A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [99]
Icewaves struck the lake, shattering the water into upthrust rafts of solid ice. Moisture in the ground volatilized upward in geysers of steam. Trees withered and fell. Buildings and homes were destroyed in an instant.
Settlement D was only the first. The tactical maps showed numerous other settlements that lay across the path of destruction. The Grid 7 expeditionary fleet scrambled at a breakneck pace to rescue as many people as they could.
“We’ve got a riot going on down here,” Fitzpatrick called from Settlement J. “If we let any more people on board, my cruiser won’t be able to take off!”
Tasia raced toward the eastern coastline and the gray, cold ocean. Wing Commander Robb Brindle and his full Remora squadrons flew alongside as escorts. He said, “Commander, should I have my squadrons engage the warglobes, or rendezvous at one of the other settlements to assist in the evacuation process?”
Tasia’s mind discarded possibility after possibility. “I sure can’t take on any more passengers, and we’ve got no safe place to deposit the ones we’re already carrying.” She even pondered whether each Remora could fit a colonist or two into the cramped cockpit.
Admiral Willis’s folksy voice said over the open channel, “Jupiter is completely filled. We couldn’t take a pet hamster if someone brought one aboard.”
The ocean ahead offered no refuge, and Tasia didn’t know what to do, except keep flying away from the enemy. She said over the command band, “Admiral, we could evacuate another village or two—if only we had a place to unload these refugees.”
“If you find a secure location anywhere on the planet, Tamblyn, you tell me about it. We all want to go there.”
Tasia bit her lip as she watched the hydrogues continue annihilating the thick conifers. So far, the enemy had swept across the continent in an unstoppable wave; they had skirted the largest inland seas and giant lakes, concentrating only on the forest.
At the moment, her Guiding Star wasn’t very bright, but she had to take a chance somehow. “Admiral Willis, on the tactical display it looks like the enemy is most interested in the forested areas. They’ve avoided the biggest water zones, as far as I can tell. Perhaps we could take the refugees far out to sea. The drogues might not follow us into open water.”
“Big assumption, Tamblyn.”
“Ma’am, either we make some big assumptions and keep our fingers crossed, or we let the rest of the colonists die. We’re at capacity as it is, and we’ve got no place to go.”
Willis was desperate enough to listen to her. “And what do you propose to do with them when we get to open water? Just dump them in the sea and hope they tread water until we scoop them up again?”
Tasia’s throat went dry as an absurdly possible suggestion sparked in her mind. “Every EDF ship carries a substantial supply of tactical armor foam. The liquid polymer hardens instantly on contact with water. If we spray it onto the waves, we can create large raft platforms. Could be used as temporary holding areas, like big icebergs or life preservers.”
“That’s a crazy idea—” Fitzpatrick said.
Willis cut him off with a sharp laugh. “But damned innovative. Will it work?”
“We can go a dozen klicks offshore and start laying down splatters of foam, anything the people can hold on to. I could unload my refugees, empty out the bays, and let the people swim to the rafts. Then I’ll run back and fetch another shipful of refugees. All our vessels could do the same, Admiral.”
Willis said, “It’ll sure be messy, but it just might give the other colonists a chance to survive. Do it, Tamblyn.”
As Tasia raced across the ocean, low to the water, Robb Brindle cut in on their private channel. “You should have kept your mouth shut.”
“Tell that to all the people we’re gonna save.” She just hoped her intuition hadn’t steered her in the wrong direction. It truly was a ridiculous idea.
She brought the Manta down low to the calm, shallow sea. In a booming voice amplified through the intercom above the background din of the refugees, Tasia explained what they were going to do.
The Boone’s Crossing