomms rating trying to raise the incoming ships.

He patched intothe Loaded Dice’s net. “Dice, this is Kuphar Actual. Unlessordered otherwise, when you reach theengagement envelope,you’re clear to engage. I say again, you are clearto engage.”

“Roger, Kuphar, Diceout.”

“This smells wrong,Fen,” Hennessy said. “Keep our ships moving. They may not see the’vettes but they can see the Kuphar easy enough. If theyhave a second punch waiting out there somewhere, we don’t want tosit here holding our chin out.”

He raced into thehangar bay and headed for his fighter. By the time he was connectingto his controls, the last of his pilots was just climbing into hisbird.

The few secondsit took for the last pilot felt like a century.The last light on his HUD turned green and he reached out to thepulsing icon. “Gamblers – launch, launch, launch.”

He hit the icon,slamming back in his seat before the fighter’s inertialcompensation came online for flight mode.

He could have hadthat fixed but, after years of catapulting off carrier decks, itwouldn’t have felt right. He was out of the carrier in a blink andswerved hard to port, ignoringthe pre-assigned form-uppoint.

He set a patternfor close patrol on his three-ship flotilla. “Gambler Actual,break by flight and cover your sectors.”

His own flight wasforward, nearer to the incoming ships. He rolled, putting the planetabove him and took a look around it to see if