Demise

[Boss]

"Sir, orders?" Mason started, lost in thought about the days when he and Sarkovski were growing up on Denver, of training in Academy together. Age seven: 'We'll go all the way, Pete. We'll make it through Academy, captain the big ships!' "Mathers, give me options!" "On it, sir!" "Mason glared at the status displays by his command chair. "All hands, we're going to condition red, that's condition red. All guns power up and prepare for battle. Fighters, ready top cover. Bombers, staggered downside, ready Novas on that bogey. Wing pods, ready nannys for launch."

"But sir, we can't launch the nannys without deshielding the pods." It was true. Nannys were too wide for the normal fighter launch tubes and had to be sent out the side doors which in normal operating conditions were left closed, and shielded. Unfortunately, the shield arrays weren't designed to depower just the bay doors. To launch the nannys would require disabling the shield on the entire pod on that side.

Were the pod shields depowered, the hostile would likely blast them into so much scrap, thereby leaving the escorts to their own engines for the trip home. "Sir, options." Mathers handed Darryl a hardcopy printout. First: Leave the Raleigh. Unacceptable. Second: Engage the hostile of unknown capacity. Possible, but not favorable given the condition it left the Raleigh in. Third: Depower the pods and launch nannys, in which case they and the pods of the Raleigh's crew would be vulnerable to fire. Unacceptable. Fourth: There wasn't a fourth.

"Helm, bring us around. Gunnery, firing solution on the bogey. COMSCAN, get them weak points to aim for. If we can injure it, destroy it, or just annoy it into leaving..." His voice trailed off. Fighting it would be suicide. Sarkovski's voice crackled over the comms. "Mason, what the hell are you doing? It might slag you, it might not, but there's no way you could stop it in time to save us. Getting us out isn't possible, Darryl. For the love of God, destroy the Raleigh! Better to die to a Mortar than of asphyxiation...or to that...thing's...guns."

"I can't do that, Pete. I can't let that be on my conscience, let alone my record!" Shouting on the bridge, "Hostile's moving in! Looks like it's going for the Raleigh!" "Turrets 6, 10, 12, 13, 14, and 16 ready. 7's got a small coolant leak...fixed now. 11 has a capacitor failure, routing around it." "15's overcharged, bleeding excess into shields..." "Solaris control reports ready status!" "Mortars armed!" "Routing on #11 complete." "Missile command says launcher armed, tracking now." "Bleed-off complete, all turrets ready."

"Darryl, in the name of our friendship, in the name of Liberty, in the name of your oath and God, I order you to fire on the Raleigh!" Mason was torn between wanting to save his friend or follow orders. Save his crew, save his ship, save his sanity? God help me, he thought, I'm a monster. "Mortar One," His shoulders sagged as he forced the words out: "Target the Raleigh. Fighter command, cancel the nannys. Recover the escorts. God have mercy. Fire one." As Mason turned and fell heavily into his chair, the weight of what he had just done on his shoulders, he said, barely above a whisper: "God have mercy on us all."