The Ashes of Worlds - Kevin J. Anderson [118]
The complex circled Ildira, losing altitude, touching the outer atmosphere, first with a whisper, then with a roar. The structural girders began to heat up with friction from the sky itself. He imagined it must be generating a bright light.
“Our course is true, Tal.” The voice belonged to one of the few men who remained with him. “The intercept point is locked in.”
When they had finally decided to do this, Prime Designate Daro’h had offered to send a full crew to assist O’nh. Knowing what was at stake, hundreds had volunteered their services, but the old veteran had argued that a small ship had a better chance of reaching the orbital facility without being stopped by faeros. Also, he wanted no unnecessary casualties; the cost was already unbearably high. “Every Ildiran life is precious, Prime Designate. Give me five volunteers, and we will change history.”
He had heard the awe and appreciation in Daro’h’s voice. “You will burn your name in the Saga of Seven Suns. I will see to it that Chief Scribe Ko’sh records all you have done.”
“By our actions today, I hope to make certain there is still more of the Saga to write,” O’nh had said.
The thought of what young Designate Ridek’h had been willing to do gave him strength. On their flight up to the shipyards, his heart had felt heavy with the knowledge that the boy must be dead, but he was also proud of his protégé. And now O’nh hoped to put an end to the mad Designate who had caused so much harm and pain.
The five volunteers had operated the cold controls, reawakening the mothballed systems. As a blind man, he could make none of the actual modifications, but he gave them instructions and did not let them falter.
At the edge of the system, Tal Ala’nh and his warliners waited, unaware of what was happening here. Adar Zan’nh had not wanted to risk a transmission to inform them, fearing that Rusa’h might somehow intercept it. But O’nh knew Tal Ala’nh well enough; he and his cohort would be ready. The Adar should be watching intently, ready to race away with his nine warliners to join the rest of the Solar Navy.
After a few more moments passed, O’nh could feel the great structure shudder around him, buffeted by the thickening atmosphere. “What are our fuel reserves?” Unable to look at the people inside the control chamber, he stared into his own darkness.
“Enough to adjust our course if necessary, Tal.” The thin voice belonged to an engineer kithman. “But we used most of our supplies to send us on as rapid a descent as possible. We will strike the target.”
O’nh nodded. “Good. There is no going back.”
“No, Tal. No going back.”
“Our place in the Saga is assured.” He sat back and waited, imagining that all of the framework must now be glowing a cherry red, thermal waves flying off as ablation peeled away the outer layers of metal. He wished he could see true light one last time, but soon this frail body would be gone and his soul would be on the plane of the Lightsource.
Rusa’h could not know what was coming directly toward him.
Though these four warliners would never be completed, the huge skeletal ships would perform a great service for the Solar Navy. What mattered now was not weaponry or maneuverability, but sheer mass. The orbital descent was set.
The control chamber shuddered violently, and he gripped the sturdy arms of his chair to hold himself steady. He heard hissing sounds, the screaming whine of air as it whipped through the girders. “Today we strike a blow the faeros can never forget, one that Ildirans will forever remember.”
The spacedocks, unassembled hull plates, gigantic engine components, girders and assembly bays, all of the useless heavy junk, tore down through the atmosphere. O’nh could feel the heat as the falling city turned into a meteor.
Though most of their sensors had burned out, one of his assistants cried, “Faeros fireballs! Ten of them, heading straight