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"Now rotate back!" said Deen. "Come back, cut through it, slice it in half."
Victor's hand flew back to the levers. He stopped the rotation and rolled the ship back the way it had come, cutting through the lander like a saw as the lander continued its trajectory. There was cheering and shouting in his earpiece. From the mining ships, from Imala, from the team in the launch tubes.
The second lander was already retreati
ng. Victor tried rotating faster, but the mothership wouldn't respond fast enough. He wasn't going to hit the other lander with the gamma plasma. "Get ready, Mazer."
"I'm at the console," said Mazer. "How do I fire?"
Victor pulled up Mazer's helmetcam so he could see what Mazer was seeing. "Move your right hand to the right," said Victor, "three levers over. There. That's it. When Deen gives the signal, push that forward. Deen, you're our eyes. Tell us when."
"You need to move the ship, Victor," said Deen.
The model of the ship rotated in Victor's HUD. He tried to mimic it.
"Faster," said Deen.
"I'm rotating as fast as I can," said Victor.
"It's opening!" said Deen. "It's opening!"
It was true. The bottom of the remaining lander was folding backward like two parting lips. A swarm of Formic transports and skimmers poured out, like a hive of angry wasps. Fifty. A hundred. All moving like a single mass, spiraling downward toward the mothership.
"Stay on the lander!" said Victor. "That's our target!"
Deen gathered himself. "Ten degrees to the right. Two degrees down. Three degrees. Four. That's it. Closer. Closer. Keep it coming. Keep it coming. Okay, now you're tracking. You've got it, you've got it. Now, Mazer! FIRE!"
Mazer pushed the lever forward, and the contents of the launch tube exploded upward like a cannon. The wreckage moved so quickly, that Victor didn't see it on his screen. All he saw was the top of the lander exploding, like the exit wound of a headshot. Large chunks of the lander's hull spun away, leaving a gaping hole in the roof of it.
There were more cheers over the radio, but Victor ignored them. "We need to finish it with the gamma plasma, Deen. It's wounded, but it's not out. Guide me. Let's go! Let's go!"
Deen gave him the directions, helping him rotate. Victor sliced through the second lander once, twice, cutting it to pieces.
"They're on the hull!" said Deen. "They're landing."
Victor turned the gamma plasma wheel hard counterclockwise, shutting it off. Then he looked at Deen's helmetcam, and saw with horror that several transports had landed on the hull, surrounding Deen. Formics poured out of them, wearing pressure suits. Deen was already firing. His laser sliced through a whole row of them, cutting them in half. Their bodies burst apart like overripe fruit.
But the Formics were armed as well. And they had him from all sides. The darts came all at once. Deen didn't even make a sound.
*
Lem spoke over the emergency frequency and addressed every mining ship that was there. They were nearly thirty in number. Corporates and free miners alike. Many of them were the surviving ships from the shield, but there were others there as well. He had called to them in desperation. When the landers had launched and escaped the atmosphere, Lem had sent out an emergency message to every ship within the sound of his voice. Ships docked at Luna. Ships in a holding pattern above Imbrium, waiting for permission to land. Come, he had said. For the good of Earth, for the good of the human race, come.
They had abandoned what they were doing and answered his call. Not all of them. But most had. Italians, Africans, Argentineans, Dutch. He had ordered them to slow the landers, and they had obeyed. Now here they were, outnumbered three or four to one.
"This is Lem Jukes. This war ends right here and right now. I will give five million credits in cash to the mining ship that takes out the most skimmers and transports. Repeat, five million credits in cash. Ships of the shield, only use shatter boxes if you're sure of your target. I don't want any friendly-fire casualties. And take out the transports landing on the mothership. Do not let them retake that ship."
The miners rushed forward, whether out of a love for Earth or five million credits, Lem couldn't say. But it didn't matter. If the team held the ship, he'd get a thousand times that much for whatever tech they recovered inside.
Lem dove at a transport and sliced it in half. He spun away and sliced through another one. Then a third. They were all packed so tightly together, it was hard to miss.
A mining ship to his left was cut to ribbons, attacked by four transports at once. The transports didn't stop, even when it was obvious the mining ship was lost. They crashed into it like kamikaze fighters, using themselves as missiles and tearing the ship to shrapnel. It wasn't until Lem had flown past and checked his holofield that he realized he knew the ship well. It was the Makarhu, the ship he had captained to the Kuiper Belt. Chubs and the crew were gone.
*
A short distance away, well out of the fighting, Imala watched the battle unfold and again felt completely helpless. I should be among them, she told herself. They need all the help they can get.
If she could only ditch the radiation shields that covered her weapons. If she could shed them somehow, she might be useful. But no, that was impossible. She had watched Victor weld the plates on, she had seen how meticulously and carefully he had ensured she was properly shielded.
