Chapter Sixteen
The Cazadora
The atmosphere on the bridge was grim. Every eye
was on Up, waiting for him to give some brilliant order,
pronounce some last-ditch, fleet-saving plan. Seventeen
ships already lost. Nine disabled. And then there was the
Cazadora, running quickly out of cannons, and seven
others still hanging on, still fighting.
A burst of yellow flame in the viewscreen. Make that
six.
Up looked at the unceasing line of robot vessels
stretched out before them, left and right as far as the eye
could see. Each ship linked to the next like a row of
children playing Red Rover, an impenetrable wall of
nothing but death. There must be hundreds of them.
Hundreds.
And Space-Claw had thought, with a distress call to
ships within the region and their skimpy reserves, that the
G.L.E.E. could match this?
The bridge rocked as the Cazadora took another direct
hit. Up managed to stay upright, his hands clenched firmly
on the back of the captain’s chair.
“Shields?” he called, as his Rangers staggered to regain
their balance. Taz stood calmly at the sensor station. She
had stayed on her feet as well.
“Twelve percent,” she said, and though her voice was
steady, her eyes were asking him What now? When the
shields failed altogether, the Cazadora would be lost.